He’s done his homework. Knows about my starting assignment before I’ve even told anyone outside the team.
“Thanks. I’m looking forward to getting back out there.”
“I’m sure you are.” He holds out a hand and I slowly sink into one of the chairs opposite his. He sits once I do. “And I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked to meet again, especially given this positive development.”
Petrov puts his hands on top of a leather portfolio. “I’ve had a chance to review your situation more thoroughly since our last conversation. Your recent assignment to start against Calgary confirms what I already suspected…that you have real value.Highvalue.”
“What kind of value?”
“The kind that can make you fifty thousand dollars per game.”
My eyebrows knit together. Fifty thousand. Per game. What the hell? He’d said twenty-five last time.
“For what?”
“Not every game holds the same weight or importance during a season. Early season matchups, games against bottom-feeder teams, contests where playoff implications are minimal.” Petrov opens the portfolio. “These games present opportunities.”
“Opportunities for what?”
“To control outcomes. A goal here, a goal there, when it doesn’t hurt your team’s season but helps our clients who bet on these games.”
There it is. No euphemisms, no corporate speak. He’s talking about fixing games.
Holy mother fuck.
“Wait, you want me to throw games.” I grip the edge of the desk, pressure building behind my ribs.
Petrov flips open the portfolio. “I want you to be smart about which games you win and which games you let slip away. Early December against Arizona? Late January against Columbus when they’re already out of contention? Those games don’t define careers, but they can fund them.”
“That’s still throwing games. It doesn’t matter if the games don’t count toward the playoff standings.” My heart pounds against my ribcage.
“No, that’s being strategic about your career. You think every goal you let in is because you’re trying your hardest? Performance anxiety already makes you inconsistent. I’m just asking you to be inconsistent on purpose, when it pays you fifty thousand dollars.”
I glance down at the document Petrov points to. It’s dense, full of legal terminology that’s completely foreign to me. But certain phrases like “performance consultation,” “strategic game analysis,” and “outcome management services” jump off the page.
“Fifty thousand?” I repeat.
“Fifty thousand dollars per consultation. Paid immediately following each engagement.”
Fifty thousand. Per game.
“That’s... a lot of money.”
“Elite professional athletes deserve elite compensation for their expertise.” Petrov’s expression remains businesslike. “Of course, this arrangement only works if you’re in a position where your performance can meaningfully affect outcomes.”
“Meaning I have to start.”
He nods. “Meaning you have to be the primary goaltender for games where our services are required. Which, given your recent assignment, shouldn’t be an issue.”
I stare at the contract, trying to process what he’s proposing. Fifty thousand dollars to... what? Let in a few extra goals during games that don’t matter?
“So, what exactly would I have to do?”
“Let in goals at specific times. We tell you which games, which periods, sometimes which specific moments.” Petrov’s tone is matter-of-fact. “Nothing obvious. A rebound you don’t quite control, a save you’re a half-second slow on. Things that look like normal play but change the outcome of the games.”
“You’d tell me when to let goals in.”
“We’d tell you when the money is worth more than the save. And before you ask, yes, we already know which games don’t matter to your team’s playoff chances. We’re not asking you to torpedo your career. We’re asking you to make smart financial decisions.”
