Page 9 of Sealing the Deal

I don’t know who I’d be without him. I left for college a bitter and confused kid. Rooming with a boy from Colorado, new to the city, wholesome and green, should’ve driven me insane. Instead, it saved me. Donny cared. In a steady, uncomplicated way I didn’t even recognize as care at first. He dragged my ass to class and study groups, and just as often he snapped my books shut and hauled me to a bar when I needed a break. And I did the same for him. If I ever had to walk into battle, I wouldn’t want armor or backup or a plan. I’d want Donny by my side.

From the front of the room, the publicist, James, clears his throat. “Um… where do you want me to start, Mr. Ashborne?” Even the kid’s voice wobbles.

I glance at the iPad in front of me. Headlines. Screenshots. Social media posts. Comments section carnage. No wonder he’s scared. This is a PR wildfire.

STORMHAWKS FANS ERUPT AFTER ASHBORNE NAME LEAKS

HUBERTS SELL OUT TO CORPORATE RAIDER

WILL THE STORMHAWKS SURVIVE A RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE?

Everything has the same hashtag—#NotMyOwner.

I see more than a few compilation clips of Ashborne Holdings acquisitions. It’s the same clips I’ve seen a hundred times before. Boarded-up storefronts, abandoned community centers. I exhale slowly. I knew the fallout would be bad. This is nothing I haven’t faced before.

Beside me, Donny groans, dragging his hand down over his face. “Why don’t we start with how the hell this leaked?”

It’s the same question Donny has been asking since Monday morning, and based on the way James swallows, shooting a longing look at the door he’s no doubt getting ready to bolt through, there’s still no answer.

My phone vibrates on the conference table. I know without checking that it will be one of my teams in New York. My projects there haven’t paused just because I bought a football team. I shove my phone in my pocket, ignoring the pull to answer.

“The how doesn’t matter now. It’s happened,” I say. “Let’s focus on moving forward.”

James nods so fast I’m worried his head might come loose. He tugs at his shirt collar. “So… as you know, the leak of Mr. Ashborne buying the Stormhawks has caused a lot of unrest this week. We’d hoped to avoid releasing the information until the spring—during the offseason—when things were calmer and we could’ve controlled the story. The plan was for you to sit down for a couple of interviews with the morning shows, plus some profile pieces and photo ops. To show you’re not…”

“The devil?” I offer, swiping to the meme of my face with digitally added horns and glowing red eyes—the one that’s racked up a few hundred thousand shares already. “This one’s my favorite. Really captures my good side.”

A choked noise escapes James. Donny looks like he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. It isn’t funny. All our necks are on the line, and yet I fight a smile too, because there’s a part of me that wonders if a certain fiery-as-hell bartender is behind some of this, considering the devil meme surfaced on the Red Zone on Tuesday.

James offers a weak smile. “Yes. Some of the fan reaction has been… intense. And unfortunately, the statement Mr. Hubert released after the leak didn’t go quite as planned.”

“That’s an understatement.” Donny sighs, no longer amused.

I can’t blame him. Fans might not trust me, but we’d hoped their trust in the Huberts would be enough. Instead, Donny’s statement, attempting to reassure Denver that I’m actually a decent guy, only made things worse. It made them suspect that the Huberts are supporting whatever plans I have.

They haven’t got their own memes or protest signs yet, but the comments on social media are clear. Donny and his family need to lie low.

Which means I’m on my own.

“Based on the numbers of people out there this morning,” I say, “there’s no sign of these protests dying down.”

“I’m already fielding calls from the sponsors,” Donny says. “They’re worried. A boycott from fans could easily become a boycott of their products. We need to turn this around before contracts with sponsors are renewed after the playoffs.”

James straightens, finding a sliver of confidence now the worst has been said out loud. “The Ashborne Holdings reputation seems to be our biggest issue right now,” he says. “We still believe another statement to clarify⁠—”

“And I keep telling you, another statement won’t help.” I sigh. “Let me explain how Ashborne Holdings works, James. They don’t knock on the doors of struggling businesses and announce who they are and their plans to ultimately destroy them. They use shell companies. They call themselves different names. They’re sneaky. They promise investment and support. The first cuts are wrapped up in words like ‘strategic decisions’ and ‘streamlining.’ Then they bring in the wrecking balls.”

The guilt hits like a gut punch even after all these years. Enough that, for a moment, I feel it might eat me alive. I think of the family standing, surrounded by their possessions, as a foreclosure sign is hammered to their front door. I was eight years old, and my father took me with him to show me his latest acquisition. For as long as I live, I’ll never forget the heartbreak in that mother’s eyes.

“You’re not your father,” Donny says with a fierceness that makes me love him all the more. “Your company is Grayson Global. You’re nothing to do with Ashborne Holdings.”

“Except that’s not true, is it? Because I still have a board seat on Ashborne Holdings, and, either way, they won’t believe us if I try to tell them outright that I’m here to help.”

I’ve been fighting the Ashborne Holdings shadow my entire life. My father’s company is the one behind the boarded-up storefronts and gutted communities, not mine. But people rarely make the distinction. Everyone assumes he’s quietly bankrolling me, pulling the strings, grooming me to take over his legacy. The reality couldn’t be further from the truth. Not after everything he’s done.

After college, I did what was expected and joined my father at Ashborne Holdings, planning to bring change from within. It didn’t take me long to see that Charles Ashborne only did things one way, and that way was his. So I left and got as far away from my father’s shadow as I could. Something he still hasn’t forgiven me for.

I spent most of my twenties building skyscrapers in Dubai, luxury eco-cities in Singapore, and private resort communities in South America. Projects where beauty and function mattered. Where the world didn’t have to look like a battleground between power and greed. Where innovation didn’t cost someone their livelihood or their home.