"Why is there an emergency meeting?" Magnus asked, his voice controlled, though his heart thudded hard against his ribs, refusing to match the calm he tried to project.

There was a brief pause on the other end, papers rustling, voices overlapping faintly, before the secretary came back on, distracted.

"I’m sorry, Mr. Whitehall, but I need to make another call immediately," she said, urgency bleeding through every word.

Magnus’s grip tightened around the phone. "What does that—"

"The location is at the NHL headquarters. The panel is convening right now, Sir. Please hurry."

A click, and the line went dead.

Magnus lowered the phone slowly, staring at the darkened screen as if it might explain itself. The room felt tighter all of a sudden, the air heavier against his lungs.

"At the headquarters?" he muttered under his breath. "Why not my arena? That was the arrangement. The agreement."

But silence answered him.

His thoughts began to race, colliding, rearranging. Something had shifted. Something he hadn’t accounted for.

Roman. The name settled in his mind like a stone. He must have gone to the panel directly. Bypassed me.

Magnus let out a quiet, humorless breath, his jaw tightening. "That boy," he murmured, shaking his head faintly. "You’ve grown bolder than I expected."

For a moment, the room tilted. Not physically, but enough for him to feel the loss of control pressing in at the edges. He steadied himself, planting a hand against the desk.

Then he pushed his chair back and stood. No more hesitation.

His fingers rose to his lips, tapping lightly as he forced his thoughts into order, piece by piece. If Roman had made a move, then he needed to respond quickly and decisively. There was no room left for missteps.

He exhaled sharply, grabbed his phone, and strode toward the door. The handle turned, and the study opened to reveal Vance seated just outside, posture straight, attention immediate.

Magnus didn’t slow. "I need you on standby, Vance," he said, his tone clipped, urgent.

Vance frowned slightly but rose at once, falling into step behind him.

"I might need to give you very specific instructions," Magnus continued, his voice lowering as they moved down the hallway, footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor. "I may need you to act without hesitation."

There was something in the words, something sharp, unfamiliar.

Vance caught it. Fear. His brows drew together as he quickened his pace. "Is everything alright, Sir?" he asked carefully. "You sound different."

Magnus didn’t look at him. He didn’t stop. "I hope so," he said after a beat, the words measured, almost distant. "For Roman, and for the good of everyone."

They reached the entrance. The door was already being opened. Warm afternoon light spilled across the floor, cutting through the cool interior.

Magnus stepped into it without pause and slid into the back seat of his car. The door shut with a muted thud.

Vance remained where he was, just outside, watching.

For a brief moment, their eyes met through the tinted glass, and something in Magnus’s gaze sent a cold ripple down Vance’s spine.

Then the engine purred to life and the car pulled away, disappearing down the drive and into the brightness of the afternoon sun.

Vance stood there a second longer than necessary, the silence settling uneasily around him.

Whatever was coming next, it wasn’t going to be controlled.

—

Within minutes, Magnus’s car rolled into the parking lot of the NHL headquarters, the tires crunching softly against the gravel before coming to a smooth stop. The engine idled for a second, then fell silent.

Magnus exhaled slowly, steadying himself, as one of his men stepped forward and opened the door. Cool air brushed against his face as he stepped out, straightening his jacket with practiced ease.

For a brief moment, he simply stood there, taking in the building, the glass, the height, the quiet authority it carried.

Then his gaze shifted, landing on a car he knew all too well. Roman’s.

His chest tightened, the reaction immediate and unwelcome. He had expected this, of course. It wasn’t a surprise. And yet, seeing it sitting there so calmly, so undeniably present, sent a sharper pulse through him than he liked.

He drew in a slow breath, letting it out through his nose, forcing the tension down where it belonged. Then he started toward the entrance, each step measured, deliberate.

What is waiting for me in there?

"Welcome, Mr. Whitehall." The voice cut cleanly through his thoughts.

Magnus lifted his head, his expression already smoothing over, the flicker of unease gone as if it had never existed. The secretary stood by the entrance, composed, expectant.

"Is everyone here?" he asked, his tone even, controlled.

She nodded promptly. "Yes, Mr. Whitehall. Please, come with me."

He gave a short nod and followed. Their footsteps echoed faintly along the polished hallway, the sound too loud in the quiet. As they approached the meeting room, she stepped aside, gesturing toward the door.

Magnus slowed, just slightly. The weight of the unknown pressed in again, heavier now, settling somewhere beneath his ribs. He didn’t like this, walking into something unplanned, unseen.

Control had always been his ground. And right now, it felt like it was slipping.

He turned, intending to say something, but the secretary was already gone. And just like that, he was alone.

For the first time in years, his fingers trembled. Subtly. Barely noticeable, but there.

Instead of reaching for the handle, he slipped his phone from his pocket. The screen lit up against his palm as his fingers moved quickly.

Be ready, Vance. We might need to release the last evidence we have on Roman. Wait for my command.

He read it once, and then he hit send.

A small measure of control returned with the action.

Magnus slid the phone back into his pocket and finally reached for the door. His hand closed around the handle, the cool metal grounding him for a second.

He drew in a breath, deep, steady, then forgot to release it as he twisted the knob. For a fraction of a second, he closed his eyes. Then he pushed the door open. The hinges gave way with a soft creak.

And the moment the room revealed itself, the air left his lungs.

Magnus froze at the threshold. From where he stood, his eyes locked instantly onto Roman, seated at the table, posture relaxed, gaze sharp, waiting.

Slowly, almost unwillingly, Magnus’s gaze shifted to the side. And then his stomach dropped.

Mr. Saunders sat beside Roman. Present. Silent, but very, very real. His eyes, too, were fixed on Magnus.

The room felt smaller, like he was trapped.

"Hello, Father," Roman said, his voice calm, almost pleasant, cutting through the silence like a blade. A faint smile touched his lips. "Glad you could make it."

He leaned back slightly, completely at ease. "We’ve been waiting for you."