Football Dynasty-Chapter 5: Housing Survey

"Ah, you're back," the bookmaker said, eyeing Richard's betting slip. "So, what is it this time? Another wild punt on the dark horses?"

Richard slid the slip across the counter. "Argentina."

The bookmaker blinked. "Argentina?" He picked up the slip and gave it another glance, as if expecting more names. "That's it? Nothing else?"

Thinking about it for a moment, Richard decided to put a small sum of money on Denmark, the dark horse, as they were set to face Spain.

After that, Richard shrugged. "Yeah, everything's set."

The bookmaker frowned. "No love for the Soviet Union? Morocco?" A smirk tugged at his lips as he tried to bait Richard into another bold move. "C'mon, kid, don't tell me you've lost your nerve."

Richard chuckled, shaking his head. "You're joking, right? This is the Round of 16. The odds of them pulling it off now are next to nothing."

The bookmaker let out a sigh, clearly disappointed. This was the same young man who had defied logic in the group stage—betting big on the Soviets and Morocco when no one else dared.

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"Shame," the bookmaker muttered, stamping Richard's slip and handing it back. "Guess you're playing it safe this time."

Richard took the slip, tucking it neatly into his wallet. He smirked. "Safe doesn't mean losing."

The result was expected—Argentina won, and Denmark lose, increasing his £223,300 to £283,000.

The England vs. Paraguay match was equally satisfying. A 3-0 victory not only strengthened England's campaign but also left his father and brother pleased with their earnings.

Buoyed by their success, they were eager to bet on England again. But this time, Richard strongly objected, warning them that the stakes were getting too high.

"But Argentina can't beat England," his brother argued.

Richard was momentarily speechless before shaking his head. "Who says that? Argentina has Maradona! Why wouldn't they make it to the semifinals?"

"But we have Lineker."

"And Argentina has Valdano, Pasculli, Burruchaga, Giusti... the list goes on. Both teams are strong, but Argentina is still the favorite."

"But—"

"Harry," Richard interrupted sharply. "Football isn't politics."

If his brother truly believed that the Falklands War from four years ago would make Argentina submit on the pitch, he was sorely mistaken.

From the early 1900s to the late 2010s, South America—especially Brazil and Argentina—had consistently produced some of the greatest footballing talents in history.

Harry fell silent, a flicker of doubt crossing his face.

Sensing his hesitation, Richard took a deep breath and gently suggested, "Brother, maybe it's time to stop."

To his relief, their father agreed. Bryan stood up and spoke firmly, "Alright, we've made a decent profit. It's time to quit while we're ahead and focus on more important things. Harry, you have work tomorrow, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do, Dad."

"And Richard, have you thought about what you want to do once you've fully recovered?"

Richard nodded. "I think I'll continue my vocational school."

"Then you should start studying for the entrance exams too."

"Yes, Dad," Richard answered obediently.

"Good. Then both of you, go to your rooms. No more discussions about betting from now on. Understood?"

"Yes, Dad," the brothers replied in unison, though both were still reluctant to let go of their earlier debate about which team was stronger.

As Richard turned to leave, he glanced at his father's back and silently apologized. 'Sorry, Father... I had to lie.'

The next day, Richard made his way to William Hall on Streatfield Road, just as he had done before. Approaching the counter with a casual demeanor, he slid his betting slips forward.

The bookmaker's eyes lit up instantly. 'not bet on England?'

Richard placed a sizeable wager on Argentina—a logical choice, given their strong form. But mixed within were a few unexpected picks: a modest sum on Mexico and Spain, and a hefty bet on France!

France, of all teams. No one expected them to beat the mighty Brazil, the tournament favorites.

The bookmaker grinned with excitement. This was exactly what they had been waiting for. And it was exactly the reaction Richard wanted!

After his previous streak of success, the bookmakers had started keeping a closer eye on him. Winning too often would eventually lead to restrictions—smaller betting limits or, worse, an outright ban. He needed to throw them off.

These bets were placed with the sole intention of losing money. They were carefully chosen losses, calculated to create the illusion of recklessness. By mixing in bold, unlikely picks, he made himself look like just another gambler chasing high-risk payouts.

Once he was done, he pocketed his remaining slips and walked out of William Hall, heading toward another betting station to repeat the process.

After finishing his bets, Richard wandered through Islington, taking in the familiar sights and reflecting on its history.

Originally a rural village on the outskirts of London, Islington had grown into a thriving residential area during the medieval period, prized for its fresh water supply and open fields.

But like many inner-city areas, Islington had suffered through economic decline, and bomb damage during World War II. Over time, traditional industries moved out, many local shops disappeared, and the population declined.

Post-war modernization had done more harm than good. Historic terraced houses had been demolished or hastily renovated. Warehouses and office spaces sprang up without proper planning. Social housing projects, intended to revitalize the area, had only led to more disrepair.

Rather than breathing new life into the neighborhood, these efforts only made things worse. Many of the newly renovated terraces fell into disrepair, and much of the new housing developments were abandoned before they were even fully occupied.

To address the growing number of vacant properties, the government had introduced the Right-to-Buy policy, allowing council tenants to purchase their homes at a discount. Yet, despite these incentives, many homes remained abandoned—decaying and unwanted.

Flats became the preferred choice over houses because they were cheaper and offered a better sense of security. A locked main entrance and living several floors up provided a psychological and physical barrier that a standalone house simply couldn't.

