Chapter 5 - Revoked in Front of Sixty Thousand
The collective gasp that rose from the surrounding rows was almost louder than the stadium music.
Vance’s face went pasty white. “Arthur… you can’t terminate an eight-figure partnership over a seating dispute! That’s breach of contract!”
“Read the morality clause in your sponsorship agreement, Richard,” Sterling said, his voice cutting like a razor. “Any conduct by a corporate partner that brings public disrepute or ethical embarrassment to the franchise constitutes immediate grounds for unilateral termination. Marcus, have the police escort Mr. Vance and his wife out of this building immediately.”
“Wait!” Vance’s wife shrieked, finally finding her voice as two officers took Vance by the elbows. “We paid for our suite! We have guests coming!”
“Your suite is locked, ma’am,” Sterling said without looking at her. “Your credentials are deactivated. Your banners on the south ribbon are being replaced with generic league branding right now. You are trespassing on private property. Get them off my concourse.”
As the officers turned Vance around and began marching him up the concrete steps toward the main exit tunnel, the entire section erupted into deafening cheers. People stood up on their seats, whistling and pounding their hands against the metal railings.
“Hit the road, clown!” a fan shouted.
“Go buy a ticket on the bus!” another yelled.
Vance kept his head down, shielding his face from the dozen smartphones flashing in his direction. His wife tripped twice on the steps, clutching her expensive bag to her stomach as the crowd’s jeers followed them all the way out of sight.
When the tunnel doors finally slammed shut behind them, an unusual stillness settled over our immediate area.
Arthur Sterling turned back toward Caleb. He dropped down on one knee onto the hard concrete, bringing himself directly to eye level with my eleven-year-old boy.
“What’s your name, son?” Sterling asked gently.
“Caleb, sir,” he whispered, his eyes still shining with unshed tears.
“Caleb,” Sterling repeated, looking at the faded number on Caleb’s chest. “You’ve got good taste in jerseys. Daniel’s been wearing that number for fifteen years. Did your mom tell you what happened to him when he was a rookie?”
Caleb swallowed hard and nodded. “He broke his collarbone in game four. But he came back for the playoffs.”
Sterling smiled warmly. “That’s right. Because he’s a fighter. And Evelyn here told Marcus that you’re quite a fighter yourself. She said you saved a little boy’s life.”
Caleb looked down at his lap. “I just didn't want him to get hit by the truck, sir. Anyone would have done it.”
“No, son,” Sterling said softly, reaching out to tap Caleb’s chest right over his heart. “Most people run away. Most people look after themselves, like that coward who just left. It takes a real champion to put himself on the line for someone else.”
Sterling stood up, turned to Evelyn, and gave her a slight nod. “Evelyn, Daniel just finished his pregame meeting in the field house. He’s got about twenty minutes before team introductions.”
Evelyn smiled, clicking the metal latch of her lunchbox shut once more. “Well, Arthur, don't you think it’s about time this boy saw where the real work gets done?”
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My heart stopped. “Wait… what?”
Sterling looked at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ma’am, those seats you bought are perfectly fine. But around here, when a true hero comes to Daniel Hayes’s retirement game, Section 112 just isn't close enough.”
