"Sir, can I bail out Ian now?" Richard asked, his eyes fixed on the officer nearby.
"This..." The officer hesitated.
Richard sighed at this. Without another word, he reached into his jacket, pulled out a thick bundle of bills, and slid them into the his jacket.
"No worries. Let take care of the paperwork and escort you both out." The officer said, straightening up, now more confident.
Ian, who had been sitting in the holding area, heard the words and froze. He sat still for a mont. When the door opened and Richard stepped in, their eyes t. Ian stood up, a mix of gratitude and confusion on his face.
"Co on. Let's get out of here. Your wife and son must be waiting for you."
Hearing the words "wife and son," Ian's voice cracked as he looked up at Richard. "You really... you really ca through for ."
Richard nodded, his gaze softer now. "I did what I had to. But you're going to need to make things right."
There was no need to say more. There was still plenty of ti for them to talk.
The journey back ho was quiet.
Ian, still confused about everything that had just happened, kept silent. Sensing the tension in the car, Fay deliberately drove a little slower.
Ian was the first to break the silence. "Why?" he asked, his voice filled with confusion. "Why did you save ?"
Richard glanced at him, then answered calmly, "To sign you and make you my player."
"Oh," Ian replied, his eyes drifting to the passing scenery outside the window.
Too much hope. And in the end, it all felt like empty words. He was afraid.
Richard had already explained his role: an agent, not a scout, clearing up all the confusion. Even Richard himself actually hadn't understood the full picture until now.
Pettigrew— that rat— had told Ian to avoid signing with him at all costs, warning him it would ruin his career. But now, Ian knew who had truly tried to sabotage his future.
"Are you still playing for Lewisham?" Richard asked, trying to keep the conversation going.
Ian shook his head. "No, I'm playing for Greenwich Borough."
"Is it good there?"
"..."
Richard pressed further, asking more questions until Ian finally opened up. Ian shared how the rejection from City had shattered his family, especially his abusive stepfather, who didn't hesitate to kick him and his family out of the house.
Holess, Ian could only grit his teeth and sign semi-professional terms with Greenwich Borough, all while still working as a plasterer to support his family.
"If you hadn't co, I honestly would've given up on football and beco a laborer instead," Ian said, his voice low.
Richard took a deep breath, processing Ian's words. Thankfully, all of this still hadn't gone too far.
"Do you still want to play football?" Richard finally asked, his voice quiet.
Ian could only smile wryly, mocking himself. "You know what? Mr. Pigden used to co to my house, pick up, and drive directly to training."
"..."
"It was for Southend and Brighton. Mr. Pigden really believed in . But I..." Ian paused, his hand covering his mouth as the emotion caught in his throat. His voice cracked, heavy with regret.
"..."
"But I ended up in prison. I didn't see it back then, but they were trying to keep out of trouble, trying to steer right. And I blew it... all because I couldn't wait. I was too impatient, too desperate to prove myself, and now look where I am."
"..."
"Becoming a professional was just an illusion. I'm too disillusioned by it all."
"So, you would just give up? After all your sacrifices?" Richard finally asked.
"..." This ti, Ian couldn't answer.
Richard didn't push him. "Ian, what I know is this: We often look at successful people and assu their paths have always been smooth, that everything has been easy for them to get to where they are today."
"..." Ian stayed silent, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, his thoughts elsewhere as the cars passed by.
"Do you know that—no, do you believe—that all the experiences you've faced, everything you've gone through, have shaped you into soone stronger? More resilient?"
"..."
Deprived childhood, an abusive stepfather, a bullying older stepbrother.
His real father had absconded, leaving his mother to raise their family in a one-bedroom house that, if Ian were to describe it, he would call 'a place that wasn't a ho.'
That's why he spent hours outside, kicking a tennis ball against a brick wall for hours on end.
Weed-smoking, gambling, staying out late, blowing his wages—his life had been a whirlwind of chaos, weighed down by destructive habits.
If he hadn't been strong enough to hold himself back, he probably would've followed his stepfather's lead.
Thankfully, he managed to persist. His stepfather was tough, but he always found himself bearing the brunt of the anger. Even now, he couldn't understand why he was the constant target of his hatred.
"Are you afraid?" Richard asked suddenly, his words slicing through the tension, striking deep within Ian.
Ian instinctively turned toward Richard, their eyes locking.
Richard also locked eyes with Ian Wright. With brutal honesty, he said, "Ian, I don't care what Pettigrew said about . But let make one thing clear: If you fail, I'll kick you out. And I won't hesitate."
Ian was stunned. Even Fay, who had been driving in silence, slamd his foot on the brake in shock.
"Goddamn, Fay! CAN YOU DRIVE PROPERLY?!" Richard barked, his frustration rising.
"S-sorry!" Fay stamred, quickly regaining control of the wheel and driving at a more even pace.
Richard cursed under his breath, rubbing his face in exasperation. 'Hah... this really ruins the mood,' he thought, as the tension he'd built up so carefully shattered in an instant.
