Page 46 of Bar Down

Ten thousand dollars from each of you or the data goes public. Venmo it to this number.

Below it, a countdown clock: 59:52:13... 59:52:12... 59:52:11...

Almost two hours had passed since Stephanie would have seen it. Marcus's jaw clenched, a cold fury settling in his chest, replacing the post-game adrenaline. He scanned the locker room, checking if anyone had noticed his reaction. His teammates were occupied with their usual routines—Dmitri loudly recounting his goal, Kane fielding questions from reporters in the corner, others quietly stripping off gear.

Marcus typed quickly:Got the message. Need to talk.

Stephanie's response came seconds later:On the bus. Not before.

She was right. Eyes and ears everywhere.

Across the room, Chenny was hunched over his phone, his hair still damp from the shower. Marcus was going to get him involved. Chenny might be able to help them pin everything on Reed. But approaching Oliver about it would have to wait until they had a more private moment.

Marcus methodically completed his post-game routine, his movements automatic while his mind calculated angles and scenarios. Reed had to be behind this. The timing, the target, the approach—it all aligned with his pattern of operations. The pieces fit, but they couldn't prove it. Not yet.

By the time he boarded the team bus, most players were already seated, either sleeping or buried in phones and tablets for the ride to the airport hotel. Their flight back to New Haven wasn't until morning, but the team was staying at the Toronto airport Marriott to minimize travel time.

Marcus headed for his usual spot in the middle, finding Stephanie already seated there, an empty spot beside her. She was dressed in her usual post-game attire—tailored slacks and a blouse under a Chill-branded quarter-zip—but her hair was down around her shoulders, and tension radiated from her usually composed form.

She looked up as he approached, a flash of relief crossing her features.

"This seat taken?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

"I saved it for a breakdown of tonight's defensive coverage," she replied, the slight tremor in her voice betraying her calm expression.

Marcus sat, immediately aware of her thigh pressing against his. "Twenty thousand dollars," he said quietly, pitching his voice below the ambient noise of the bus. "That's their opening demand."

"I know." Under the cover of darkness as the bus pulled away from the arena, Stephanie's hand found his, gripping tightly. "I don't have that kind of money, Marcus. Not with what I've been paying in legal fees since Boston."

The reference to her previous career implosion reminded him of the stakes. He squeezed her hand, anger simmering beneath his controlled exterior.

"We're not paying," he said firmly. "It won't stop with one payment."

Stephanie turned slightly toward him, their faces close enough that he could see the fear behind her professional mask. "If this data gets out, I'm finished. Second PR disaster in three years? No team will touch me."

"And I'd be seen as betraying the team," Marcus finished, the muscle in his jaw working. "They'd think I was cataloging their weaknesses to make myself look better."

"Your contract renewal—"

"Would be DOA," he finished. "I've run the projections."

The countdown clock on his phone now read 58:43:27. Nearly an hour had passed since he'd seen the message. Time was slipping away.

Around them, the bus was quiet—some players already dozing, others lost in music or conversation. In the shadows of their seats, they existed in their own world of crisis.

"It has to be Reed," Marcus said, certainty hardening his tone. "Working with Ramirez."

"I think so too, but we can't prove it," Stephanie replied, frustration evident in her voice. "And without proof, we can't go to Westfield or Montgomery."

A few rows ahead of them, Marcus spotted Chenny with headphones on, fingers flying over his tablet. The tech-savvy winger might be their best chance at uncovering the truth.

"Chenny could help us," Marcus said quietly. "His cybersecurity knowledge is better than mine."

"Can we trust him with this?" Stephanie asked, studying Chenny's profile.

"He understands discretion. His anxiety channel has taught him about keeping confidences." Marcus had analyzed all his teammates' psychological profiles as part of his performance metrics. Chenny was private, dependable, and had a strong sense of justice.

"We should talk to him on the flight tomorrow," Stephanie decided. "More privacy. Less chance of being overheard."

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