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Prologue: Mitchell

Money is the root of all evil.

Or so they say.

I’ve seen enough terrible shit done in pursuit of it to believe there’s at least some truth to the statement.

Then again, people also like to say money can’t buy happiness. Those people lack imagination.

Because money can buy freedom.

Privacy.

Security.

Influence.

It can buy time, opportunity, and the ability to tell someone to go fuck themselves without worrying about how you’ll pay the mortgage afterward.

And sometimes? Money can buy a dream.

I’ve always had it. Money, that is.

I was born with millions in the bank and the proverbial silver spoon shoved firmly in my mouth. But I’ve never been idle. I took those millions and turned them into billions.

Several of them.

Not bad, huh, Grandpa?

The Knight legacy lives on.

Unfortunately, it also ends with me.

No wife.

No girlfriend.

No children waiting in the wings to inherit the empire I’ve spent my adult life building.

But I do have one thing.

Something Grandpa and I talked about long before either of us could have imagined it might actually happen.

A rugby team.

I own a fucking rugby team.

Holy Christ.

I stare at the email on my laptop for the fourth time, even though nothing has changed in the last thirty-seven seconds.

The words are still there. The deal is finalized. The contracts are executed. The money has been transferred.

And the Carolina Rovers officially belong to me.

We did it, Grandpa.

We finally have our team.