It's the year 2027. After the ligament operation, Alexia's recovery, which initially seemed very promising, was marred by one complication after another. Time, slow recuperation, and age eventually distanced her from professional football.
Although...
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Jorge Vilda had woken up with a pounding headache, spending the entire day attempting to massage his temples and quell the pain. He sighed.
The past few days had been somewhat chaotic. There was a flurry of activity and nervousness surrounding him. Many meetings, numerous adjustments, extensive work with the press—all due to those cursed papers that had been published in the SPORT newspaper. They were still searching for the culprit. These were not documents to be left lying around casually. They were sensitive, dangerous. Whoever had taken them had landed them in trouble.
At the table, besides him, were probably twenty-five more people. It was some kind of crisis committee, or at least that's what the coach had gathered. All he knew was that he had to be seated, paying attention to what was happening, as someone had betrayed them.
"And what do you all intend to do? Spy on everyone to see what they're up to?" complained someone he had barely seen at one end of the table.
"Of course not, but maybe we should be a bit more careful," retorted someone from the other side.
"Speak for yourself! It seems like you're asking for it."
"I don't understand why we had those papers stored in the first place. For someone to find them?"
"No one should have been looking for them."
"We need records of what we are doing as well."
The conversation progressed in accusations and reproaches back and forth, under the watchful gaze of Jorge Vilda, who observed without flinching, hands intertwined on the table.
"No matter how it happened," Luis Rubiales' voice silenced everyone present, "the fact is that it has happened, and now we have to face it. We are being portrayed as an incompetent and corrupt organization."
"This could damage our reputation irreversibly," added a blond man who had often accompanied the federation president.
If he remembered correctly, this was Jon Portela, some kind of thug with a keenness to applaud whatever his boss said. Jorge couldn't judge Luis— who wouldn't want to be protected by a nearly two-meter-tall guy with the build of a wardrobe who laughed at all your jokes?
"It's clear that someone is working against us. It's no coincidence that these documents are leaked right now. All together, one after another, at almost identical intervals. We are facing a pattern. It's an organized offensive."
Across from them sat Aleix Bosch. He was gallant, undoubtedly. Always adorned in a pristine shirt, looking immaculate in every visible detail. Shaved beard, perfectly styled hair, an inscrutable, cold, calculated gaze.
He was thirty-four years old and had only been a part of the federation for a year. He hadn't been a coach or a footballer. He wasn't a fitness trainer, nor had he worked in club management. He was a man entirely unfamiliar with the industry, of whom Jorge knew very little and who seemed to have completely captivated Luis Rubiales, enough at least not to have distrusted him in the slightest, despite being one of the newest members of the team.
"I agree," spoke the coach, capturing the attention of the table, "this is not a coincidence. There's a hand behind this, someone who wants to destabilize us."
"But who could it be? Any ideas?" the president asked his guests, looking from one end of the wooden table to the other.
"I wouldn't rule out former players being involved, as well as journalists. Some of them had spoken out against the federation in the past," suggested another man Jorge didn't remember ever seeing.
"Exactly, remember Vero Boquete. She could be behind this, along with other... dissident elements," continued Aleix Bosch, crossing his arms over the chair. "She never knew how to keep her mouth shut. Not when she was active, not afterward."
"Let's not forget the journalists. Surely there are some who want to sink us and would do anything to get compromising information," Luis Rubiales nodded at the words he heard. "It's juicy information; anyone would pay a fortune for it, sell themselves to whoever needed it."
"It could be a combination of both. Resentful ex-players, journalists looking for a scandal... Maybe even from the SPORT newspaper itself?" suggested another man.
"We have one, don't we, President?" Jon Portela spoke again. "Elena Garay Rivas, a press executive at UEFA. Or she was before we took action. She was gathering support against us. Refused to say anything. There was never a reason."
Aleix stayed silent this time, analyzing the new information that had just surfaced. It could be evidence of an organized group, yes; but it could also be a single person with resentment against the federation and a strong desire to sabotage their life and lose their job. Whatever it was, it was no longer a threat. Not from the unemployment line.
Everything fit too well to be a coincidence, or so Jorge Vilda thought. They had faced scandals on other occasions. Everyone knew they weren't exactly the cleanest organization. But amid all that had been discussed since he sat in that padded chair, an unsettling piece of information had not been touched, one he couldn't stop turning over in his mind, trying to fit it into everything.
"And what about Alexia Putellas?" the coach asked above the rest of the voices at the table.
Aleix Bosch and the other attendees remained silent, contemplating the new possibility that the coach had suggested. He, however, cursed silently for not realizing earlier what an inept coach with executive airs sitting across from him and next to the president was.
"Alexia? What do you mean?" Luis asked, genuinely curious.
"She's been gaining recognition and praise in various areas. A few weeks ago, she was completely off the grid, training some team in some small town, and suddenly, she gets a coaching position at Manchester United. Can anyone explain how? If it's true that there's an organization formed against us, isn't this indicative of things happening behind the public eye that we haven't been informed about?"
"Are you suggesting that Alexia could be against us? That's absurd. Not long ago, all she was trying to do was make everyone forget about her. Do you think she's now leading an offensive against us?" the president questioned.
"It's not nonsense," Aleix spoke seriously, from the other side of the table. He was the first to challenge the president's judgment. "It's clear that something doesn't add up in such a precipitous rise unless there's a friendly hand that has facilitated it. Certainly, she's not leading anything. She wouldn't expose herself that way. But it does seem significant enough to resort to European-level contacts capable of modifying the lineup of one of the most historic clubs in Europe."
"It is strange. We didn't know anything about it until they announced it," Rubiales conceded, surprising the other attendees.
"We can't allow this situation to continue spiraling out of control. We need to take concrete measures to face these accusations and clean up our image," said the coach.
"You won't be able to clean up our image. The data speaks for itself," disagreed the dark-haired man, with his classic elegance. "Now it's time for an offensive. Find out who is behind these leaks." He smiled slightly, in a way that even the coach found chilling. "And we're going to start precisely with her. We're going to start with Alexia Putellas
