Football Dynasty-Chapter 147: Meeting and ’Modest’ Gala Dinner

A week passed, and after settling things with O’Neill, Richard began executing his plans for City’s current youth setup. He had already promised himself to revamp City’s Academy and Reserve teams (as mentioned in Chapter 126: Revamping the Academy and Reserve).

At the very least, before City entered the Premier League, he wanted the club to have a well-structured youth development system in place. But for that future to happen, there was still something he needed to do first.

Since both Frank Shepherd and Gordon Barry were busy handling the incident involving O’Neill and the referee, Richard had no choice but to consult Adam Lewis about the execution of the plan.

After arriving with Lewis at J. Lyons and Co.—one of London’s older and more upscale restaurants—the two entered without delay.

"Shame this isn’t just a pleasant dinner," Richard remarked, glancing around at the elegant atmosphere.

"You could’ve come alone tomorrow."

"Nah," Richard sighed. "Too much on my plate right now."

Today’s Agenda:

- Meeting

- End-of-Season Dinner

These two were part of his agenda—but today’s priority was a meeting with Philip Harris from Lloyds Banking Group and Taylor Smith from Barclays. These were the same men who had once supported his high-stakes acquisition of Rover Group with a billion-pound loan.

A waitress led Richard and Adam Lewis into the dining room of J. Lyons & Co., one of London’s most prestigious and historic establishments.

"This way, sir, please."

As Richard approached the table, he spotted his old acquaintances, who had already risen to greet him. Without missing a beat, he slipped off his jacket, handed it to the waitress, and took a seat across from the two bankers.

"Were you drinking alone, without me?"

"Can you drink on your own now?"

He smiled warmly as he shook both their hands firmly, then gave them an amused glance. "So, how’s life as Senior Relationship Manager? Is it everything you imagined?"

The two men exchanged a glance before chuckling.

Things weren’t quite the same—Richard’s status had clearly changed. He was no longer just another client, and both men knew they had to tread carefully. But his easygoing demeanor quickly broke the ice, and soon enough, they were chatting like old friends again.

"Before we continue, thank you for coming," Richard said as he settled into his seat. "I’m the one who requested this meeting."

Smith nodded, then cleared his throat. "But Richard, you mentioned this was about Manchester City," he said. "To be honest, I’ve never really dealt with football before. My specialty is in wealth management and capital raising. And Harris here doesn’t follow the sport either."

"I know, I know." Richard waved his hand dismissively before gulping his orange juice and continuing, "It’s about Manchester City—but not entirely."

"Oh?"

"I need your favor."

"A favor?"

Both Smith and Harris exchanged glances.

Not giving them a chance to speak, Richard launched into an explanation of his situation.

His plan to dismantle both the Reserve, City A and City B teams, as part of a broader effort to restructure and establish a new youth academy, faced a significant roadblock: the Youth Training Scheme (YTS).

The YTS was a UK government initiative introduced in the 1980s, designed to provide vocational training for young people aged 16 to 18, typically as part of a formal apprenticeship program.

These players were usually on training contracts—not yet full employees—but still enjoyed certain legal protections. In City’s case, many players from both the City A and City B teams had been recruited under the YTS during the eras of both Peter Swales and Francis Lee. Only Paul Robinson, Rio Ferdinand, John Terry, and William Gallas had been promoted purely through his own decisions.

"Then, what kind of favor are you asking for?"

"To ensure City’s financial stability—prevent fraud, monitor spending, and make sure the club doesn’t end up bankrupt."

The answer caught both men off guard. They exchanged confused glances.

"And what exactly is our role in that?" Smith asked. "Managing City’s finances? Why would this be handled externally? Are you asking for another loan? Because if that’s the case—"

"No, no," Richard cut in, raising a hand. "I’m not asking for money. What I need is for you to quietly circulate a rumor that Maddox Group is struggling to repay its £1 billion loan."

Both bankers’ eyes widened.

Richard leaned forward, his tone calm but deliberate. "Relax—I’m not actually in trouble. The finances are solid. This is just a smokescreen."

He continued, "Let me explain. If word gets around that Maddox Group is under financial pressure, it gives me a legitimate excuse to streamline operations—to consolidate departments and reduce costs. That kind of restructuring looks responsible, even necessary."

"..."

"Take Manchester City, for example," Richard said, lowering his voice. "To save money, we need to make tough decisions. I could use this narrative to justify shutting down the current reserve, City A and City B squads, withdraw them from their respective competitions, and stop pouring money into teams that don’t bring results."

He paused, then added, "You see where I’m going with this?"

