[5th March 2000 – 8:45 AM, Tigers Headquarters, Hofstra University, Hempstead, N.Y]
The morning air outside was crisp and clean, but inside the Tigers' headquarters, the mood was anything but. The corridors hummed with tension, with staff whispering as printers clicked out termination forms and the faint sound of drawers being emptied. The mood was anything but happy, as if they were holding a funeral procession for what had been their franchise.
Rumours were abundant as the outside media mercilessly analysed their franchise, and with the old guard retreating or walking out, things only got worse. At the corner where the chairman's office was, the door was slightly ajar, having been left open with so many people having walked in and out in the past days.
Inside, seated behind a luxurious oak desk that once belonged to James Hess, Xavier sat reading through files. The sunlight cut a gold streak across the room, gleaming off the brushed steel plaque that now read: XAVIER I. JAMES – PRINCIPAL OWNER, NEW YORK TIGERS.
He had spent the past few days doing what most new owners avoided: Watching, listening, and letting people decide if they wanted to stay. No threats, no arguments, just letting the pieces fall where they may. And the results of that clarity were arriving in crisp envelopes filled with resignation letters.
The first to jump ship had been Albert Eddings, Assistant GM, who had already packed his office. His resignation surprised Xavier, since he was next in line to become the GM after Belichick, who was set to retire. "Mr James," he began, voice tight. "I wanted to thank you for the opportunity, but I think my time with the organisation has run its course."
Xavier smiled faintly, taking the envelope, sliding it open without looking fazed. "You've done good work, Robert. I'll authorise full severance, plus your final bonus payout."
Robert blinked. "You—you're not going to ask me to stay?"
Xavier shook his head. "I asked myself if I would fight to keep you, but you gave me the answer before I could make up my mind." The man hesitated at his words, then nodded quietly before leaving the room.
~~~
Mark Dunning, Director of Player Personnel, followed by Paul Reiner, Director of Pro Personnel, were next to leave. Both left polite notes and politically correct smiles that sounded patronising rather than genuine. Jess Person, seated quietly on the side of the office, observed each one being signed off without hesitation.
She finally spoke once the door closed behind the third resignation. "That makes five in two days," she noted, her tone neutral but edged with concern. "You're losing the entire upper deck before spring camp."
"I'm losing the ones who would've capsized the ship mid-voyage," Xavier replied, initialling another form. "Better to find out who can't row before we leave port."
"Sorry to take up so much of your time, I know you have better things to do than babysit my transition." He politely apologised, striking another name from the list. "You must be getting weird looks from the other partners."
"Hahah, more like jealous looks," She laughed his words off, folding her legs as she went through a file containing the HR structure of the organisation. "I've brought in 45 million in lawyer fees in two months, just handling your business, so trust me, it's no bother."
Xavier merely chuckled at her words, knowing they were true, as the firm was handling a lot of business for him right now. Martin Greene, the team president and long-time VP of Communications, was the next member to jump ship.
"Mr James," he said smoothly, handing over a letter that smelled faintly of cologne. "After careful thought, I believe it's best for the franchise if I step aside. It's nothing personal, of course."
Xavier met his eyes briefly before standing, extending his hand. "Then let's not pretend it is." They shook hands, and Greene left without another word.
By noon, the stack of resignations was over three inches thick. Jess sighed quietly as Xavier signed the last form and passed it to her. "You're making it look easy."
Xavier leaned back, watching the spring wind ripple the Tigers' banner outside the window. "The lack of personal history makes it easy to do what is necessary."
~~~
[12:15]
By noon, the floodgates had stopped, and Jessica had stepped away to handle another client's business. The office had gone silent again, causing Xavier to breathe a sigh of relief, even as he remained calm; the number of people leaving had him slightly on edge. Despite knowing their departure was necessary, especially since it was clear they would just get in each other's way.
A few papers still lay scattered across the desk — resignation letters, transfer authorisations, and an empty folder with a stack of papers titled "Transition Phase." The hum of the air conditioner was the only sound cutting through the stillness.
