by Ashe Barker
George Hartwell was Tanya Monroe’s father.
Holy fuck! Jesus, Mary, and the fucking donkey!
More to the point, what was the man playing at?
A waitress passed him and asked if he wanted anything. Dylan ordered another coffee. He needed to think.
He was no more inclined than Mrs. Monroe to dismiss George Hartwell’s presence in Sheffield as a coincidence. She seemed quite certain that it was George Hartwell she had seen in the arena earlier that day and Dylan saw no reason to doubt her. And that same George Hartwell had now turned out to be her ex-husband and father to Tanya Monroe, one of Jodie’s closest competitors for that place in the Olympic squad.
In all the discussions and negotiations with Bishop HLS, Hartwell had never breathed so much as a whisper about having any connection to the sport. He’d lied. His daughter was vying for a place in Team GB and there was no doubt in Dylan’s mind that Hartwell knew all about that. So why had he persuaded his bank to sponsor her closest rival, the one competitor who stood between Tanya and her ambitions? It made no sense. Surely, despite the unpleasantness of the past and the breakup of his family, if Hartwell had any interest at all in their sport he’d be rooting for his daughter.
The waitress placed his cup of fresh coffee before him. Dylan thanked her absently as he continued to wrestle with the puzzle. At the very least, Hartwell was guilty of not declaring a massive conflict of interest. He should have been transparent and honest about his connection to their sport. If he had been, Dylan would never have accepted the deal or recommended it to Jodie. The chances were the bank would have vetoed it too.
Shit, the sponsorship itself contravened the sport’s ethical standards. If this got out, Jodie could be disqualified, and there was a good chance he’d be fired for misconduct.
What a mess. What a fucking train wreck.
All of which brought him right back to square one. What the fuck was Hartwell playing at?
Dylan downed his coffee in a gulp. One thing was for certain, he needed to talk to Jodie about what he’d heard. They could figure this out together.
Dylan took the stairs two at a time. He and Jodie had adjoining rooms and there was a connecting door. He let himself into her accommodation to be greeted by the sound of running water. She was in the shower.
Right, he’d wait. He settled himself on the sofa.
Beside him, on the arm of the sofa, Jodie’s phone hummed. The screen lit up to announce an incoming call. Dylan glanced at it, then grabbed the phone when he saw the name on the screen.
George Hartwell.
George Hartwell was phoning Jodie. What the fuck…?
He let the call go to voicemail. Less than a minute later George tried to phone her again. Dylan rejected the call. Within moments a text arrived.
Answer my bloody calls, you little bitch.
Whoa! Dylan narrowed his eyes and thought back to that day in Brighton. What was Jodie’s password? Ah, right, her birthday. He’d given her a hard time over her lack of online security, but he was glad of it now as he keyed in the digits. The phone unlocked, and Dylan went straight to her missed calls.
Twenty-seven. There were twenty-seven missed calls from George Hartwell, going back over almost two weeks. Six calls today alone. What was all that about?
Jodie had over a dozen stored voicemail messages according to the phone. Dylan decided to check those out first. He ignored the couple from her mother, and one from him demanding to know why she was so late to the gym the morning after she got drunk. The rest were all from Hartwell and in each call he issued much the same demands. He wasn’t subtle about any of it. Jodie was to do as she was told, or she knew what would happen.
Seriously pissed off now, Dylan pulled up her texts and scanned the contents. What he found was a stream of belligerent, and in some cases downright abusive messages. If nothing else, Hartwell had his knife into Jodie and was bullying her mercilessly. Christ, no wonder she was so upset following the board meeting at the bank. What the fuck had that bastard said to her?
Dylan took a deep breath. He itched to get his hands on that vicious weasel. Instead, he willed himself to remain calm, scrolled back to the top of the list, and started to read.
