Milan was hot. It was a sticky, fashionable heat that made Michael Sterling sweat in his suit.
He sat in the private dining room of the most expensive restaurant in the city.
Opposite him sat Julian Thorne. The Arican billionaire was wearing a white linen suit and a hat that looked like it belonged to Indiana Jones.
"I love Italy," Julian bood, waving a breadstick. "The pasta. The fashion. The way they drive like they want to die. It is exhilarating."
"We are here for business Julian," Michael reminded him, checking his watch. "The window closes in twenty-four hours."
"Relax Michael," Julian grinned. "Money speaks all languages. And today, we are speaking loud."
The door opened.
Three n walked in.
The first two were directors from Inter Milan. They looked serious. They looked like n who ate sharks for lunch.
The third man was Benjamin Pavard.
The French defender looked like a movie star. He had curly hair, sad eyes, and he was wearing a jumper that probably cost more than Michael’s car. He looked bored.
"Gentlen!" Julian stood up. "Welco! Please, sit. Have so wine. It costs five thousand euros a bottle. It tastes like grapes."
The Inter directors sat down. They did not touch the wine.
"Mr. Thorne," the lead director said. "We are busy. You want Benjamin. We want money. Let us keep this simple."
"I like simple," Julian said. "Forty million euros."
The director laughed. It was a dry, dusty laugh. "Benjamin is a World Cup winner. He is in his pri. Forty million is for his left leg."
"Forty-five," Julian countered.
"Sixty," the director said.
"Fifty," Julian said. "And I will buy you a new team bus. With a jacuzzi."
The director paused. "A jacuzzi?"
"Two jacuzzis," Julian promised. "One for the players. One for you."
Michael watched the negotiation. It was insane. It was football business at the highest level, and it involved jacuzzis.
He looked at Pavard.
The player was staring out the window. He looked unhappy.
Michael stood up. He walked over to Pavard.
"Benjamin," Michael said.
Pavard looked at him. "You are the manager? The young one?"
"Yes," Michael said. "I am Michael. Listen. I know you are tired. You are tired of playing right back. You are tired of running up and down the line like a winger."
Pavard sat up straighter. "I am a center back. I want to defend. I want to control the ga. Here... they make run."
"At Barnsley," Michael said, "you will be the General. We have a Bull nad Diego. He destroys people. But we need a brain. We need soone to organize the chaos."
Michael opened his laptop. He activated the System.
[SCANNING TARGET...]
[NA: BENJAMIN PAVARD]
[POSITION: CB / RB]
[TRUE VALUE: £55,000,000]
[CURRENT MOOD: FRUSTRATED]
[HIDDEN DESIRE: LEADERSHIP]
"We play a high line," Michael said, showing Pavard the tactical map on the screen. "We take risks. We need a World Cup winner to tell the kids where to stand. You will not just be a player, Benjamin. You will be the Professor."
Pavard looked at the screen. He looked at the formation.
"The Carousel?" Pavard asked, pointing at the midfield. "I saw this on TikTok. It is crazy."
"It is crazy," Michael agreed. "Do you want to be part of the crazy?"
Pavard smiled. It was a small, tired smile. "I like crazy. Inter is... boring. Tactical. Slow."
Pavard turned to the directors.
"I want to go," Pavard said in Italian. "Let go."
The directors looked at Julian.
"Fifty-five million," the director said. "And the bus."
Julian slamd his hand on the table. "DONE! Waiter! More wine!"
Michael let out a breath. He had done it. He had signed a World Cup winner to replace Diego Nunez.
But as the champagne arrived, Michael’s phone rang.
It was Arthur Milton back in Barnsley.
"Boss," Arthur rasped. "We have a problem."
"What problem?" Michael asked. "We just signed Pavard."
"It is the Financial Fair Play," Arthur said. "The accountant just ran into my office screaming. We spent too much. The wages for Kai, Isaiah, and now the fee for Pavard... we are in the red. We need to sell soone. Today."
Michael froze.
"Sell who? I told you, the core is untouchable."
"Everton just called," Arthur said. "They want Finn Riley."
Finn Riley. The Wild Fox. The kid who had played left back against Newcastle when he didn’t know how to defend. The kid who was always smiling.
"How much?" Michael asked, his voice heavy.
"Twenty million pounds," Arthur said. "Pure profit. He is an academy product. If we sell him, the books are balanced. We are safe."
Michael looked at Julian, who was laughing with the Inter directors.
This was the ugly side of the empire. To build the future, sotis you had to sell the past.
"Finn loves this club," Michael whispered.
"Finn wants to play," Arthur said gently. "With Isaiah and Arda here... Finn is on the bench. Everton are offering him a starting spot. And forty thousand a week."
Michael closed his eyes. He thought about Finn. He thought about the team.
"Do it," Michael said. "Accept the bid."
The flight back to England was quiet.
Pavard was sleeping in the back of the private jet. Julian was playing poker with the pilot.
Michael sat by the window. He had to make the call.
He dialed Finn Riley’s number.
"Boss!" Finn answered on the first ring. "Did you get the French guy? Is he cool?"
"He is cool Finn," Michael said. "Listen. I need to talk to you."
"What is it Boss? Do you want to play in goal next week? I can do it. I have good hands."
Michael laughed sadly. Finn was always willing.
"Finn. Everton have made a bid for you."
Silence on the line.
"Everton?" Finn asked. "The Toffees?"
"Yes. Twenty million pounds. They want you to be their starting winger."
"Oh," Finn said. The energy dropped out of his voice. "So... you are selling ?"
"I have to Finn," Michael said honestly. "To bring in Pavard... to keep the club safe... we need the money. And you deserve to play. You deserve to be a star, not a substitute."
"I see," Finn whispered. "It is business."
"It is business," Michael agreed. "But Finn... you will always be a Barnsley boy. You helped build this. You scored against Newcastle in the mud. You are a legend here."
There was a sniffle on the other end.
"Okay Boss," Finn said, his voice wobbling. "Everton is okay. It is not too far. Can I... can I co back and say goodbye?"
"Of course," Michael said. "The door is always open."
Michael hung up. He felt sick.
He looked at his phone. The notification from the bank app popped up.
[TRANSFER COMPLETED]
[OUT: FINN RILEY -> EVERTON]
[INCO: £20,000,000]
[TRANSFER COMPLETED]
[IN: BENJAMIN PAVARD
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