I meet the lens. “If you’ve shared them,” I add, “consider unsharing. Consider the human you don’t see when you hit send. Consider calling the hotline if you’ve witnessed staff being harassed. That’s how you help.”
Across the monitor, the crawl repeats:REPORT HARASSMENT: 1-800-*. The producer gives the graphics op a tiny thumbs up. For once a lower third feels like a shield, not a cudgel.
The host wraps with a softball that could become sandpaper if I mishandle it. “Do you regret anything?”
“Yes,” I say. The pen in Julia’s hand goes still. “I regret every time I mistook silence for safety. I regret not standing next to Riley sooner.” I let the last part land. “I don’t regret loving her.”
The segment clock blinks down. Ten minutes somehow become enough.
“Tight,” the producer says into his headset as the tally lights drop to black. “We’re clear.”
Mics come off, tape tugging hair, the room exhaling its TV self. Off camera, the host leans in, voice softer without the red light. “For what it’s worth,” she says to Riley, “I started in sports. I know how halls can be. I’ll push to blur anything we’re responsible for.”
“Thank you,” Riley says, professional and human at once. Julia is already there with a thumb drive and a list. “Per terms,” she tells the producer, “we need segment files and raw of their appearance within the hour. And I want confirmation in writing that your team will blur prior on-site archives of leaked medical images. If it’s a policy change, better.”
He nods, chastened and a little energized by the idea of being first at something decent. “I’ll make the case.” He signals the graphics op. “Draft the blur policy memo. Send it to legal. Put the hotline footer on the web cut.”
I shake the stage manager’s hand because she treated Riley like a person and not a prop. “Thanks,” I say. She shrugs like it’s nothing. It isn’t.
In the corner, the preview monitor loops the rehab tape—cold facts that still somehow manage to feel warm compared tothe last twenty-four hours. My phone starts its buzz cycle again—pings stacked on pings. I don’t look yet. I look at Riley, who looks back at me like we just held a line we didn’t know could hold.
Julia steps between us and the corridor with a clipboard like a shield. “Owner in the green room,” she says under her breath. “He brought counsel. He’s calculating.”
Of course he is. The studio door swings inward before she finishes the sentence. Nolan’s silhouette cuts against the hallway light, all angles and money and intent.
Show time, again.
Nolan enters like a cold front, counsel at his elbow, tie knotted so tight it looks like it’s choking the room. He doesn’t offer a hand. He offers a verdict.
“Decent segment,” he says, which in billionaire meansyou didn’t crater the valuation. His gaze flicks to Riley, then to Julia, then finally to me. “Our position is unchanged: we protect the franchise.”
“Great,” I say. “Start with protecting the people who make it run.” I step so I’m not between Riley and the door and not in front of her either—flanking, the way you cover a partner on a rush. “You want calm? Put it in writing.”
Nolan’s counsel tilts a legal pad toward me. “What specifically are you asking for, Mr. Maddox?”
“Anti-harassment enforcement with teeth,” I say, counting on my fingers because I want the cameras that inevitably leak from these rooms to catch the list. “One: a written policy that names harassment of staff—online, on premises, off premises—as grounds for revoking media credentials and access. Two: clear staff-player relationship rules, not vague rumor nets. Define supervision and evaluation so we all know the line. Three: a non-retaliation clause.” I nod toward Riley. “No demotions in practice. No ‘temporary’ reassignments that become permanent because somebody’s nervous. If there’s a review, it’s in defineddays with defined scope. Device reviews limited to team-issued hardware. Four: a reporting channel that bypasses anyone with a conflict, and an obligation to post the results.”
Julia is already writing, pen a metronome. “Five,” she adds without looking up. “A training for media and arena security on staff boundaries. It’s not just players who need to hear this.”
Riley doesn’t step forward, but she doesn’t step back. “And six,” she says, voice even. “A restoration clause. If the review finds no violation, my duties and access are reinstated immediately, with back pay and a public correction.”
The room does that thing rooms do when men with money realize they’re not the only ones dictating terms. Counsel’s pen stills. Nolan’s mouth tightens. He looks at Julia like she could be bought and at me like I won’t be.
“Some of that is reasonable,” he says at last. “Some is aspirational.”
“Reasonable becomes policy,” Julia says, sliding a printed template from her folder like a magic trick. “Aspirational becomes a pilot program we announce in partnership with the league. You get to be first. Press likes first.”
Nolan’s eyes narrow. He smells leverage even when it’s gift-wrapped. “What do I get in return?”
“You get the segment you just watched instead of the one you were afraid of,” I say. “You get me playing, not posting. You get your sponsors seeing their logos next to words likeoversightandsafetyinstead ofscandalandleak.”
Counsel confers in a quick whisper, then nods once. “We can draft language on harassment and non-retaliation today,” she says. “Device scope will need legal review. Relationship definitions we can clarify with HR.”
“Draft it now,” Julia says. “We’ll mark it up before we leave this building.”
The next fifteen minutes are a blur of clauses and commas. We haggle over ‘shall’ versus ‘will’, over whether a ‘pilot program’ can be announced without sounding like an admission of failure. Riley doesn’t raise her voice, but when she speaks—device scope means team devices only; review within ten business days; restoration is immediate or it isn’t restoration—people write it down.
Nolan signs last, pen heavy like everything he touches needs to know who touched it. Julia countersigns for the media bits the station agreed to, binding the blur policy to a press release. Counsel initials the margins where we forced teeth into the non-retaliation clause.