The biggest challenge Islington faced was how to attract the "elites" and businesses to the borough, especially after disastrous plans for the eight-lane motorway and an Old Street-style roundabout—had nearly torn the borough apart before being scrapped.

Once these plans were scrapped, the focus shifted to rebuilding and preserving what was left. However, careless architecture and reckless landlords eager to demolish historic buildings remained a threat.

Richard already had a plan for it. Islington's biggest trump card was its history and central location.

"All of this will change next year," Richard mumbled unknowingly.

The Big Bang was coming.

A landmark agreement between the government and the London Stock Exchange was set to transform the financial sector, deregulating markets and opening the floodgates for foreign investment.

For the first time, global banks and investment firms would be able to set up in the City without restrictions. The result?

An influx of wealth, new businesses, and an unprecedented demand for prime real estate—including places like Islington, where entire streets had been neglected for years.

With money pouring in, derelict warehouses and rundown council estates, combined with the Right-to-Buy policy, made redevelopment inevitable. Islington next year would become a property hotspot.

"What?! You want to buy all the houses? How old are you?"

The official sitting across from him—a man in his thirties with thinning hair and a skeptical expression—stared at him in disbelief.

Buying property in Islington wasn't straightforward. If a house was still under council ownership, Richard had to go through Islington Council Housing. If it had already been sold, he'd need to negotiate directly with the owners or use a third party.

But Richard wasn't asking for just one or two houses. He wanted every available property. The official eyed him suspiciously.

"You do realize how much these houses cost, right?" His brow furrowed. "Even if they're in poor condition, they're still well above what most people can afford."

Areas like Packington Estate, Bemerton Estate, and the neighborhoods around Finsbury Park and Holloway had houses available—many of them unoccupied and in need of renovation.

Alongside these, vacant offices and abandoned warehouses presented further opportunities for acquisition. If approached strategically, these properties could be secured at a bargain before the market caught on to their true potential.

Richard leaned forward. "Sir, I'm an ex-footballer. With the money I've earned, I decided to invest."

The official stared at him for a moment, then scoffed. "Can you prove it?"

Verifying a buyer's identity and financial standing was standard procedure. In the 1980s, there was no national ID system in the UK, so most people used a National Insurance (NI) card or the Electoral Register.

Richard provided his details without hesitation. The official scanned them, then abruptly stopped. His eyes widened as he looked up, his expression shifting from doubt to realization.

"Wait... y-you're that Richard Maddox?"

Richard had expected this reaction. He gave a small, wry nod.

The man's skepticism vanished, replaced by excitement. He quickly stood up and shook Richard's hand. "My name is Stuart Olm. Nice to meet you! God, I heard about your injury! Are you sure you're okay?"

"Well, I'm standing right in front of you, aren't I?"

Before he could say more, Stuart turned and called to his colleagues. "Oi! You won't believe who's here! Richard Maddox from Sheffield Wednesday!"

Suddenly, Richard was surrounded.

"Did it hurt?"

"How long was your recovery?"

"Are you coming back to football?"

"Can I get an autograph?"

The room was a chaotic whirlwind of voices until—until a single cough silenced everyone.

"Ehem."

The once-animated employees froze, quickly retreating to their desks.

Someone important had arrived.

Richard wasn't sure who, but judging by the sudden shift in atmosphere, he guessed it was a senior one—possibly the head or something. After a brief exchange of pleasantries—questions about his health, career, and future plans—the newcomer nodded, allowing Richard to proceed with Stuart

"Phew, that was intense," Stuart muttered as things settled down.

"Was that your boss?" Richard asked.

"For housing? Yeah. That was the head of the main department." Stuart exhaled. "Anyway, let's get back to business."

Buying multiple properties came with strict regulations. The council needed to verify Richard's eligibility, intent, and financial capacity. They checked for past property purchases, outstanding debts, and legal issues.

"You really believe property values here will rise, don't you?" Stuart asked, studying him. "And you're willing to take on full maintenance responsibilities?"

Richard nodded. "Yes. I'll handle everything once I finalize the purchase."

"Hmm..." Stuart tapped his fingers on the desk. "Wait here for a moment."

Richard leaned back, confident. There was no way they'd reject his offer.

He'd even agreed to cover the repair costs. Even if he only restored the exteriors—fixing the plaster, repainting, and improving brickwork—it would still be a major improvement for the area.

More importantly, he was local.

Public objections and political concerns were always factors in bulk property sales, but his connection to the borough worked in his favor.

A short while later, Stuart returned, carrying a thick stack of documents.

"Alright," Stuart said, setting the documents down. "You must live in the property or remain the owner for at least three years before you can transfer ownership. Do you agree?"

"What if someone wants to buy the building before the three years are up?" Richard asked.

Stuart chuckled, amused. 'Who would want to buy houses here?'

Still, he remained professional. "If it's the council, they can buy it back directly. But if it's a private buyer, you'll need authorization from the council before making the sale."

"Oh, sure," Richard nodded.

"The next thing I want to tell you is that since you've committed to repairs and modernization, we can offer some flexibility—especially if you're considering taking out a loan or something similar. Also, just so you know, we'll be dispatching an inspector to assess the renovations. If everything meets the required standards, we may be able to offer you additional concessions. How does that sound?"

Richard smiled. "That sounds perfect. Please proceed with the process."