"...!"

’This guy’s insane!’

That was the only thought running through Harris and Smith’s minds. They had never heard of a football club owner willingly wanting to dismantle his own team.

"But you’ll be criticized. And what about the parents whose kids are still under contract with Manchester City? The Manpower Services Commission—do you think they’ll just sit back and do nothing—"

Both men paused, their breathing quickening.

"It’s called efficiency." Richard said. "At the end of the day, the academy is unproductive. So there’s nothing to worry about if I scale down it. In fact, this could stabilize the club on the surface. If we redirect that money toward wages and transfers, the team improves, results follow, and revenue increases. It’s a cycle—think of it as corporate restructuring, from your perspective."

Indeed, they weren’t fools. As seasoned bankers, they could read between the lines. And this wasn’t just restructuring—this was calculated disassembly.

What could they say? The club was on the brink of bankruptcy.

City couldn’t even afford to pay contracts on schedule. The painful truth was that parents might have no choice but to follow the tide and find other clubs for their children. Even the government would be powerless to intervene under financial strain.

"That’s why I need your help. Because we signed a long-term contract, there’s still plenty of time before Maddox Group defaults on its loans. But what if, as the overseer of the loan, you see during the audit that the company has inevitably hit a slump? The only thing keeping it afloat is the reserve cash, which will soon run out."

Richard paused, then continued, "That’s why I need you to be ruthless in forcing me to make drastic efficiencies."

"But we’ll take the heat," Harris said with a frown. "Managers get criticized for tactics and match results—that’s expected. But this? This goes beyond football. If the story shifts to finances, it won’t be your name in the headlines, Richard. It’ll be ours."

’As expected from bankers, they’re shrewd.’ Richard paused, taking in their concern.

"But what if, because of your push, I manage to pay off the loan by the end of this year?"

All eyes widened. Even Adam Lewis, who had been listening from the start, was stunned, looking at Richard. That was a fucking billion pounds!

"Take a look," Richard said, sliding a folder across the table.

The two bankers glanced at the folder, then back at Richard—still skeptical but now visibly engaged.

When they opened it, their eyes widened in disbelief.

Richard Maddox owned 40% of Netscape Corporation.

The document included the Share Purchase Agreement and shareholder resolutions, clearly acknowledging his ownership.

"Not a bad deal, is it?" Richard said with a slight grin.

"I’ll do the dirty work, and you take the heat for a while. Once Netscape goes public, I’ll immediately sell my shares. Until then, the billion pounds will definitely be paid back to you, respectively. There’s no downside for either of us."

After that, they began discussing how to carefully execute the plan—ensuring that the smokescreen would be thick enough to keep outsiders in the dark.

Fortunately for Richard, most of his investments were still in privately held companies, making it easier to keep his financial maneuvers away from the public eye. The Rover Group was still unstable and, at best, just scraping toward breakeven. His hotel ventures were complete but still not officially opened.

And all of that formed the basis of his justification.

Time passed, and after bidding farewell to both Philip Harris and Taylor Smith, Richard also said his goodbyes to Lewis before making his way to the banquet room, where the City End-of-Season Dinner was set to take place.

The room had been carefully transformed into a sophisticated, yet understated, dining space. Long rectangular tables were draped in crisp white tablecloths, their edges perfectly aligned. The black leather chairs surrounding them gleamed softly under the warm lighting.

At the far end of the room, a modest stage had been set up for speeches, with a microphone on a podium, ready for the evening’s formalities. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was well-organized, and for the current City, it was enough.

Richard surveyed the space, noting the polite mingling of players, coaches, and a few key club staff members. The atmosphere was more subdued than he had hoped.

When Ronaldo’s name was announced as City Player of the Year, the room erupted into applause. Everyone clapped enthusiastically, but Richard couldn’t shake the tightness in his chest.

’Too modest,’ he thought, staring at the simple setup.

This wasn’t the grand spectacle he had imagined for Manchester City. This wasn’t the pinnacle of success he had once envisioned, the kind of celebration befitting a top-tier City, the one he had dreamed of.

Taking a deep breath, Richard slowly exhaled, trying to calm the bubbling frustration that was threatening to rise. He had worked too hard, fought too much to settle for anything less than excellence. Still, he reminded himself, this was the reality for now—there was work to be done.

"Chairman, why aren’t you joining us?"

Suddenly, O’Neill’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Richard looked toward him, nodded, and then said, "I’m looking for you."

"Looking for me?"

Richard nodded again before pointing with his chin. "Let’s get some fresh air."