By the time he reached the end things were pretty clear. Hartwell had been pressuring Jodie to deliberately lose matches, or to underperform. It all began to drop into place. Tanya’s results had soared. Hartwell’s daughter was winning matches because Jodie was letting her, and the doting father was behind the scenes pulling the strings. Hartwell thought he had Jodie over a barrel because of the sponsorship and she’d been dancing to his tune.
The only question left was why? Why had Jodie not come straight to him?
The sudden silence from the bathroom alerted him. Jodie had finished her shower. Dylan waited. She emerged, draped in one of the hotel’s fluffy white towels. Another one was wrapped turban-style around her head. She stopped short when she saw him in her room.
“Master? I thought—”
“I’ve been reading your texts, Jodie.” He saw no point in beating about the bush. Dylan handed her the phone with the most recent message from Hartwell displayed on the screen. “It seems our sponsor is very keen to talk to you.”
She paled. He hands shook as she took the phone from him. “I… I…”
Dylan took the phone back. He had to actually peel her cold fingers from it, then he guided her into the sofa he had just vacated. “Deep breaths, baby. I need you to tell me what’s been going on between you and George Hartwell.”
She gazed up at him, her eyes tear-filled. “I can’t. Please, Master, I…”
He sat down next to her and slung an arm around her shoulders. If nothing else was clear, he did at least know that the last thing Jodie needed right now was another arrogant male throwing his weight around.
“Okay. Let’s leave that for a moment. I have something to tell you. Something massive. George Hartwell is Tanya Monroe’s father.”
Jodie said nothing. Her expression spoke for her. She gaped at him, open-mouthed.
“I’m guessing that was as much a surprise to you as it was to me.”
“I don’t… How…? Are you sure?”
“Yup. I overheard Mrs. Monroe and Tanya talking just now, down in the bar. They had no idea I was there. Seems Mrs. Monroe was once Mrs. Hartwell.” He went on to share what he had heard, and the implications.
“So, George lied to us, and to his board by the sound of it.”
“That’s right. And you’ve been lying to me too, haven’t you? All that rubbish about having an off day. He was pressuring you to lose matches.” He lowered his head into his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me, Jodie? I could have helped.”
“No, you couldn’t. And he said that if I told anyone, he’d make sure the selectors found out about Club Sin. They’d never let me on the team if they knew I was… that I had been…”
He let out an exasperated snort. “This is the twenty-first century, Jodie. We can do what we want as long as it’s legal and doesn’t affect your performance. The selectors would have got over the shock and survived it, I’m sure. One or two of them might even share our kink for all you know. It has nothing to do with any of this. It’s your performance in competitions that’ll get you into the team, not a squeaky clean private life.”
“Hartwell also said that he would get you fired if I told anyone. He said he would destroy your career. I just…”
“You should have told me, baby. You should have trusted me.”
“I know. I wish…” She levelled a watery gaze on him. “I’m so sorry…”
“Okay, but I need you to tell me everything now. Start at the beginning. When did Hartwell start blackmailing you?”
“It was just a week or so after we signed the deal. He came to the gym when I was there on my own, locking up. He just appeared and told me I had to lose my next match. I thought he was joking at first, but he wasn’t. He said all that stuff about Club Sin and I sort of panicked
, I suppose. I thought if I just did what he said he’d leave me alone after that. It was just the once and wouldn’t make much difference to my chances in the Olympics. So, I did as he said, and I thought that was the end of it. But it wasn’t…”
“No, I don’t suppose it was. What happened then?”
“He contacted me just before Derby and told me I had to lose points. I was to win, because he didn’t want anyone to get suspicious, but not by much. I argued, I did, but he threatened me. I was scared of what he’d do if I told anyone or didn’t do as he said.”
“I knew it. I fucking knew you were losing on purpose. So did Tanya.”
“She’s no fool. You neither. I hated having to lie to everyone. I hated him for what he’d made me into. Everything was falling apart, in my taekwondo and with you as well. I was so unhappy, and…”
“That’s what the drinking was about. And the temper tantrums.”
