LOGINThe team’s off day fell between the re-vote and the second round’s opening game, and Walt declared it, unilaterally and without consulting anyone, a barbecue day.“Owner’s paying,” he told Sienna. Not really a question.“Since when do I not know about my own team’s social calendar?”“Since it works better when you don’t plan it and just show up.” He handed her a paper plate before she could argue further, and that, apparently, settled the matter.Sienna had spent the morning in Okafor’s office going over the third set of initials — still unmatched, still sitting in the fund record like a door without a handle — and she had arrived at the equipment bay with the particular tightness of someone who had been thinking hard for too long and needed something that didn’t require any thinking at all.Walt, she was learning, understood this about people without being told.The equipment bay had been transformed — folding tables, a smoker Walt swore he’d built himself from a repurposed oil drum,
Sienna found the answer at six in the morning, the same hour she’d been finding most of her answers lately, staring at Marty’s four pages until the obvious thing finally surfaced.She had been awake since four. Not anxiously — the anxiety had burned itself out somewhere around two, replaced by the particular alertness that came when she stopped trying to outthink something and let her mind go quiet enough to actually see it. She’d made tea she hadn’t drunk. She’d stood at the kitchen window watching the city decide whether it was going to rain. And somewhere in the gray space between three-forty-five and six, with Marty’s four pages spread across the table and Cole’s name at the bottom of each one, she’d found it.The answer was so simple it embarrassed her.She called Marty before she’d fully thought through how to say it.“Don’t fight the technicality,” she said, when he picked up. “Give it to him.”A pause. “Explain.”“He says the vote wasn’t announced properly. Fine — he’s right.
Cole called it a stewardship review.Sienna called it what it was: a man who had run out of patience looking for a technicality.The boardroom on Monday had a different energy from the first one — less shock, more calculation, the particular atmosphere of people who had read the standings and were deciding which way to sit before the music stopped. Two members who’d arrived at the first meeting firmly in Cole’s orbit had shifted in their chairs, almost imperceptibly, toward no particular side, which Marty had told her, in the car on the way over, was the closest thing to a compliment she was going to get from this board without a championship ring.Cole opened with statistics. Efficiency metrics, fan engagement, the one bad home loss three weeks ago that he presented as part of a larger pattern rather than an outlier. He was good at this — she had to give him that. He presented theater as analysis and analysis as concern and concern as the selfless stewardship of a man who had nothing
The statement was four pages, and Marty read it twice before he set it down and rubbed his eyes.Sienna watched him do it — the particular exhaustion of a man who had been three steps ahead of everything all year and had just found something he hadn’t anticipated. Marty didn’t rub his eyes unless he meant it. She had learned that about him the way she’d learned everything about him — slowly, by watching, by paying attention to the things he didn’t say as much as the things he did.She felt her stomach drop before he’d said a word.“He’s challenging the suspension vote. Not the resignation,” he said.Sienna looked at him.“He’s still resigning?”“We can’t say yet. But he’s arguing the board had no authority to suspend him before he resigned. If the court agrees, he could regain access to the building during the transition.”Sienna stared at the four pages.“So he’s leaving,” she said slowly, “while fighting for the right to come back.”Marty nodded. “That’s exactly what he’s doing.”Si
The building was louder than she had ever heard it, and she’d heard it plenty loud this year.Dean’s name in the starting lineup brought a wall of sound that started in the lower bowl and rolled up through the whole arena. Eighteen thousand people were on their feet for a captain who’d missed six games and watched his little brother carry the room in his absence with a grace that made everyone a little afraid of what this team would look like with both Maddoxes healthy at once.Sienna watched from the box, Marty beside her, Tessa two seats down in a Renegades scarf she’d bought under protest and now refused to take off.She had been in this box for every home game this season, and she had learned, over the months, how to read the building the way you learn to read a person — the particular noise it made when something was about to happen versus when something already had, the way eighteen thousand people collectively held their breath before a shot and released it all at once dependin
The investigator’s name was Diane Okafor, and she arrived on a Wednesday with a rolling case of files and the unhurried thoroughness of a woman who had clearly done this exact job at other organizations and learned not to rush any part of it.Sienna had been dreading this meeting in a quiet, unexamined way since the complaint was filed — not because she had anything to hide, but because there is a particular vulnerability in handing everything you’ve built to someone whose job is to look for cracks. She had spent nine months learning which cracks were hers and which belonged to other people, and now she was going to sit across a desk and let a stranger make her own assessment.She made herself sit straight. She made herself breathe.“I want to be direct with you both from the start,” Okafor said, in Hank’s office, Marty beside Sienna across the desk from her. “This isn’t a hearing. I’m not handing down a verdict today, or this month. I’m here to build a complete record, and complete r







