Read Chapter 34: The New Contract

The call came through at 7:12 AM, vibrating Elena’s phone off the nightstand. She fumbled for it, squinting at the screen. Her editor. Not an email, not a text. A call. On a Sunday morning.

She sat up, pressing the phone to her ear. Jack stirred beside her, the hospital cot swapped for his own bed two nights ago, his arm warm and heavy across her thigh. She watched his chest rise and fall, the slow rhythm of recovery.

“Elena.” Marcus’s voice was clipped, professional. “I’ve been trying to reach you for three days.”

“I’ve been busy,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Jack’s been discharged. There’s been—there’s a lot happening.”

“I know. I saw the footage.” A pause. “Everyone saw the footage.”

Her stomach dropped. She’d known this was coming. The pitch invasion, the blatant bias, the story she’d abandoned on the touchline to run to a player. She’d broken every rule in the journalist’s handbook, and she’d do it again. But Marcus didn’t sound angry. He sounded—careful.

“I need you to come in this morning,” he said. “Before the board meeting. There’s something we need to discuss.”

“The board meeting?”

“Eleven o’clock. Don’t be late.”

He hung up before she could ask anything else. She stared at the phone, heart hammering. Beside her, Jack’s eyes were open, watching her with that quiet intensity she’d come to know.

“Trouble?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet.” She ran a hand through her hair. “My editor wants to see me. There’s a board meeting today.”

Jack pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing slightly. The doctors had cleared him, but the exhaustion had taken its toll. He was thinner than she’d ever seen him, shadows carved under his eyes. Still, he managed a half-smile. “The board. That’s actually convenient. Ashcroft wants to see us too, remember? He says he has something new on Cole.”

“Tonight,” she said. “We were supposed to meet tonight.”

“Maybe we can make it earlier. If your meeting goes well.” He reached out, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m always nervous.” She leaned into his touch, just for a second. “I just—I don’t know what he’s going to say. I ran onto the pitch, Jack. In front of the cameras. I’m not sure there’s a way back from that.”

“You don’t need a way back,” he said softly. “You need a way forward.”

She kissed him, quick and hard, before pulling away. “I have to get dressed.”

---

The newsroom was nearly empty, clouds hanging low and grey over the Thames. Marcus met her at the glass door to his office, a folder clutched in his hand. He looked different than she remembered him in their last phone call—younger, somehow. More eager. He gestured for her to sit, then closed the door behind them.

“I’m going to start with the bad news,” he said, settling into his chair. “The pitch invasion. It’s a breach of protocol. The Press Complaints Commission has called for a review. Your name’s been mentioned in Parliament.”

Elena’s throat tightened. “I know.”

“Three days ago, I was ready to let them use you as the example. Make an example of you, show the industry we have standards.” He leaned forward. “But then Sarah Okafor’s interview went live. The syndicate story broke. And you know what happened?”

She shook her head.

“The board realized that if you’d followed the rules, you’d never have gotten that evidence. You’d never have been trusted. You’d never have been in the right place to watch Jack Sinclair collapse and decide that a story meant less than a life.” He slid the folder across the desk. “So instead of making you a cautionary tale, they want to make you a star.”

Elena opened the folder. Inside was a contract—her permanent contract, the one she’d been promised. But it was different. The title read “Senior Investigative Correspondent.” The salary was nearly double what she’d expected. And at the bottom, there was an addendum in bold type.

“A book deal,” she breathed.

“Your publisher is the same imprint that handled the Meridian exposé,” Marcus said. “They want the full story. You, Sarah, the syndicate, the club. The transcript from 2016. Everything. They’re calling it *The Betting Game*. They think it could be a bestseller.”

Elena’s hands trembled. “This is—this is more than I ever imagined.”

“You deserve it,” Marcus said. “But there’s a condition.”

She looked up.

“The job is based in London,” he said. “The book means a national platform. TV appearances. Speaking tours. You’d be the face of investigative sports journalism in this country. But you’d need to commit. Full-time. No more freelance moonlighting.”

“I already live in London.”

“But you’d be traveling constantly. The board wants you on the road, chasing the next Meridian.” He paused. “I need to know if you’re in.”

Elena looked down at the contract, at the zeros and opportunities, and felt a cold weight settle in her stomach. She thought of Jack, still recovering, still rebuilding his club. She thought of the conversation they’d had two nights ago, when she’d asked him about his future. He’d smiled, and said he wasn’t going anywhere.

*West London FC is my home. I’m not leaving.*

Marcus was watching her, waiting. “Elena?”

“Give me until tonight,” she said. “I need to think.”

---

Jack called her as she was leaving the newsroom. His voice sounded stronger than it had that morning. “How did it go?”

“I’ll tell you when I see you,” she said. “Are you still meeting Ashcroft?”

“Yeah. He asked us to come to the stadium—the boardroom—at six. He wants to go through the new evidence before the tribunal hearing tomorrow.” A pause. “Elena? You sound strange. What happened?”

“I got offered a book deal.”

Silence. Then: “That’s incredible.”

“It’s complicated,” she said. “I’ll explain tonight.”

She hung up before he could ask anything else. She couldn’t say it over the phone. She couldn’t tell him that the job meant leaving, that the publisher wanted her based in Manchester for the book’s research phase—she’d seen it in the fine print. Six months away from London. Away from him. And after that? The role was national.

When she arrived at the stadium, the parking lot was nearly empty. A single security light burned above the players’ entrance. She found Jack waiting for her in the hallway, leaning against the wall. He looked better—colour back in his face, a hint of his old energy.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.”

He searched her face. “You’re really nervous. Worse than this morning.”

“How did your meeting with the club go?” she asked, deflecting. “The new contract Ashcroft mentioned?”

Jack’s expression shifted. He glanced down the corridor, then back at her. “They offered me a massive deal,” he said. “Five years. Biggest salary in the club’s history. They want to build the team around me for the next chapter.”

“That’s what you’ve always wanted.”

“It’s not what I want anymore.” He stepped closer, taking her hands. “They gave me that offer because they think I’m the future of West London. But I told Ashcroft I’m signing it—with a clause.”

“What clause?”

“A one-year commitment,” he said. “I’ll captain the club through the tribunal, through the rebuilding. Then I’ll step back. Let the younger lads take over.” He smiled. “I’ve had my run, Elena. I don’t need the money. I don’t need the glory. I want to stay because this is my home. But I’m not going to let a contract keep me from what matters.”

She felt her heart crack open. He was choosing her. He was choosing *them*, before even knowing that she had a choice to make herself.

“Jack,” she started.

“Don’t,” he said, pressing a finger to her lips. “Ashcroft’s waiting for us. Let’s do this first.” He released her, turning toward the boardroom door. “Whatever you’re about to tell me—we’ll figure it out after.”

She followed him, the words she couldn’t say burning in her chest. Six months in Manchester. A national role. A life built on chasing the next story. Or a life built here, with him.

When Ashcroft opened the door, he wasn’t smiling. His face was pale beneath the stadium lights. In his hand was a folder—the same kind of folder Marcus had given her that morning. Full of secrets.

“I found something in the old owner’s files,” Ashcroft said, without preamble. “Something that changes everything.” He looked from Jack to Elena, his expression grim. “Vanessa Cole wasn’t working alone. The syndicate goes higher than we thought.” He handed Jack a single piece of paper. “It’s your father.”