CHAPTER 613: CHAPTER 613 GREAT HIGHS

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[05/07/2020 | Time: 10:30 AM | Location: Cologne]

Rakim had underestimated the significance of the victory to Leverkusen and, by extension, Cologne. He still remembered the bus ride back to the club from the stadium. Fans exited their houses, hopped on their balconies, and some even climbed onto the roofs of their houses as they cheered in jubilation.

For the people of Leverkusen and the greater Cologne area, it felt vindication, a release of their pent-up frustration. Twenty-seven years of being almost good enough had ended in a golden night, and the city responded like it had just won a war. He remembered leaning against the bus window, forehead pressed to the cool glass as flares lit the morning sky in red and black.

Children waved hand-painted signs from their houses as their grandparents, who had seen Ballack’s heartbreak in 2002, wept openly. The bus driver had slowed down in the empty street, almost as if they were going through a parade. Strangers sang his name, making it feel oddly different from what it felt in a packed stadium.

It was an overwhelming feeling despite having grown up with attention from the football world all his life. Their emotions were too raw, and their feelings of joy were genuine, even though they couldn’t fully act on their happiness. Trumpets that would usually sound when the national team went on campaigns in international competition resounded.

The city rejoiced wherever the bus passed through, and even all through the night, they sounded. The BayArena stood like a fortress of pride, banners draped across its glass façade, catching the mid-morning sun. The words ’Leverkusen Kings of Germany 2020,’ hung in bold Golden letters above the main entrance, flanked by the club crest on either side.

The bus rolled slowly into the car park, horns blaring, as staff members who were allowed to come to work despite regulations lined the path, clapping furiously. That didn’t mute the atmosphere as one of the media staff could be seen with a camera broadcasting the events to the staff on a video call. As the doors hissed open, Lars Bender was the first to step out, trophy still clutched under his arm.

The captain raised it above his head one more time, greeted by a thunderous cheer from the staff and youth academy players who had been given a break from their academy training. Flower petals rained down, and sparklers fizzed along the walkway.

Managing Director Simon Rolfes was front and centre with the biggest smile he had ever seen on the man, warmly greeting each player and staff member as they were led inside. Inside the stadium lobby, a reception had been prepared with bottles of non-alcoholic sparkling grape juice, cakes shaped like the DFB-Pokal, and a massive hand-drawn Painting based on this year’s team photo "Champions" printed across it for the players to sign.

The staff clapped them through like conquering heroes, each player stopping to shake hands or receive hugs. For many of these behind-the-scenes workers, like cooks, trainers, physios, drivers, and cleaners, this victory was as much theirs as it was the players’.

Bosz gathered the group briefly by the painting to share a quick word with his players. "Enjoy this. You’ve earned it. You’ve given this club something it will never forget." His words were short, but they were sweet.

As the players dispersed into smaller groups, Rakim lingered at the mural wall. He uncapped a thick black marker and scrawled his signature in bold strokes across under his figure. Next to him, Wirtz doodled a small crown above his signature, grinning. "History, bro," he said with a sleepy croak, clearly still feeling the effects of last night’s partying.

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[07/07/2020 | Time: 10:30 AM | Location: Cologne]

The happy atmosphere did not last long for Rakim, though, as two days later, he and May were greeted with unsettling news. They were woken up by notifications blowing up May’s phone, which was a welcome change from the past few days. However, the news was nothing short of shocking to the two, as it pertained to her father, Victor.

Streamer May Parker’s father, Victor Parker, Orlando con artist: Wall Street-based Atlantis fund partner arrested for mismanagement of client funds and suspected embezzlement charges, Tax evasion... by the SEC, FBI, and IRS.

Similar news article greeted the two as news from local media across the pond finally reached Mays’ algorithm. Some news articles mentioned Rakim because they were publicly dating, which boosted the algorithm, as the German press was still discussing the historic moment Leverkusen had achieved.

"Raki... you need to see this," she whispered, voice flat with disbelief. She turned the phone toward him, the bold headline glaring back like a punch to the chest.

Rakim blinked hard, his sleepiness evaporating in an instant after noticing her panicked expression. He rubbed his face, trying to make sense of the words, the grainy mugshot of Victor Parker staring back at him. The article was relentless: embezzlement, mismanagement of client funds, tax evasion, suspected fraud reaching into Billions.

"Lord..." Rakim muttered, running a hand down his face. "They’ve got him on everything under the sun."

May’s lips parted, but no words came as her finger subconciosly scrolled further. There were plenty of outlets, but each was uglier than the last, with some even getting creative, depicting Victor as a character straight out of Money Heist. It seemed like every American news outlet with a financial focus was covering the story, along with its regular coverage of bankruptcies caused by the COVID-19 pandemic.

One media outlet even featured a thumbnail of him and May on a date, accompanied by an image of Victor in a jumpsuit. The Headline read, ’The German Cup hero dating the daughter of a conman across the Atlantic.’ The only saving grace was that European media hadn’t picked up the story yet, and the few that did focused on the culprit.

"Of course they’d drag you into this," May said bitterly, tossing the phone onto the sheets. "But I didn’t realise it’s this bad, they are saying he lost almost 3 billion Rakim."

He had no words for her, as he was also quite surprised by the amount stated, but didn’t actually believe the amount; however, it must be in that ballpark. She seemed to have picked up on his hesitation, as the Tears that had been welling up in her eyes now fully streamed from her face. Rakim sat up fully now, the duvet sliding down his torso, his muscles stiff from training resuming the previous day.

Pulling her into his embrace, he threw away her phone, not minding that it crashed against the bedside lamp. Feeling his arms wrap around her, she no longer held back and fully wept. Seeing some he loved in pain and not having a solution, he held her tighter, resting his chin on the crown of her head as sobs wracked her body.

The muffled sound of her crying filled the bedroom, suffocating both their emotions. His mind scrambled, trying to find the right words, but none seemed good enough. "It’s not on you," he whispered at last, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. "This isn’t your fault. What he did, if he did it... That’s on him, May."

She shook her head against his chest, hair sticking damp against his skin. "But everyone will look at me like I knew. Like I’m part of it. Like..." her voice cracked, "...like I’m tainted too."

He pulled back slightly, enough to cup her face and force her teary eyes to meet his. "Listen to me, you dummy. You’re not him. This is unfortunate, and you are not to blame, regardless of what anyone says. We should call your family to understand what’s going on the news is as reliable as the weather."

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To Be Continued...