"Michael."
Michael turned, slowly.
His father, Richard Sterling, was standing ten feet away.
In his hand, he gripped his phone so tightly his knuckles were white.
"They... they're calling me," Richard whispered, his voice a dry, rattling rasp. "My own players. My... my stars. The ones I... I trusted."
He looked up, his eyes, which Michael had only ever seen filled with anger or arrogant pride, were now... empty. They were hollowed out, lost.
"Thiago Velasco... my World Cup winner. He... he just terminated his own contract," Richard stammered, his mind clearly unable to process the words. "He said he wouldn't be 'humiliated.' He said he was... he was... 'retiring.' My captain, Shaw... he's... he's demanding a transfer."
Richard took a shaky step forward, the King now a beggar. "They're calling me a 'dinosaur,' Michael. My own team. The team my father built. It's... it's falling apart."
