Wednesday, February 4th. 14:00 PM. The West Brom Boardroom.
The boardroom felt different from Vance's office. There were no tactical boards or muddy boots. It only had polished mahogany, mineral water in glass bottles, and a view of the first-team training pitch that seemed intentionally intimidating.
Ethan sat on one side of the table. He wore his club tracksuit but felt he should have been in a suit. Gary sat next to him, dressed in his best jumper, staring at the mineral water as if it might explode.
Rick Sterling took the head seat on their side. He wore a navy pinstripe suit, his phone face down on the table, a calculated move for effect.
Across from them sat John Harden, the Head of Football Operations, along with the Club Secretary.
"Gentlemen," Harden began, sliding a thick document toward them. "Let's get straight to the point. Ethan has been outstanding. His performance in the derby and his attitude in training show he is exactly the kind of player this academy aims to develop."
Rick Sterling smiled, revealing his teeth like a shark. "He's a special talent, John. A derby winner at 17. Fans are already buying shirts with '48' on the back."
"Exactly," Hardennodded. "This is why we want to secure his future. We are offering a standard First Professional Contract. Two and a half years, taking him to the summer of 2028."
Gary reached for the document. Rick placed a hand on his arm to stop him.
"Explain the numbers, John," Rick said smoothly.
Pearce cleared his throat. "We're proposing a base salary of £2,500 per week. That's the top tier for a first-year pro."
Gary's eyes widened. £2,500 a week. That added up to £130,000 a year. For a 17-year-old. It was more than Gary earned in three years at the factory.
"It's a generous starting offer," Harden continued. "Plus an appearance fee of £500 for each First Team match and a £250 win bonus."
Rick picked up the contract and flipped through it casually, appearing bored.
"John," Rick sighed, as if disappointed. "This is a scholarship-plus deal. We both know that. Ethan is no longer a prospect. He's a starter. He just outperformed a Birmingham midfielder earning £30,000 a week. He's starting ahead of Mitch Evans."
Rick leaned forward.
"We want £4,000 per week, rising to £6,000 after 20 appearances. The appearance fee needs to be set at £1,000. He's playing in the Championship, Ian. If you went to buy a midfielder with Ethan's ability, you'd pay £5 million."
Harden frowned. "£4,000 is high for a 17-year-old, Rick. We have a wage structure."
"And you have a promotion push," Rick countered. "Ethan is a game changer. Do you want him worrying about his contract or focused on beating Southampton next week?"
Rick tapped the table.
"Also, we want a Promotion Bonus. If the club moves up to the Premier League this season, his wage doubles automatically. And a one-off payment of £20,000."
Gary looked at Rick, then at Ethan. He feared Rick would ruin the deal. £2,500 was already life-changing.
Harden turned to the Club Secretary. They whispered for a moment.
Harden looked back. "We can do £3,500 base, rising to £5,000 after 20 games. The appearance fee can be £750. The Promotion Bonus... agreed. If we go up, everyone gets a bonus."
Rick sat back, looking thoughtful. He turned to Ethan. "What do you think, client?"
Ethan studied the numbers on the page. £3,500 a week. It felt unreal.
"I just want to play," Ethan replied honestly. "But... I trust Rick."
Rick turned back to Harden with a grin. "We'll accept the £3,500. But add a 'Team of the Season' bonus. Just in case."
Pearce laughed, breaking the tension. "If he makes the Championship Team of the Season after playing half a year, I'll cover it from my own pocket. Deal."
They shook hands. Ethan signed the paper. The sound of the pen scratching was loud in the quiet room.
3:00 PM. The Car Park.
They stepped out into the cold afternoon air.
Rick checked his watch. "I have a meeting with a winger at Villa. Good job, gentlemen. That's a solid first deal. You're on the path now, Ethan."
Rick shook Gary's hand. "Don't spend it all at once, Dad."
Rick climbed into his matte black Mercedes and drove off.
Ethan and Gary got into their sensible Ford Focus.
They sat in silence for a moment.
"Three and a half grand," Gary whispered. "A week."
"It's crazy, Dad," Ethan said, looking at his hands. "It doesn't feel real."
Gary turned to him. "It is real. You earned it. Every penny from the rain in Eastfield. You missed parties. You missed holidays."
Gary started the car.
"But listen to me. This money changes things. People will see you differently. You have to be careful. We'll put half away into a savings account. You don't buy a Ferrari. You don't buy a diamond watch."
"I know, Dad," Ethan smiled. "I just want a new laptop. Mine crashes when I watch the tactical videos."
Gary laughed, a sound filled with relief. "A laptop we can manage. And maybe... we fix the roof on the house."
"Definitely the roof," Ethan agreed. "And Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"You can retire early or go part-time?"
Gary looked out the windshield. "Let's not rush things. But... yeah. Maybe."
6:00 PM. The Group Chat.
Ethan waited until he was in his room. He didn't want to brag, but he had to tell the boys.
Ethan: Signed.
Mason: And? Did Rick work his magic?
Ethan: Let's just say I'm buying dinner next time at Nando's. For everyone. Including Mia.
Callum: UNLIMITED CHICKEN??
Ethan: Unlimited chicken.
Callum: I knew I was friends with you for a reason. Congrats, rich boy. Don't forget us peasants in the National League.
Mason: Seriously, well done, Eth. You deserve it. First pro deal. That's the dream.
Ethan: Thanks, lads. Now I just have to prove it on Friday.
Ethan set his phone down. He looked around his room. The posters on the wall. The worn carpet. He could change all of this now. But he realized he didn't want to. Not yet.
He was a professional footballer. He was a wealthy teenager. But on Friday night, against Sheffield United, he was just Number 48 again. And the ball didn't care how much he was paid.