Perez leaned back again, alone now.
On his screen, a paused replay of Izan's third goal against Brentford glowed.
He watched the boy—still image, mid-shot, body twisted in perfect balance—and said nothing.
But his eyes, sharp and knowing, said everything else:
I don't chase talent.
I collect legacy.
And this one?
He wanted it framed in white.
........
The sun was high now, casting soft light across the meeting room table, where the Managing President sat alone with the city buzzing just beyond the glass.
The morning's energy had faded, replaced by silence and a tension that clung like humidity.
After receiving the call, he excused himself to his office, but Stan Kroenke, seeing as the former was in a meeting, asked him to call back sometime later. When his phone lit up again, he already knew who it was.
Stan Kroenke.
He answered quickly.
"Stan."
"Afternoon," came the familiar low voice.
Calm.
Even.
"Saw the footage. Fabricio's already had 35 million views on it."
