ALL NOVEL CHAPTER 37: Cleaning House
The president of the SFB leaned back in his leather chair, a deep frown etched into his face as he rubbed his aching stomach. The stress had been building up for days, and now it had culminated in the burning sensation gnawing at his gut. Reaching into his desk drawer, he pulled out a bottle of Tums and popped a couple into his mouth, crunching them slowly as he tried to focus on the mess that had been dropped into his lap.
*Stupid ulcers. I’m going to quit this job and sit on a beach someday.* The thought of lying in the sun with a cold drink was the only thing keeping him from throwing his phone out the window and walking out of his office. *Maybe Tahiti. Just me, a hammock, and no damn rulebooks.*
A stack of files sat before him, courtesy of Marion, his ever-efficient assistant. She had meticulously gathered every document related to the fiasco, from emails and meeting notes to the dusty old rulebook that had started it all. As he skimmed through the pages, it became increasingly clear that this entire debacle had been triggered by one person—Chuck Barlow.
Chuck had been with the SFB for five years, a loyal company man who had never caused a problem before. But now, this one “little insignificant worm,” as the president called him in his head, had somehow thought it was a brilliant idea to enforce a rule that had never been an issue. Yes, it was technically in the rulebook, but it hadn’t been enforced since year one. The rulebook itself hadn’t been cleaned up in years, filled with outdated and nonsensical regulations that no one had thought to remove.
*Who the hell even wrote half of this crap?* The president thought as he flipped through the brittle pages. *What is this, the Ten Commandments of bureaucratic nonsense?*
“Marion,” the president called out, his voice a mix of frustration and exhaustion.
“Yes, sir?” Marion responded promptly, stepping into his office.
“Make a note to clean up the rulebook. Get rid of anything that’s completely nonsensical. We don’t need another fiasco like this.”
“Understood, sir,” Marion replied, jotting down the task in her notebook.
The president sighed and looked out the window, the city skyline doing little to calm his nerves. Chuck had to be fired. There was no other option. Whether this was an act of sheer incompetence or something more deliberate, it had caused a PR nightmare. Disqualifying a heavy fan favorite and an undeniably skilled fighter like Atlas had put the entire SFB organization’s reputation at risk. The fans were already in an uproar, social media was a minefield, and sponsors were calling, demanding explanations. The whole thing was a disaster waiting to implode.
The door to his office creaked open, and in walked Chuck Barlow, looking more than a little confused.
“The President looked directly at Chuck and said curtly, "You're fired."
Chuck’s face registered shock and confusion. He blinked a few times, trying to process the words. "What?" he managed to ask, his voice wavering with disbelief. He glanced around the room as if hoping someone would explain the sudden and unexpected turn of events.
“What do you mean I’m fired?” Chuck stammered, clearly caught off guard. “That’s completely bullshit. I’ve been here for five years. Do you know what I’ve done here? A lot.”
The president’s expression remained stern. “Chuck, we appreciate the work you’ve put in, but what you did was Atlas was both irresponsible and unthinking. You’ve put this entire organization in a bad spot.”
Chuck looked like he wanted to argue, but the fight quickly drained from his face. “What I did? I was just helping—” He stopped himself, realizing he was about to say too much. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”
“No, Chuck, continue,” the president pressed, his eyes narrowing. “Who were you helping?”
Chuck hesitated, then let out a long breath. “It was Mohammed who called me. He asked me to have a quick look to see if Team Portal Crushers were breaking any rules. And when I reviewed the rules, they were. So I made the call. If I didn’t, maybe Sword and Iron would have put up a fuss.”
The president’s expression hardened. “Mohammed, huh? Let’s see about that.”
He picked up his phone and quickly dialed Mohammed’s number, setting it to speaker so Chuck could hear.
***
POV SWORD & IRON HQ
Mohammed was pacing in his office, a deep frown marring his usually calm features. *Damn it, Chuck,* he thought, his irritation simmering just below the surface. He’d only intended for Chuck to check the rules, not blow everything up like this. But now, he was stuck in this mess, too, and the SFB would undoubtedly be gunning for him. And yet, as much as he regretted the situation, a part of him couldn’t help but be annoyed with Atlas. *Why does that guy always have to get the spotlight?* Mohammed thought. *And why did Chuck have to take it this far?*
The phone rang,
“Hello, Mohammed,” the president began, his tone neutral but edged with steel. “I heard from Chuck that it was your idea to disqualify Team Portal Crushers.”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before Mohammed’s voice came through, defensive and surprised. “Whoa, whoa, whoa there, buddy. I had no idea they were going to be disqualified. I just asked Chuck to look into the rules to make sure everything was clean, that nobody was cheating.”
The president leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on Chuck. “Right. I was born during the day, but it wasn’t yesterday. I’m not going to disqualify your team, Mohammed, because that would be ridiculous—especially since you guys are the champions. But I think a $10,000 shadow ban would be a good little warning.”
Mohammed was silent for a moment, clearly not happy about this turn of events, but he knew he had little choice. “Fine. How do you want to handle it?”
“We’ll be moving the $10,000 into a new fund we’re creating called the SFB Ideas Charity. Any good idea that’s creative and helps the SFB, can pull money out from there.”
Mohammed’s sigh was heavy and audible through the speaker. “Fine,” he said again, his tone tinged with resignation.
The president ended the call, then turned back to Chuck. “That’s how you handle a situation without making a mess of things. Unfortunately, Chuck, I still have to let you go. This whole situation could have been avoided if you’d used a little more common sense.”
Chuck nodded, defeated. He knew there was no point in arguing further. He’d made a mistake, and now he was paying the price. As he turned to leave, he couldn’t help but glance back at the president, wondering what had just happened. *Five years down the drain,* Chuck thought, bitterly.
After Chuck left the office, Marion re-entered with a concerned look. “What’s the next step, sir?”
“We need to do damage control,” the president said, his mind already racing. “Put out a statement that blames this on an overzealous bureaucrat who’s been let go. Make it clear that Team Portal Crushers will be allowed back in the season and participate in the second part of the draft.”
Marion nodded. “And what about the draft itself?”
The president allowed himself a small smile. “Let’s sweeten the deal for them. Originally, Team Portal Crushers would have gone last out of the wildcard teams. But because of this screw-up, they’ll go first. Let’s make sure everyone knows that.”
Marion smiled as well, appreciating the fairness of the gesture. “I’ll get on it right away.”
As she left the office, the president leaned back in his chair once more, his hand rubbing his still-aching stomach. The damage was being controlled, and with any luck, the fans would be so focused on the new draft twist that they’d forget all about the mess that had just occurred.
As for Atlas and the Portal Crushers, they’d get their shot, and the SFB would come out looking like the good guys after all. But the president knew one thing for certain—there was no room for carelessness in this game, not when so much was at stake. He just wanted a smooth-running, successful SFB, no fuss, no drama. He was on Atlas’s side, not because he had to be, but because the guy deserved it. He fought hard, played fair, and brought in fans. And that’s what the SFB needed—fighters who were as good for the sport as they were in the ring.
*Maybe if I pull this off, I can finally take that vacation,* he thought with a tired smile. *One step closer to that beach.*