Page 43 of Slap Shot
"And he's not just targeting me anymore. He's targeting everyone I care about." Oliver stood abruptly, Charlie scrambling to keep up. "Don't you see, Heather? This is exactly what he did before. He studies his targets, learns what they value most, then uses that knowledge to destroy them."
"So what does he value?" Heather asked, moving to her computer.
"What do you mean?"
"Everyone has pressure points, right? Including Kai." Her fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up databases and cross-referencing information. "If he's spent years planning this revenge, there has to be something driving him beyond just hatred for you."
Oliver watched her work, feeling something shift in his chest. The panic was still there, the fear for her safety, but underneath it was something else. Admiration. Not just for her technical skills, but for her refusal to be paralyzed by the threat they were facing.
"You're looking for leverage," he realized. Oliver moved behind her chair, studying the data over her shoulder. “He's not just planning revenge. He's planning a return to the criminal world."
“And using you and the Chill as a resume booster, I’m guessing.”
“It’s all my fault.” Despair threatened to drown him.
Heather gripped his shoulders. “The hell it is.”
“These attacks are because of me.”
“Kai’s not going to know what hit him,” Heather said.
“What do you mean?”
"We’re not playing defense anymore," Heather said, her eyes hardening. "We’re going on the offensive."
Chapter Thirteen
Heather
Except Kai beat her to the puck.
"CHILL SALARY DATA LEAKED: Backup Goalie Earns More Than Starter"
"Team in Turmoil: Secret Bonuses Revealed in Massive Data Breach"
"Kovalchuk Under Fire: Did Female Coach Play Favorites?"
“Fuck,” Heather muttered, rubbing sleep out of her eyes as her phone alerts got her out of bed. The headlines blazed across her laptop screen like digital fire, each notification another nail in her professional coffin. She logged into the Chill’s network to check the damage.
That bastard.
She was going to make him eat his computer.
Her phone exploded with incoming calls. Jack Westlake's name flashed urgent red, followed immediately by Stephanie, then Oliver. Text messages flooded in faster than she could read them, a cascade of crisis management and damage control that made her stomach lurch.
She answered Oliver's call while stumbling toward her closet, the phone wedged between her shoulder and ear.
"How bad is it?" His voice was tight, controlled, but she could hear the underlying panic.
"Complete salary breakdown for every player, coach, and staff member." Heather yanked a blazer off its hanger, her free hand pulling up news sites on her laptop. "Performancebonuses, injury clauses, signing incentives, everything that could possibly cause friction between teammates."
"Shit. The team's going to implode."
"That's the idea." She kicked off her sleep shorts, hopping into work pants while scrolling through the leaked data. "Sven earning nearly five thousand more than Liam makes. Your performance bonuses showing management values you way above your line placement, even Coach Vicky's salary negotiations tied to metrics that make her look like she's playing politics."
"This is exactly what Kai wanted. Turn us against each other."
"It's not just the salaries," she said, scrolling over increasingly vicious comments. "People are questioning every decision Vicky's made. Why Sven gets backup money when he never plays. Why Ethan has performance clauses when Mateo doesn't. They're painting your coach as either incompetent or corrupt."
