Read Chapter 16: Raiding the Archives

The night air bit hard as Elena hurried across the car park behind Jack, the club’s floodlights off, leaving only a pale moon to guide them. He moved with the easy confidence of a man who owned every blade of grass here, keycard already out before they reached the staff entrance.

“You know this is insane, right?” she whispered, her breath clouding. “Breaking into your own club’s archives to find evidence against your own agent.”

Jack paused at the door, turning to look at her. In the dim light, his face was all sharp angles and shadows. “Which part’s insane? Breaking in, or trusting you enough to bring you here?”

She didn’t have an answer for that.

The door clicked open and they slipped inside. The corridor smelled of fresh paint and polish, a facility built for television and trophies, not secrets. But every club had them. Elena had learned that in her first year covering football—the shiny surfaces always hid the rusted pipes.

“Archives are in the basement,” Jack said, striding past a row of framed photographs. Legends of West London FC stared out at her—cup-winning captains, record-breaking strikers. None of them looked like they’d ever had to sneak into their own building at midnight.

The stairwell was colder, the lighting harsher. Jack’s footsteps echoed off concrete walls as they descended. At the bottom, a reinforced door with a keypad waited.

“Fingerprint and code,” he said, pressing his thumb to the scanner. “My brother’s the club secretary. I memorised the code when he changed it last summer. He’s terrible at picking numbers—always uses the same one.”

The lock released with a heavy thunk.

Inside, the archives were exactly what Elena expected: floor-to-ceiling shelving units packed with boxed files, the smell of old paper and dust heavy in the still air. A single fluorescent light flickered on, buzzing overhead.

“Where do we start?” she asked.

Jack moved to a bank of filing cabinets against the far wall. “Player contracts, transfers, medical records. My brother’s system was always meticulous, but he kept digital backups of everything too.” He pulled open a drawer, rifling through hanging files. “Ray’s been my agent for eleven years. He’s got paperwork on every deal I’ve ever signed.”

Elena joined him at the cabinets. “You’re looking for what exactly?”

“Proof.” Jack’s voice was tight. “Proof that he’s been playing the long game. That this isn’t just about my current contract—it’s about Manchester City positioning me as their next big signing while I still have value.”

They worked in silence for nearly an hour, pulling files, scanning documents. Elena found her mind drifting to the USB drive still hidden in her jacket pocket. They hadn’t examined it yet, always interrupted, always running.

“Here.” Jack’s voice cut through the quiet. He held a folder thick with paper, his expression unreadable.

Elena crossed to him, peering over his shoulder as he flipped it open. The folder was labelled *Whelan Negotiations – 2019*. Inside, email chains printed on yellowed paper showed correspondence between Ray Damien and Andrew Whelan, Manchester City’s head of football operations.

“2019,” Elena said. “That’s before your last contract renewal.”

Jack nodded slowly, reading. “Ray was talking to City before I even signed my current deal with West London. Before the club made me captain.”

“That’s not illegal,” she said carefully. “Agents always test the market.”

“Read further.”

She did. The emails grew more frequent over the months, more specific. Ray feeding Whelan details about West London’s wage structure, about Jack’s dissatisfaction with the squad’s ambition, about potential exit clauses. But it was the final email that made her breath catch.

*“Charlotte is on board. She understands that the move is necessary for Jack’s legacy. The club has stagnated under the current ownership, and I’ve convinced her that staying will cost him more than a transfer. She’ll need gentle handling, but I’ve managed her expectations. Let’s schedule dinner when you’re next in London.”*

Elena looked up at Jack. His jaw was set so hard she could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.

“Your mother,” she said quietly. “Ray was working with your mother years ago. This isn’t new. This has been in motion since before you signed your current contract.”

“He was planning my exit before I’d even committed to my best years here.” Jack’s voice was barely a whisper. “Before I made captain. Before the fans gave me everything.”

He dropped the folder onto the cabinet, bracing himself with both hands, head bowed. Elena wanted to reach out, but she knew better. This was a man processing a decade of manipulation.

“There’s more,” she said, pointing to a second file tucked behind the first.

Jack straightened, pulling it out. This one was thinner, the label reading *Medical Compliance Reports – 2023*.

“Medical?” Elena frowned. “What’s this doing in Ray’s transfer negotiations folder?”

Jack flipped through it. His expression shifted from devastation to confusion to something darker. “These are flagged records. Player injury assessments that were never submitted to the league. Concussion evaluations that the club deliberately sat on.”

“Sarah’s story,” Elena breathed. “The scandal she was investigating before she disappeared.”

“It wasn’t just the club sitting on them.” Jack held up a single page. “There’s a memo here from Ray’s office, addressed to the medical director at the time. ‘Recommend we withhold all neurological assessments until the ownership situation is resolved. Transparency at this juncture would negatively impact valuation thresholds at negotiation.’ ”

Elena felt ice run down her spine. “He was suppressing evidence of player injuries to keep the club’s value artificially high. To make the sell more profitable.”

“And Sarah Okafor found out.” Jack’s voice was hollow. “She came to me with concerns about player welfare. I thought she was just being diligent. She was trying to tell me my own agent was burying evidence that could destroy careers—or end them.”

“What happened to her, Jack?” Elena’s question hung in the dusty air.

Before he could answer, a soft footstep sounded from the corridor outside. Both of them froze, eyes locking.

Jack moved silently to the door, pressing himself against the wall beside it. Elena watched him, her heart pounding so hard she was sure whoever was out there could hear it.

The footsteps grew closer. A shadow fell across the small window in the door.

Then a voice, low and familiar: “Jack. I know you’re in there.”

Charlotte Marsh.

Jack’s face went pale. His mother had followed them. Which meant she knew about the flat, about the trip to Cornwall, about everything.

“Open the door,” Charlotte said, her voice carrying through the metal. “We need to talk—before you do something that can’t be undone.”

Jack looked at Elena, and for the first time since she’d met him, she saw genuine fear in his eyes. Not fear of his mother—fear of what she represented. Everything Ray had done, Charlotte had enabled. And now she stood between them and the truth.

“Don’t open it,” Elena whispered.

But Jack was already reaching for the lock.