Leaning back in his seat, Richard's tone dropped, becoming more serious, yet still carrying the weight of his words. "You've heard the rumors, right? About . That I'm a bad guy, a terrible person. My injuries, my speeches on TV, my gambling habits... it's all out there."
A silence fell between them, thick and uncomfortable. Then Richard's voice dropped even lower. "But none of that changes what I see in you. And if you think I'm here to give you so free pass, you're wrong. It's not about pity. You've got to prove yourself to . I make money from you. Every. Single. Day. Do you understand ?"
Ian felt the weight of Richard's words settle deep in his chest. It hit him like a slap to the face, but strangely, it brought him so relief.
Because he was tired. Tired of empty promises, tired of rejection, tired of false hope.
This was it—no more excuses, no more waiting. It was on him now, every single day, to prove that he was worthy.
The man sitting next to him wasn't here to coddle him. The words stung, but they were the truth. he wasn't going to hold his hand.
He had already made it clear that he would squeeze him dry. Richard wasn't here out of charity—he was here to make money off him. But, oddly enough, that didn't scare him. It was better than the hollow words of encouragent that would've made him sick.
After all, everyone worked for money, right?
It was ti to rise up, to fight for what he wanted. The person sitting next to him believed in him—and that was all he needed.
This ti, he wasn't going to run. He was going to face the challenge head-on, fists clenched. "I'll prove it," Ian muttered under his breath.
He wasn't sure if Richard had heard him, but it didn't matter. It was a promise he made to himself. And this ti, he was determined to keep it.
Richard slapped his thigh with a grin. "Good, that's good! Fay, turn the car around—we're going to Selhurst now."
Fay glanced at Richard through the rearview mirror, brows furrowed. "Selhurst? What for?"
"Of course, for a trial!"
"A trial?"
This ti, it was Ian who looked confused. 'Didn't he still have a contract with Greenwich Borough?'
"Don't worry, I've already bought out your contract," Richard waved his hand dismissively.
That shocked Ian the most. The rumors about he recklessly spending money on things that made no sense were apparently true. It was mind-boggling how he didn't even flinch at the cost.
If Richard had known Ian was thinking that, he would've clicked his tongue and said, 'It's not about spending money recklessly—it's about spending it efficiently and effectively!'
Ian Wright's salary at Greenwich Borough was just £30 a week, which ant over the next two years, his contract was worth a little over £3,120.
But Richard hadn't bothered to explain the details—it wasn't necessary. In truth, it wasn't just £3,120.
To secure Ian's release, Richard had also promised to fund the club's gym renovations, covering new equipnt and upgrades. The cost far more than just a few thousand. But to Richard, it was an investnt.
By the ti they arrived at Selhurst Park, the sun was already starting to set. In front of the stadium, Richard and his group were waiting for soone.
The mont the car parked, Richard didn't waste ti—he stepped out imdiately and extended his hand.
"Mr. Prentice, sorry we're late."
"Haha, no worries," Prentice replied with an easy smile before turning to Ian, who stood frozen in place. "Ian, nice to et you again."
"Y-You—" Ian stamred, his eyes widening in shock.
Peter Prentice. A Crystal Palace scout. Ian knew exactly who he was.
Back when when he was still playing for Greenwich Borough and working as a plasterer to support his family, Prentice had approached him not once, not twice, but three tis.
And each ti, he had turned him down, which was why standing here now face-to-face with him, Ian couldn't help but be confused.
"Mr. Prentice, then I'll leave Ian in your care."
Ian was dumbfounded. 'W-wait, what just happened?'
Richard simply placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "You'll be staying here at Selhurst Park for six months," he said before leaning in and whispering, "Make the most of this ti. I want to see you playing in the first team by the latter half of the season. Understand?"
"But my family—"
"Don't worry about them." Richard stated before pulling out his brick phone and pressing it against Ian's chest. "Your wife already knows about your situation. You just need to say hello now."
The trial at Selhurst Park would last six months. That was because, at Ian Wright's age, he was already in his pri, aning the club needed more ti to observe and evaluate him properly.
Richard had already spoken with scout Peter Prentice and current manager Steve Coppell, and, fortunately, they were willing to give Ian a chance.
With their cooperation secured, the only remaining issue was Ian's family—which Richard had handled easily. After all, when money talks, problems tend to disappear.
The only real obstacle left was communication. Richard sighed at the thought. If only the internet were more advanced, everything would move so much faster.
After settling Ian Wright's situation, Richard bid farewell to everyone at Selhurst Park and left the stadium with Fay.
The mont he sank into the passenger seat, he let out a deep sigh. "Thanks, Fay," he muttered.
If it weren't for his car, he might have been too late—not too late in the sense of Ian Wright giving up on his football career, but too late to make a real impact and leave his mark on his life. That, to him, mattered just as much.
Now that he thought about it, he had money. Maybe it was ti to buy his own car instead of constantly relying on others.
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