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I’m here today for a meeting with the Apex executives, to discuss the upcoming season and the new player acquisitions. I’m the owner in name-only, my old office now a “heritage suite” with my own memorabilia behind glass like I’m already dead.

They’re trying to convince me it’s not so, but I know I’m just a figurehead, a relic of a bygone era. But I don’t complain, because at least I can keep an eye on them, still be a part of something Izzy and I built.

And yes, I’m hoping that both of my daughters will come back to me once they realize that the Predators are still the Tide, just with a different name.

They both called me the night I read out the new name. I had the phone in my hand while it rang. Izzy told me to call them back and I’ve picked it up more times since June than I’d admit to anybody, and put it down again every time.

I walk into the building, greeting the staff with a smile. They’re polite, respectful, but distant. They know who I am. They also know I’m not the one calling the shots anymore.

I make my way to the elevator, press the button for the top floor. The doors close. I wonder if I’m making a mistake by staying here. Maybe I should’ve stepped aside, let the new generation take over. But I can’t. This is my life, my passion. I can’t just walk away from it.

The elevator dings and the doors open. I’m immediately greeted by two security guards.

I’ve never seen either of them before, and I’ve known every person on this floor by name since 1999.

“Mr. Delvaux,” one of them says. “Please go ahead.” They flank me.

I raise an eyebrow, but I don’t argue. I don’t want to cause a scene, not here. They escort me down the hallway. They follow me to a large door, where they knock twice.

“Come in,” a voice says from inside.

The guards open the door. The conference room is familiar even though it’s covered by new colors and logos. A long table dominates the space, with a dozen or so people sitting around it. They all turn to look at me with expressionless faces.

In the middle of them, in the same seat I had always occupied, sits Caleb Williamson, the CEO of Apex Platinum Holdings.

He’s wearing a tailored suit, a gold watch on his wrist, and a confident smile on his face. He’s the epitome of success and power. He’s also the man who took over my team and my legacy.

“Ewan,” he says, standing up and extending his hand. “Nice of you to join us. Please take a seat. You know the drill.”

I shake his hand, my grip firm. “Caleb. Thanks for inviting me. Are you going to introduce me to the faces I don’t recognize?”

He chuckles. “Of course. We had to make some changes to the board. New investments, new opportunities. But don’t worry, your old friends are still here. Isn’t that right, Declan?”

I turn to see Declan sitting at the far end of the table, looking smug. I didn’t know he was going to be here, and I don’t like it.

I was hoping he’d be gone with the end of the season, I even brought the matter to Caleb, but he fought me on it. And he won, of course. Declan is his new golden boy.

After the title, I told Alycia. We won the title, and I was in Caleb’s office the next morning, and he listened to every word and then explained very kindly why a championship-winning coach with a year left on his contract stays exactly where he is.

“Declan,” I say, nodding at him.

“Ewan,” he says.

I take the seat next to Caleb. Caleb sits down too, and the meeting begins.

We go over the usual topics: the budget, the marketing strategy, the scouting reports. I listen, but I don’t contribute much. It’s clear they don’t value my opinion or experience. They just want me there to be seen, but to be quiet.

Finally, Caleb brings up the most important issue: the team.

“As you all know, we’ve made some significant changes to the roster this season,” he says. “We’ve invested heavily in top talent and we expect to see results. The goal is simple: win the league. No excuses.”

There’s a round of applause and Bitterness rises in my throat. They talk about the league like it’s a commodity, a product to be sold. They don’t understand the passion, the dedication, the heart that goes into it.

“Of course, we also had to make some tough decisions,” Caleb continues. “We had to let go of some players who didn’t fit our vision, who weren’t up to our standards. And unfortunately, that includes young Mia Hartley.”

He’s lying. I know for a fact that Mia didn’t want to renew her contract. She went to Izzy’s team of all places. He’s just trying to make himself look good.

I know better than to call him on it, though. I can’t risk him taking away the only thing I have left of this club. So I keep my mouth shut.