Xavier leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed as he stretched his arms, causing his body to crack in protest. Now that most of the shaky leaves had fallen off, he had to figure out who to build around. He had his own plans to commercialise the franchise and make it successful, but he needed an engine and a brain to control the footballing side.
Before he could even think about that, the intercom buzzed. "Mr James," the secretary's voice came through, uncertain. "Coach Belichick is here to see you."
Xavier sat up at the words, rubbing his irritated eyes as he responded. "Send him in." The door opened a moment later, revealing Patrick Belichick, a man in his mid-forties, still in the prime of a man's life, but hints of grey crept on the edges of his hair.
He looked exhausted, as if he'd argued with himself all night before finally making this visit. "Coach," Xavier greeted, motioning to the chair across from him. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Belichick hesitated before sitting. "Something like that, sir." His voice was hoarse, flat. "I've been thinking a lot since the sale went through. With Coach Parcells retiring… There is just too much uncertainty around here. And I don't think I'm the right fit."
He slid a crisp envelope across the desk, a resignation letter that Xavier had become accustomed to seeing. Xavier sighed, his gaze lingering on the folded note, not ready to accept yet another vote of no confidence. But just as he was about to reach out, something out of the corner of his eyes caught his attention.
Right above Belichick's head, faint golden light shimmered into existence — letters forming in midair, translucent yet sharp, like glass catching sunlight.
---
[Coaching Aptitude: SS+]Main Talent: Adaptable Surgeon
---
Xavier blinked. Once. Twice. The words didn't fade. They hovered there, pulsing faintly, as if responding to his focus. 'What the heck…?' He didn't react outwardly, but his thoughts were racing, trying to make sense of the situation. His expression remained composed as he looked into Patrick's crystal clear blue eyes.
His mind sprang into action, turning the gears in his head to try to come up with a plausible answer. Was it exhaustion? Unlikely, Hallucination? Even less likely, or something else entirely?
"Coach, are you hungry?" Xavier said, standing up, leaving the resignation untouched.
Belichick blinked. "Sir?" Despite the age gap, he was being respectful, something he hadn't received beyond profanities so far.
"Hungry," Xavier repeated. "I'm starving. Let's go grab lunch."
"I— I wasn't—"
"Great," Xavier said, already walking toward the door. "My treat." Belichick hesitated for half a second before sighing heavily and following him out
~~~
[12:45 PM – Faculty Restaurant, Hofstra University Campus]
The restaurant was one of the higher-end faculty spots, tucked near the university's law school building. The smell of roasted meat and espresso lingered in the air, soft jazz humming through hidden speakers. Professors and administrators filled the tables, their murmurs forming a low background hum.
Xavier and Patrick sat in a quiet corner by the window. The waiter, recognising Xavier from the news, gave him an overly polite smile before retreating with their orders.
"So," Xavier said after a moment, swirling the lemon slice in his water, "From your file, I saw that you've been around the league for years just waiting for your shot at HC. Tell me, have I scared you so much in these days that you would give up on your shot?"
"It's not fear," he said quietly. "It's… reality. I've worked under Parcells for a long time. Everyone in this building assumed I'd take over after his retirement, but now everything's changed. The media's tearing us apart, the front office's leaving, and the players—half of them don't even know who's calling the shots. You're twenty. That's not a knock on you, it's just—" He stopped himself before finishing the thought.
Xavier leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. "It's just that nobody believes I should be here."
Patrick met his eyes, hesitating, then nodded once. "Something like that."
Xavier didn't take offence. "You're right, but God gives His toughest battles to His strongest soldiers for a reason." He smiled faintly, his auburn eyes glowing with conviction. "So I don't listen to the whispers of those who wish me failure because that's what they are, insignificant murmurs. I'm not afraid, for I have a goal I must reach. Tell me, coach, what is the goal you're chasing, the destination at the end of the road?"
.
.
.
.
To Be Continued...