Football singularity-Chapter 495 Christmas Message

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[Location: Rose Isle, Orlando | Date: 24/12/2019 | Time: 19:00 | Christmas Eve Dinner]

He exited into the garden through the glass doors that had been left open since the Florida weather was quite warm. He stepped onto the back patio with quick but firm steps and slid the door shut behind him. The laughter inside faded behind the glass, replaced by the sharp buzz of both of his phones vibrating again. With an irritated grunt, he swiped to answer.

"What?" he hissed in annoyance at the constant interruptions.

The voice on the other end was also panicked. "Victor, what should I do? I've practically wiped out my brokerage account, plus the 10x leverage.... were screwed, no we are fucked, so fucked. The main branches in New York called for a regular progress report for this quarter, but I know they are onto us."

Victor pinched the bridge of his nose and turned away from the pool, pacing along the marble walkway leading to a wooden gazebo that was illuminated by garden lights. "Calm down," he muttered, though his own voice trembled. "No one's onto us yet—not unless you start leaving voicemails like that. Just... stall them. Buy time."

"But how Victor?" the man on the phone pleaded. "We've used nearly every client's line for that private fund, and there's no way we can cover withdrawals if they check the books. I got four calls today asking to liquidate holdings—we're tapped."

Victor's jaw locked as he stepped into the gazebo, its white lattice casting crisscrossed shadows over his face. The festive garden lights felt mocking now, too bright, too perfect—like stage lights in a performance he was about to fail.

"Tell them we have their money tied up in a package with promising returns at the end of the first quarter in June," Victor said tightly. "That should buy us enough time for our investments in the transportation, hospitality, medical, and automobile sectors."

"Just keep calm once the SoftBank takeover of our 40% shares in WeWork we will more than make back the deficit and even turn a profit," Victor stated with an almost manic grin as he glanced past the garden looking at the moon's reflection on the lake.

"Victor… that deal isn't even guaranteed," the voice on the other end said, lower now. "SoftBank's been stalling negotiations for weeks. If they back out—"

"They won't." Victor cut in sharply. "They can't. They've already sunk too much into the first two tranches. Masa's hands are tied."

"You keep saying that man," the caller sighed, dread bleeding through. "But hope isn't a f***ing strategy. This thing's already cracking."

Victor's nostrils flared as his fingers dug into the painted wood of the gazebo beam. "Then patch the cracks. I'll handle things on my end and try to procure new inflows. You just do your job of keeping the back end from caving in. That's the job, or we will both be sitting in a four-by-four."

He hung up before the man could reply, the screen reflecting briefly in his eyes before he locked it and pocketed the phone. For a few seconds, he stood completely still, breathing through his nose like he was trying to smother a panic attack without letting it touch the surface. His gaze drifted to the manicured lawn and the grandeur of the villa, knowing that if he could manage a portion of Ben's assets, he could dig himself out of the hole.

However, the man guarded his money more tightly than the Whitehouse did their secrets. That was despite the erratic spending he had seen the man do over the years. This fact frustrated him even more as it felt like money was being dangled in front of him in his time of need, only to be yanked away the moment he reached out.