“Yes. I’ve been such a cow to everyone, but you most of all. Will you to be able to forgive me? I wouldn’t blame you if you can’t. I keep on messing up, and I—”
He kissed her on the forehead. “It’s all stacking up, you realise that. Your bottom is going to be so sore by the time all this is done. But I know where the blame for this whole shit-heap lies and it isn’t with you. George has been trying to cheat to help Tanya get into the Olympic squad and he used you to do it. He must have thought she couldn’t qualify on her own.”
Jodie nodded. “That makes sense. It’s sick and screwed up, but it makes sense.” She clutched at his arm. “Do… do you think Tanya knows anything about this?”
Dylan shook his head. “No, I’m sure of that. Both Mrs. Monroe and Tanya seem to hate George and want nothing to do with him. From what I heard I’m sure she wouldn’t have accepted his help even if he’d offered it.”
“And Tanya wouldn’t cheat. I know she wouldn’t. I should never have doubted that.”
Dylan agreed. “You didn’t, did you? Not really. The irony is, she had a decent chance anyway. Martha’s a brilliant coach, one of the best there is.”
“I know. We might both have got on the team. But now, it’s all ruined. It’s too late…”
“I’m not so sure.”
“What do you mean? There are so many points I need to make up to be sure of qualifying. And even if I can do that we’d still need to report all of this to GB Taekwondo.”
“Getting those points is your task. No one can do it but you. I reckon, if you throw everything you have at it tomorrow, you could still make it. As for George and the sport’s governing body, I’ve a better idea.”
“Oh?”
Dylan nodded, thinking fast now as it all fell into place. “So, if it wasn’t for George manipulating things for his own ends, there would be no intrinsic problem with the sponsorship deal. Right? We could still deal with the bank and make sure they get what they paid for in terms of advertising and PR. They want their name linked to an Olympic medallist and we want to give them that.”
“Right, but—”
“So, we just need to get George out of the mix and I think I know how.” He turned to face her, the idea taking shape in his mind. “George Hartwell might think he has the upper hand here, but all that ended the moment we discovered who he really is and what he’s been up to. Now, he has way more to lose than you or I do if this all comes out.”
“What do you mean? He’d just deny it all.”
“That wouldn’t wash, not with all those texts and voicemail messages sitting on your phone. The evidence is clear, even without bringing in Tanya and Mrs. Monroe.”
“Poor Tanya. She’ll be mortified when she finds out.”
“She may not have to. Give me your phone.”
Jodie handed it over. “What are you doing?”
“Texting George. I’m asking him to meet us—except he’ll think it’s just you—in an hour.”
“What? Why? I don’t want to talk to him.”
“You’ll enjoy the conversation I have in mind. Go get dressed.”
* * *
Forty minutes later Dylan and Jodie strolled across the hotel lobby and out into the street. Dylan had told George that Jodie would meet him at a bar down the road. He didn’t want to meet at the hotel as he couldn’t risk Tanya or Mrs. Monroe seeing George talking to them and give them the chance to put two and two together. If anyone else connected Jodie Price’s sponsor with Tanya Monroe’s father, his plan was sunk.
At the entrance to the pub Dylan halted. “We’re ten minutes early. You go in and get a drink, then sit at a table on your own and wait for George. I’ll stay out of sight until he’s actually with you. If he arrives and sees the pair of us here the chances are he’ll just turn on his heel and leave. He won’t want to talk to me, so we’ll have to corner him.”
“Okay. But don’t leave me alone with him for long. He gives me the creeps.”
“I know. I’ll be right there on the other side of the bar and I’ll be over the moment he sits down.”
George didn’t keep them waiting. He arrived a couple of minutes early and stood just inside the door scanning the seats in the bar. His gaze settled on Jodie and he made straight for her table. Dylan was already on his way to join them and couldn’t hear what George said to her as he stood over Jodie, but she actually flinched.
Christ, the man was pond slime. Dylan was so going to enjoy this.
George sat down opposite Jodie, his back to Dylan so he didn’t see him approach until he was at the table with them. Dylan took the seat next to George. The wall was on the other side so Dylan had effectively blocked his escape.
