Chapter Twenty Mason Reed
The Throne Story Had Teeth
Mason Reed had seen men make bad decisions for pride, money, fear, contracts, headlines, revenge, and once, memorably, because a goalie swore his lucky socks understood strategy, but he had never seen anything quite like Billie Hartley deciding to turn a blackmail attempt into a history lesson.
It was terrifying.
It was also extremely attractive, which seemed medically unhelpful given the state of his knee and the fact that Sophie Chen had already threatened to tape his mouth shut if emotional adrenaline made him reckless again.
Billie stood at the meeting room whiteboard with Ryan’s latest text printed on the table behind her.
DRAFT INVESTMENT AGREEMENT Harbour Ice Centre and Vale Community Partners
Wonder what the Ice Queen will say when everyone finds out Vale was always buying the throne.
The words were ugly.
The strategy was obvious.
Make Graham Vale look like he had hidden ownership ambitions.
Make the fundraiser look like the first step in a sponsor takeover.
Make Billie look either foolish for not knowing, complicit for accepting money, or dishonest for defending the sponsor match.
Make Tom Hartley’s old decision into a scandal.
Ryan had overplayed.
Mason could feel it in the room.
The first attacks had made everyone defensive. The photo, the bridge loan, the vague insinuations. They had forced Billie to explain, protect, prove, and clarify.
But this?
This had put Tom Hartley’s choice in the centre of the ice.
And everyone in Harbour Ice Centre loved Tom Hartley.
Even Gabe, who had never met him and had been inside the building for less than twenty-four hours, had the sense to stand quietly by the door and say nothing that sounded like market strategy.
Billie wrote three words on the whiteboard.
TOM SAID NO.
Then she underlined them once.
Hard.
The marker squeaked like it was nervous.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “we tell the truth before Ryan turns a dead man’s boundary into a conspiracy.”
The room stayed silent.
Harper sat cross-legged on the floor with her laptop open, eyes bright and fierce.
Evie sat beside Billie at the table, one hand gripping a hoodie sample like it was a flag.
Mark stood near the window, face pale with regret.
Sophie leaned against the doorframe, calm, watchful, dangerous in the way quiet people became when someone they loved had been cut one too many times.
Alby stood with arms crossed, coffee forgotten.
Nate and Theo hovered in the back, because nobody had even pretended they were not listening anymore.
Max had been sent home with Priya, under protest, which left the room seventy percent more mature and thirty percent less quotable.
Mason sat because Sophie had pointed at a chair and said, “If you stand during this meeting, I will make your rehab boring.”
He had believed her.
Billie turned to Mark. “Everything.”
Mark swallowed. “Billie.”
“Everything relevant.”
He nodded, shame moving across his face. “There was a draft agreement. Four years ago. Vale Community Partners offered to invest in rink upgrades, compressor replacement, youth expansion, and sponsorship stability in exchange for a minority stake and certain branding rights.”
Billie’s jaw tightened. “Branding rights?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
Mark looked down. “Renaming rights were discussed.”
Evie’s head snapped up. “Renaming?”
Mason’s stomach turned.
Harbour Ice Centre was not just a name. Even he knew that now. It was Tom’s stubborn cold room in a hot city. It was Billie’s entire body language. It was Max’s signs, Evie’s counter, Harper’s content chaos, Sophie’s boundaries, Alby’s grunts, Theo’s steadiness, Nate’s illegal captions.
Renaming it felt like painting over a family photo.
Billie did not react.
That was how Mason knew it hurt.
Mark continued. “Tom refused. He said he’d take sponsorship, partnership, donations, hard conversations, anything. But not ownership tied to control. Not a name change. Not a structure where one sponsor could pressure programming.”
Evie whispered, “That sounds like him.”
Billie nodded once.
Her face softened for half a second.
Then sharpened again.
“Did Graham push?” she asked.
Mark hesitated.
Billie’s gaze hardened. “Mark.”
“Yes,” Mark said. “At first. He pushed hard. But Tom pushed back harder. Eventually Graham respected it. The final sponsorship model came later, no ownership stake. No control. No claim.”
“Is there documentation that it was never executed?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Mark looked deeply unhappy. “Old legal folder.”
Harper’s fingers were already flying. “Physical or digital?”
“Both, I think.”
Billie inhaled slowly. “Ryan could have taken the draft from the old shared drive.”
“Yes.”
“And he could leak a partial document making it look active.”
“Yes.”
Gabe finally spoke. “Then you need the termination trail.”
Everyone turned.
He lifted his hands slightly. “Sorry. I know I’m on probation.”
Evie said, “Deep probation.”
Gabe nodded. “Understood. But this is simpler than the other attacks. A draft agreement without signatures is noise if you produce the non-executed status, current governance, and Graham’s public confirmation that Vale has no ownership interest.”
