Read Chapter 5: Old Debts

The rain had stopped by the time Elena reached the training ground, leaving the pitch a slick, uneven green that seemed to mock the morning’s chaos. She’d spent the last two hours in her car, phone pressed to her ear, walking her editor through the email chain that proved she’d never seen Tommy’s gambling records until the tabloid printed them. Marcus Webb had been uncharacteristically quiet on the other end, which made her trust him even less.

The players were finishing a light recovery session, jogging in loose circles while the coaching staff shouted encouragement. Jack was at the center of it, as always, his voice cutting through the damp air with calm authority. He didn’t look her way when she approached the sideline, but she saw his jaw tighten.

She waited until the session broke up, watching the squad filter toward the changing rooms in small clusters. Jack lingered, collecting stray balls into a mesh bag with mechanical precision, his back to her.

“I need two minutes,” she said.

He didn’t turn. “You need to leave.”

“I’m not the leak.” She pulled out her phone, opened the email app, and held it up like a shield. “I have time stamps. I have drafts. I have a chain of communication with my editor that shows I didn’t touch Tommy’s story until after it broke.”

Jack finally turned, his eyes scanning the screen with the skepticism of a man who’d been burned one too many times. He read for a long moment, then let out a breath that fogged in the cold air.

“That proves you didn’t write it. It doesn’t prove you didn’t feed it to someone.”

Elena lowered the phone. “I didn’t. And I think you know that, or you wouldn’t still be standing here.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he dropped the mesh bag and walked toward her, stopping just a few feet away, his face unreadable. The wind picked up, ruffling his dark hair, and for a moment he looked less like the captain of a Premier League club and more like a man carrying something heavy.

“I need you to understand something,” he said. “I don’t like journalists. I don’t like you poking around my club, my players, my life. But I’ve got bigger problems than you right now.”

“The dressing room.”

“The money.” He said it flat, like he’d been holding it in for weeks. “The board is telling me I have to sell my best player to balance the books. Not next season. This window. They’ve got a buyer lined up for Adam Foster, and they’re looking at me to make it happen without tearing the squad apart.”

Elena absorbed that. Adam Foster, twenty-three, the most promising striker West London FC had produced in a decade, the face of the club’s youth academy. Selling him wasn’t just a financial decision; it was a gut punch to everything the club claimed to stand for.

“If that gets out before the board is ready,” Jack continued, “it’ll look like I’m the one pushing him out. The fans will turn on me. The players will lose faith in the dressing room. And Adam will see himself as expendable, which he absolutely fucking is not.”

“So the leak isn’t just about Tommy.”

“It’s never been just about Tommy.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice even though there was no one within earshot. “Someone’s feeding your people information that makes this club look like it’s falling apart. Gambling debts. Player unrest. Now financial pressure. If I can’t control the narrative, I can’t control the squad. And if I can’t control the squad, we’re going to get relegated, and then every player I’ve ever tried to protect is out of a job.”

Elena studied him. The hostility was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but there was something else now too. A crack in the armor. She’d seen it in players before, the moment they realized they couldn’t do it alone.

“I didn’t leak Tommy’s story,” she said again, slower this time. “And I don’t want to see this club go down either. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you here?”

It was a fair question, and she took a moment to answer it honestly. “My editor sent me to cover a crisis. I came because it’s my job. But I’m staying because someone told me to keep my eyes open but not look too close, and that’s the kind of thing I can’t walk away from.”

Jack’s expression flickered. For a second, she thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch, almost a smile, but it was gone before it landed.

“Frank,” he said.

“Frank.”

He shook his head slowly. “That man talks too much.”

“Or not enough,” Elena replied. “He was supposed to meet me tonight. Show me evidence. But then you called, and I can’t be in two places at once.”

Jack crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. “What do you want from me?”

“A truce. Temporary. You know this club better than anyone. I know how to dig for the truth. Between the two of us, we might find out who’s feeding information out before it ruins everything.”

He was silent for a long moment. The training ground had emptied now, the floodlights humming overhead as dusk crept across the pitch. In the distance, she could hear the faint rumble of traffic from the main road, a reminder that the world beyond this one was still turning.

“I’m not promising anything,” he said finally. “But I’ll tell you what I know about Tommy.”

Elena felt her pulse quicken but kept her face neutral.

“Tommy’s not just in debt,” Jack said. “He’s in debt to the wrong people. People who don’t issue late fees. People who make examples. The club knows about it, and we’ve been paying it off quietly, trying to keep him clean. But someone found out, and instead of going to the board, they went to the press.”

“The press, or your buyer?”

Jack blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it. If you’re forced to sell Adam Foster, who benefits? Who’s been pushing for this to happen fast? And why would it help them to destabilize the club first?”

He stared at her, working through the logic. She could see the pieces clicking together behind his eyes, the reluctant respect forming.

“I don’t know who the buyer is,” he said slowly. “The board’s kept that close. But I know someone who might.” He pulled out his phone, typed something, then looked up at her. “I’ll text you an address. It’s a contact I trust, someone who works in the scouting network. He owes me a favour. He’ll know if there are any whispers about a quick move for Adam.”

Elena nodded, already wondering how this fit with Frank’s promised evidence. Two sources, both pointing in different directions. She’d need to pick carefully.

“One more thing,” Jack said, and there was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “When you meet Frank tonight, watch your back. He’s been at this club longer than anyone. He knows where the bodies are buried. If he’s scared enough to talk to you, then what he’s got is big. Bigger than Tommy. Bigger than me.”

“Bigger than the club?”

Jack’s silence was her answer. He turned without another word and walked toward the tunnel, his silhouette shrinking against the glow of the stadium lights. Elena watched him go, her phone buzzing in her hand.

The address he’d sent was a hotel bar in the city, not far from her flat. She’d go there first, then to the Black Bull to see Frank. It was a risk, splitting her time. But Jack Reid had just given her something he’d given no one else, a sliver of trust.

She’d be damned if she wasted it.

The message from Frank came through as she reached her car: *Still on for tonight. Come alone. What I’ve got will make you sick.*

Elena looked at the words and felt the cold settle in her chest. She wasn’t just chasing a story anymore. She was chasing a secret that could tear a club apart.

And she was beginning to suspect that Jack Reid might be at the centre of it all.