Victor ran a hand through his hair, fingers tightening slightly at the roots before he caught himself and smoothed it back. He couldn't afford to look dishevelled, not even in private. One's Perception was currency, and right now, he needed to appear like a man worth his weight in gold.

~~~

[Rose Church | Date: 24/12/2019 | Time: 21:20]

Inside Rose Church, the final act of the Christmas play was reaching its heartwarming close. The sanctuary was aglow in soft amber lighting, twinkling string lights wrapped around columns, wreaths hung from the brick walls, and poinsettias flanked the stage. The wooden cross at the back of the altar shimmered with purple LED lights, casting a serene glow over the gathered congregation.

A small girl no older than seven nervously stepped forward, wearing a pair of cardboard angel wings that wobbled with every move. She spoke into the mic, her voice trembling at first, but growing stronger with each word.

"...And the angel said, 'Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today, in the town of David… a Saviour has been born to you; He is the Messiah, the Lord.'"

The audience let out a soft, collective "aww" as the kids gathered around the manger scene. A plastic baby Jesus sat in a hay-lined crate, while the 'wise men', 3 boys no older than 10 shuffled awkwardly in their robes made from old drapes and gold tinsel crowns.

In the fourth row from the front, May leaned gently against Rakim's shoulder. Her voice was hushed as she whispered, "This part always gets me."

Rakim smiled slightly, watching the kids wrap up their performance with a song. "Yeah. Kinda reminds me of when we organised this play, I still can't believe you married Tyler and his annoying swoop,"

May chuckled under her breath, the sound barely louder than the gentle chords of the final hymn beginning to play in the background. "What can I say, I was in my Justin Bieber phase," She whispered into his ear, not caring for his annoyance. "Tyler was the next best thing, plus the fact that he was cute helped."

"Then maybe you should go and lean on his shoulders," Rakim grumbled under his breath, lightly nudging his left shoulder to boot her head off.

May gave him a mock gasp, hand flying to her chest. "You're jealous of a ten-year-old version of Tyler?"

"What can I say, petty is my third, fourth, and fifth name," Rakim shot back under his breath, eyes still on the kids as the last lines of the song repeated themselves. They had sung the chorus one too many times, almost giving Mrs Grettle, the lead youth preacher, and a part-time theatre director a heart attack. "And if I remember correctly, you cried when he left for New Jersey."

"I cried because he took the class hamster with him, not because of him," she retorted, hiding a grin. "Relax."

Rakim chuckled, shaking his head just as the kids on stage struck their final pose—a chaotic but well-meaning tableau of Bethlehem, complete with a slightly crooked star hanging overhead and a cardboard camel that had lost one leg mid-performance. The hall erupted in gentle applause, warm and genuine as parents reached for their phones, snapping pictures of their wards.

Some parents were so moved by the purity of it all and wiped tears from their eyes, acting as if their kids had just hit a home run. May clapped softly, smiling through the moment, her fingers brushing against Rakim's as she leaned in.

Before she could say anything, Rakim interrupted her. "Sure. Blame the hamster. I'll remember that line next time you get jealous over a reporter or a fan who decided to get handsy,"

Her head snapped his way so fast that it almost caused him to jump back reflexively from her intense glare. However, before May could reply, pastor Elijah returned to the pulpit, stepping up with a gentle smile and hands folded. He is a black African American man in his mid-fifties, dressed in dark purple with a matching sweater.

"Let's take a moment to thank our children and youth volunteers for reminding us of what this night is really about." He loudly said as his southern Alabama accent slipped through, but his charisma only enhanced the effect.

The crowd chuckled and clapped again, a few voices offering heartfelt whistles as Pastor Elijah gave a small, appreciative bow to the kids seated on the front row of seats.

He adjusted the mic stand, nudging his glasses into focus and continued, his voice steady but heartfelt. "Y'know, I've seen a lot of Christmases in my time. And every year, I'm reminded that the miracle of Christmas wasn't wrapped in perfection. There was no red carpet. No palace. Just a scared young woman, a faithful man, and a newborn lying in the most unexpected place."

His gaze swept across the congregation, pausing just long enough to make it feel personal. "And some of us here tonight… we're still trying to figure out our place in the story. Maybe you've had a year filled with blessings. Maybe you've had one filled with loss. Or maybe…"—he paused briefly— "...you've been juggling so many things, afraid that one more drop might make it all fall apart."

He let his eyes travel along the congregation, nodding at a few, sending warm smiles their way. "Here's the good news, family: Jesus wasn't born into peace. He was born to bring it. He meets us in the mess, not after we clean it up. So, whether your heart's full tonight or heavy… there's room for you at the manger."

May exhaled slowly, the irritation fading into a smile as she enjoyed the moment, hopeful for what was to come. Her eyes shot open when she felt a familiar hand grasp hers, and when she looked over at Rakim's smiling face as his eyes remained focused on the pastor, her own smile also brightened. Pastor Elijah raised one hand slightly. "Let's bow our heads in prayer."

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To Be Continued...