“Hello, George. This is an unexpected pleasure. I didn’t realise you intended to come to Sheffield and cheer Jodie on tomorrow. You should have told us you were coming, we could have travelled up together.”
“What? I…” George spluttered. He glowered at Dylan. “What are you doing here? This is a private meeting, bank business.”
“Really? So, bank business includes suggesting to your sponsored athlete that she should deliberately lose her matches? Okay, if you say so, but I think we should raise that with the board, don’t you? Just to check if this really is what they had in mind when they agreed to sponsor Jodie. We wouldn’t want any misunderstandings, would we?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was just—”
“I’m talking about the texts. The voicemails. The other ‘private meetings’ when you cornered Jodie at the gym.”
“I never—”
“And at your offices, after the board meeting,” put in Jodie with a tight smile. “When you spoke to me by the lift. ‘I own you, Jodie Price.’ I think those were your exact words.”
“Of course they weren’t. You must have misheard. Or misunderstood. I was merely—”
Dylan cut across Hartwell’s protestations. “Let’s not get bogged down in all of that. Your board can listen to the voicemails and come to their own conclusions. I think that’s probably best, don’t you? To avoid further ‘misunderstandings.’” Dylan used his fingers to draw the speech marks in the air, his smile deliberately bland.
George Hartwell’s complexion went from ruddy to puce in seconds. He attempted to shove Dylan out of his way, but he might as well have tried to move a mountain. Dylan was twice his size and had the build of the professional athlete he was. He was going nowhere, and neither was George.
Time to go for the jugular.
“Does your board know about your daughter?”
George’s jaw quite literally dropped. He gaped at Dylan, open-mouthed.
“Ah, I thought probably not. Now that would be awkward to explain, wouldn’t it? You persuaded them to give financial backing to an athlete in the sport where your own daughter was an international competitor. That’s the sort of information they’d expect you to share, wouldn’t you think? Conflict of interest, and all that?”
“I don’t have a daughter. I—”
“I’ll bet Mrs. Monroe would take issue with
that and, if it came to it the DNA results would settle any dispute.” Dylan paused to allow it all to sink in in, then, “Oh, you have a daughter all right, George. And it’s in her interests for Jodie to lose points in competitions. The worse Jodie performs, the better chance Tanya Monroe has of making the team for Tokyo. That’s about the size of it. That’s what this whole thing has been about.”
George appeared to be recovering from the shock of Dylan’s revelations. His voice wavered a little, but he was back to his usual bullish self. “You can’t prove it. You can’t prove anything. A few text messages? Is that all you’ve got?”
“We have the texts, the voicemails, and if we need to we can wheel in Mrs. Monroe and Tanya. We can absolutely prove the facts, and your board can interpret them for themselves.” Dylan lowered his tone now. “Do you really want it to come to that, George?”
“What do you mean?” George eyed Dylan with suspicion.
“I mean, we could come to some other arrangement.”
“Are you trying to blackmail me? She knows better than to try that.” He jabbed his thumb in Jodie’s direction. “I know things about her. Two can play at that game.”
“Ah, you mean Club Sin.”
“You know about that?”
Dylan shrugged. “It’s no secret, not really. Jodie would prefer to keep her private life just that, private, but it’s no big deal. You go ahead and tell anyone you like.”
“She’d be dropped from the Olympic team like a hot brick.”
Dylan laughed. “George, what century are you in? No one cares about that, not really. The selectors won’t give a flying fuck.”
“Yes, they will. It’s disgusting. Perverted.”
“Yeah, right. If you say so. Feel free to discuss it with them. Your board, on the other hand… now they’re going to be very disturbed indeed when they find out about your little games. I’m thinking an email to your chief finance officer would start the ball rolling. Mr. Sharpe, right?”
“You leave Eric Sharpe out of this.”
“I’d be happy to. He doesn’t need to know. No one does. Provided you step down from the board at Bishop HLS.”