Billie considered him.
Gabe added, “And Tom’s reason for refusing, if you’re comfortable sharing it, turns the whole thing from scandal into legacy.”
The room went still.
Mason looked at Billie.
Legacy.
That was the word.
Ryan had tried to make it a throne.
Gabe had found the better frame.
Billie’s voice was quiet. “Legacy.”
Gabe nodded. “Yes.”
Harper sat straighter. “That works. It’s not defensive. It’s not technical. It’s Tom Hartley choosing independence for the rink.”
Evie’s eyes filled. “Because he did.”
Alby grunted. “Man hated being owned.”
Nate whispered, “Like a cat.”
Theo whispered, “Not the time.”
Alby said, “Accurate.”
Billie stared at the whiteboard.
TOM SAID NO.
Mason watched her stand in front of it, shoulders squared, grief and fury pressed into posture.
He wanted to go to her. He wanted to stand close enough that she could lean if she needed to, even though Billie Hartley looked like she would rather fight a vending machine than lean on anyone in a room full of witnesses.
So he stayed seated.
Beside did not always mean physically beside.
Sometimes it meant not making her choose between accepting comfort and keeping command.
He was learning.
Slowly.
Badly.
But learning.
Billie picked up the red marker.
“The message tomorrow is not ‘Ryan is lying.’ It is ‘Tom Hartley chose independence, and Friday honours the community he protected.’”
Harper whispered, “That is good.”
Billie wrote it.
Tom Hartley chose independence. Friday honours the community he protected.
Mason’s throat tightened.
Across the table, Mark looked like he might break. “Billie, I should have told you about the draft years ago.”
“Yes,” she said.
He flinched.
She continued, “Not tonight. But yes.”
Mark nodded.
That was it.
Not forgiveness.
Not cruelty.
A future hard conversation placed in the proper folder.
Billie turned to Gabe. “Can you help frame this for external media without making it sound like we’re spinning grief?”
Gabe nodded. “Yes.”
“Harper, you write the heart.”
“Already crying internally.”
“Do it externally after the draft.”
“Fair.”
“Mark, pull all documents proving the draft was never executed. Current ownership, current sponsorship agreement, any emails with Graham confirming no control rights.”
“Done.”
“Evie, find photos of Dad tied to youth programs, not just big donor events.”
Evie wiped her cheek with her sleeve. “I know where they are.”
“I know you do.”
“Sophie,” Billie said.
Sophie lifted her chin.
“Will Luca try to help if this gets out?”
Sophie’s mouth tightened. “Yes.”
“Do you want that?”
A pause.
Sophie exhaled. “Not unless we ask.”
“Good. Tell him that.”
Sophie nodded.
“Alby, keep players offline.”
Alby glanced at Nate.
Nate looked offended. “Why does everyone look at me?”
Theo said, “Because history exists.”
Billie said, “Mason.”
His spine went straight before he could stop it.
Her gaze met his.
For a moment, the room blurred at the edges.
“You do nothing tonight except rest your knee and read any statement before it goes live.”
“I can help more.”
“You are helping by not becoming a second medical event.”
“I’m fine.”
The entire room stared.
Mason shut his mouth.
Sophie’s eyebrows rose.
He corrected, “I am in need of ice, elevation, and emotional restraint.”
Billie’s mouth moved.
Tiny.
Worth it.
“Good,” she said.
The meeting dissolved into motion.
Harper and Gabe worked side by side at the small table, which looked like a hostile corporate merger between chaos and polish.
Mark disappeared into the office to pull old files.
Evie and Nate went to the back storage with Theo because Evie had declared she needed someone tall and someone annoying.
Alby returned to the rink to enforce the no-post order with what sounded like threats involving early-morning skating drills.
Sophie stepped into the hallway to text Luca.
Mason stayed seated with his leg propped because he had become a man who obeyed medical instructions.
Mostly.
Billie remained at the whiteboard.
He watched her for twenty seconds before she said, “You’re staring.”
“Yes.”
She turned. “At least lie.”
“I’m evolving, remember?”
“Unfortunately.”
He looked at the words behind her.
TOM SAID NO.
“You okay?”
Her brows rose.
He held up one hand. “I know. Retired question.”
“Deeply retired.”
“How about, are you currently functional enough to accept coffee?”
“That is better.”
“I brought emergency coffee earlier.”
“You brought three.”
“I believed in preparedness.”
“You believed in bribery.”
“Both.”
Her mouth softened.
Not enough for anyone else to catch maybe, but enough to make his chest pull tight.
She walked closer, stopping across the table from him. Safe distance. Professional furniture between them.
Barely.
“Thank you for not standing,” she said.
“That’s a sentence I never thought would affect me.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”