The November wind rattled the windows of the Sterling Era Training Complex. Inside the office of Michael Sterling it was warm but the atmosphere was heavy with numbers.
Michael sat at his desk. He was not looking at tactical maps. He was looking at bank accounts.
Arthur Milton sat opposite him. The old scout looked miserable. He was holding a glass of dark purple liquid.
"Drink it Arthur," Michael said without looking up.
"It tastes like soil," Arthur complained staring at the beetroot juice. "It tastes like I am licking a garden."
"Leo Volt says it improves blood flow to the brain," Michael said. "We need big brains for the transfer window. Drink."
Arthur closed his eyes and swallowed the juice in one gulp. He shuddered.
"Horrible," Arthur gasped. "If we do not win the league I am suing Leo Volt."
Michael laughed. He turned his laptop around.
"Look at this Arthur. Forget the juice. Look at the value."
