Alle Kapitel von Touchdown For The Devil : Kapitel 61 – Kapitel 70

The manila folder sat on the kitchen counter under the bright ceiling light. It was exactly ten fifteen on a Thursday night. Outside, the traffic from the streets hummed through the windows. Inside the apartment, it was completely quiet.Ariana sat on a tall wooden stool. Her fingers touched the edge of the thick paper envelope. She had not opened it yet, but she saw the official legal seal printed on the front. It came from a big corporate law firm downtown.Dante stood by the refrigerator. He was still wearing his dark grey Riverport Hounds practice gear. His broad shoulders were stiff against the white kitchen tiles. He kept his hands deep in his pockets, and his jaw was locked tight. He had not moved since the delivery guy left ten minutes ago."Open it," Dante said. His voice was low and rough.Ariana pulled the thick stack of papers out of the envelope. She laid them flat on the counter. She read the lines quickly, tracking the legal words the same way she checked camera setting

The traffic heading into the downtown core of Riverport was heavy and slow. Rain from the early morning had left the highway slick, and the tires of Dante's truck threw up a constant spray of grey water against the windshield. Ariana sat in the passenger seat, watching the massive steel bridges and brick factory buildings blur past the glass. She felt entirely calm. Her mechanical camera was tucked safely into her bag at her feet, and the certified copies of the Westbridge logbooks were zipped inside Adrian Cross’s leather briefcase in the back seat. Dante kept both hands locked tight on the steering wheel. He drove with a determined focus, his eyes tracking the brake lights of the cars ahead, but his jaw remained set in a hard line. "Don't look at him," Dante said suddenly, breaking the long silence in the cabin. "When we get inside that room, don't look at my father. He’s only there to see if he can make you flinch." "I’m not going to flinch, Dante," Ariana said smoothly, tur

The wait inside Adrian Cross’s downtown office took nearly three hours. The room was small and quiet, located ten floors below the corporate tower they had just left. Outside the glass window, the grey afternoon rain continued to fall over the Riverport docks, but inside, the only sound was the soft ticking of a wall clock. Elena Reyes sat on the leather couch near the door, her green coat draped over her shoulders. She was completely calm, her fingers gently holding a warm cup of tea. Ariana sat at the small conference table with her laptop closed, while Dante paced the narrow space between the desk and the window like a runner waiting for a race to start. His heavy boots made a dull thud against the carpet with every turn, his broad shoulders tense as the minutes dragged on without a word from the courthouse. At exactly four forty-five, the fax machine in the corner clicked to life with a sharp, mechanical chime. Cross stood up from his desk instantly, the wheels of his office

The live television broadcast began at precisely eight o'clock on Thursday evening. Dante and Ariana sat side by side on the hardwood floor of their living room, their backs resting against the base of the massive northern window. A single plate of untouched sandwiches sat on the floor between them. The apartment was completely dark except for the sharp blue glow coming from the laptop screen resting on Dante's knees. The familiar opening theme of the national sports network filled the room. A dramatic graphic flashed across the screen: EXCLUSIVE: Richard Cole Breaks His Silence on the Corporate Leaks and Family Fallout The broadcast cut to a brightly lit television studio downtown. Richard Cole sat in a black leather chair across from a veteran investigative reporter. He had traded his tailored executive suit for a dark charcoal sweater—a deliberate choice meant to make him look less like a ruthless CEO and more like a concerned father. But as Ariana leaned a little closer

The air inside the Hounds' locker room smelled of steam, athletic tape, and ice baths. Dante sat on the wooden bench in front of his locker, slowly unbuckling his heavy knee pads. His ribs were bruised from the linebacker's hit, leaving a large, dark red mark across his side, but his breathing was entirely even. Garrett Briggs walked over from the shower stalls, a thick white towel draped over his broad shoulders. He looked down at Dante’s ribs, then let out a low whistle. "Welcome to the league, man," Mason said, dropping into the seat beside him. "That was Miller who lit you up. He's led the division in tackles for three straight seasons. Most rookies don't walk away from their first practice with him." "He's fast," Dante said, his deep voice carrying a relaxed roughness as he reached for a clean grey t-shirt. "But the protection change worked. The ball got out." "The whole locker room's talking about it," Mason said, nodding toward the front of the room where three veteran off