Page 5 of The Show

I threw my hands in the air. “You were robbed! It’s literally the worst team in the league!”

“I know, and you’re going to run it as the youngest owner in MLB history and turn it around. I want a World Series win before I die.”

I stilled at that sobering thought, and my hands clenched round the back of my chair. “Jesus, Gramps.”

“It’s true. I won’t be around forever.” He grinned again, clearly enjoying this.

I took several deep breaths through my nose. None of this was making any sense.

“Grandpa, I’m a Yankees fan. Dad was a Yankees fan. Dad wanted to own The Yankees. You’ve been to games with me. Buy them instead! I can’t do this.”

He leaned back into the confines of his huge leather chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your father would have seen this as an excellent opportunity. He would have torn my right arm off to own a team.”

“He wanted to own The Yankees!”

“Penn, The Yankees has been built, not to mention Steinbrenner will never sell them. You’re chasing a pipe dream with that club. But with The Lions you can start from scratch. You can take on The Yankees.”

“Start from scratch?!” I threw my hands in the air again, still not believing what I was hearing. Maybe he was going senile. I’d heard this happened before retirement.

“Didn’t say it was going to be easy, did I?”

I tried to stare my grandfather down, but seeing as he was regularly used as an advisor to several senior politicians, and Secretaries of State and Defense on trade negotiations between countries, it had little effect. No one could stare down Lucian Shepherd.

“Since your father died, we’ve always coddled you. That was our mistake. But now you need to stop dicking around, my boy. You work hard but you don’t love it, it’s too easy for you. It’s why you dick around. Find a girl, settle down, and win me a trophy while you’re doing that.”

Jesus Christ. I actually had no words. None. He wasn’t wrong about the dicking around, but buying a failing baseball team wasn’t going to solve it. And I had no plans to settle down either.

“Grandpa…” I pleaded, just like I used to as a kid when he’d make me finish my homework before I went out to play ball.

“No,” he stopped me. “It’s done, Penn. It’s time to go out on your own. It’s time to step up, and do what you always wanted to do.”

“I didn’t want to do this!” I shouted back.

“I’ve agreed with Maypole that we’ll keep this quiet; he wanted to keep it private,” he continued, taking absolutely no notice of my distress. “We’ve managed to sort this out with very few people knowing. He wasn’t happy about this, but I have also gotten him to agree that you’ll have until the post season begins to announce your ownership, so you have some time to figure out what you want to do. And I’ve added a billion to the cash flow so you can buy some decent players. Build me a team, Penn. Win me the Commissioner’s Trophy.”

I stormed out before he could say any more; before I had to listen to any more of his reasoning… or lunacy.

If you cut me open, I’d bleed Yankees blue. How was I supposed to build a team to beat the one true love I’d had in my life? The one I could admit to anyway.

I was shaking so hard it took two attempts to hit the button for the elevator. I couldn’t even take any pleasure in how angry Nancy was, because I was angrier.

As the doors opened, my sister Lauren walked out, followed by her ever-present sidekick, Lowe Slater - the last person I wanted to see right now.

I pushed past them without bothering to say hello and swiped my card to get me directly to the lobby without stopping.

“Jesus, what’s your problem?” Lauren grumbled as the doors closed in her face, though not quick enough for me to miss the wide, sparkling blue eyes of Lowe.

I’ll tell you what my fucking problem is.

My name is Pennington Cabot James Shepherd the Third.

The new owner of The New York Lions, the worst baseball team in the M.L.B.

2

Penn

Three months later.

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