Page 108 of Her Player

VICTORIA

Twenty-four hours after those photos dropped, I rode the downtown elevator up to the thirty-sixth floor with Seth at my side, a folder full of paperwork on my arm, and absolutely zero patience left in my body for what was waiting for me at the top.

The PHL’s standard governance review window was thirty days.

I had a championship game in seventeen hours.

I’d told Commissioner Dalton in no uncertain terms which one of those timelines was going to win, and after about ninety minutes on the phone with him last night, he had finally agreed that an expedited proceeding was, quote, “in everyone’s interest.”

Mine, mostly. The rest of them could kick rocks.

The PHL governance committee met in a conference room on the fourteenth floor of a building in downtown Las Vegas that had no signage on the outside and carpet the color of old money on the inside.

I’d been in worse rooms.

Seth Carver met me in the lobby at eight forty-five with a leather portfolio and the look he wore when he’d done everything humanly possible to prepare for something and was now simply waiting to see if the universe cooperated. I’d known Seth for eleven years. That expression meant we were ready.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as we stepped into the elevator.

“Fine.”

“Victoria.”

“I’m fine, Seth.” I adjusted my glasses and watched the floor numbers climb. “How many pages did we submit?”

“Forty-seven.”

“And Chu’s recusal documentation?”

“Filed separately. Timestamped and notarized.”

“Coach Mercer’s disclosure?”

“Included as exhibit C.”

I nodded. The elevator opened onto a carpeted hallway that smelled like recycled air and institutional patience. A woman at a reception desk pointed us toward the third door on the left without making eye contact, which told me she’d been briefed on who we were and had opinions about it.

That was fine. People had been having opinions about me for fourteen years.

I opened the door myself.

Three committee members sat on the far side of a long table. Two men and a woman, all somewhere between fifty and sixty, all wearing the same practiced blankness of people who had been trained not to reveal anything before a proceeding began. There were name placards in front of them that I didn’t need. I’d researched all three the night before. Commissioner Dalton’s deputy on the left. A retired franchise owner from the Midwest in the center. A PHL legal counsel on the right.

I knew what each of them cared about.

I sat down across from them. Seth sat beside me and opened his portfolio without a word.

The deputy cleared his throat. “Miss Caldwell. Thank you for appearing before the committee today.”

“Of course.”

“As you’re aware, this review was triggered under Article Fourteen of the PHL Governance Charter following the public disclosure of a personal relationship between yourself and Las Vegas Vipers player Rhett Calloway.” He glanced down at his notes. “The purpose of this review is to determine whether that relationship has at any point constituted a conflict of interest compromising the competitive integrity of the franchise or the league.”

“I understand,” I said.

“We’ve reviewed the documentation submitted by your office.” He paused. “It was thorough.”

“It was complete,” I said. “There’s a distinction.”