At that moment, Aldridge understood—this was Barnett's birthday gift to him.
He sank into the leather chair behind his desk and frowned in silence.
After returning from his studies, Aldridge had fully intended to enter the football world as a coach. But he had no illusions of quick success. His plan had always been to start at the bottom: apply for a junior coaching role at a local London club, then climb steadily as he gained experience and proved himself. He didn't believe that simply having a memory full of matches from the future was enough to immediately claim a head coach's position.
But now, things were different.
He owned Millwall.
How could he possibly apply for a regular coaching job elsewhere, when he was already the owner of a professional club? That would be absurd. Even if he tried to play it down and join Millwall as an entry-level coach, the reality was that every word he said would carry the weight of ownership. Any opinion would be treated like a command. No room for learning, no space for mistakes, and certainly no honest communication from colleagues.
And to complicate things further, his relationship with Millwall was... messy.
On the surface, he'd always distanced himself from the club—calling it crude, backward, even toxic at times. But during his studies across Europe, in the quiet moments, images of a transformed Millwall would flash in his mind—of a team no longer known for hooliganism, but for something greater.
Maybe it was because his entire family supported Millwall, with near-religious loyalty. Maybe that influence ran deeper than he liked to admit.
Barnett must've thought this gift was poetic—what better surprise for a brother obsessed with football than to hand him the club of his youth?
But Aldridge felt conflicted. Deeply.
Boom.
The study door creaked open. Andrew, in pajamas, knocked gently as he stepped inside. When he saw Aldridge sitting alone at the desk, expression blank, he smirked and asked, "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Obviously, he knew what Barnett had done.
Aldridge exhaled through his nose and shook his head. "I never imagined owning Millwall."
Andrew raised an eyebrow. "What are you saying? I thought you wanted to be a coach. Feeling the pressure now? Worried the team'll flop under your name?"
Aldridge leaned his head back, eyes drifting to the ceiling. "Honestly... I'm not even a Millwall fan."
"What?!"
Apparently, this was a conversation they'd never had before. The entire family had always assumed everyone in the Hall household was Millwall to the bone. Andrew looked stunned.
Aldridge gave a half-smile. "Forget it. It's pointless. But how come I never heard about this before? Barnett buying Millwall? That's not exactly pocket change."
Andrew sank into the leather sofa across from him, crossed one leg over the other, and shrugged. "He bought the club through an investment group more than two years ago. Only the official statement mentioned the change of ownership. Everything else stayed quiet. You were off studying back then. The club had just been relegated, no real fanfare. Plus, they were still paying off the new stadium project. Wasn't even that expensive. Barnett kept it under wraps so he could surprise you."
Aldridge sat still, absorbing it all.
He'd always kept an eye on Millwall's results, even though he told himself he didn't care. He would read their scores, follow their progress week to week. He never understood why—his heart said one thing, his behavior another.
Back in 1988, Sheringham had led the team to promotion. He and Tony Cascarino had formed a dangerous strike partnership that helped Millwall survive their first season in the First Division. But as always with newly promoted sides, their surprise factor faded. The following season, once teams adjusted and neutralized the strike duo, Millwall's thin squad and lack of investment saw them relegated again.
Their timing was unlucky. If they'd held on for another season or two, they would have joined the newly-formed Premier League in 1992 and reaped the financial rewards. Even the initial broadcast deal—worth just under £200 million—would have meant several million for a club like Millwall. Enough to sign three quality players and reshape the squad.
After relegation, they gave it one more big push. Sheringham stayed and nearly carried them back single-handedly. But a disastrous 2–6 defeat to Brighton in the first playoff round ended that dream. The club then sold Sheringham to Nottingham Forest for £2 million—one of the more expensive English transfers at the time.
With that cash, they committed fully to building the new stadium.
And that's when Barnett stepped in, quietly acquiring the club.
In the first season under new ownership, Millwall stagnated. But now, in the current campaign, they'd shown real signs of life—finishing third in the First Division and qualifying for the promotion playoffs.
Andrew leaned forward. "Look, if we get a bit of luck in the playoffs, Millwall will be in the Premier League by this summer. You'll be stepping into a top-flight club."
Aldridge didn't reply immediately.
Because deep down, he knew: whether he liked it or not, Millwall was now his.
...
A few days later, Aldridge sat alongside Andrew in the stands at the Lion's Den, watching the second leg of the First Division play-off semi-final: Millwall vs Derby County.
Around them, many supporters took the initiative to greet the Hall brothers. East London had been in steady decline since the Second World War—once a hub of heavy industry, the old shipyards and factories had given way to markets and smaller workshops. But in recent years, the Hall family had become something of a household name across London. Amid the broader European and American economic recession, they had made large-scale investments in East London. Even the abandoned docks now showed signs of revival.
It was no coincidence that both West Ham and Millwall had emerged from those same shipyard communities.
Many of the fans seated nearby viewed the Hall family with genuine gratitude. When the economy slumped, the Halls had helped preserve jobs and homes. So to see two of the Hall sons here in person to support Millwall was a point of pride.
The television broadcast cut to the pair more than once, though the wider public had no idea that Millwall Football Club now belonged to them.
As the match began, Aldridge remained composed, calm, his eyes fixed on the pitch. In contrast, Andrew was much more like the fans around them—cheering, gesturing, sometimes groaning at near-misses. What drew Aldridge's attention most wasn't the action on the pitch, but the tiny pocket of Derby County fans in the eastern corner. Surrounded on all sides, they looked like lambs among wolves—taunted constantly by Millwall's more aggressive fan groups.
By full time, the scoreboard displayed a dismal final aggregate:
1–5.
Millwall had been eliminated again in the first round of the play-offs.
In the stands, the atmosphere was sour. Derby's fans celebrated ecstatically—perhaps a little too loudly. That alone was enough to provoke the Bushwackers, Millwall's most infamous ultra group. A skirmish broke out almost instantly in the stands.
"Ah… I bet that's Polk's lot losing their minds again," Andrew muttered, patting Aldridge on the shoulder with a look of disappointment. Just a few days earlier, they had dared to hope that this might be a Premier League side soon handed over to Aldridge. Instead, here they were—humiliated on home turf, in front of national TV cameras.
But Aldridge didn't flinch. He turned to his brother and said quietly, "Go to the press conference. Announce it. The Hall family officially owns the club."
Andrew blinked. "Now?"
He hesitated. The team had just crashed out of the play-offs. Spirits were low. Yes, everyone knew Millwall was controlled by an investment consortium, but it had operated discreetly. Going public now, with morale at rock bottom, might cause all sorts of unpredictable backlash.
Aldridge didn't explain further. He simply turned and walked toward the tunnel.
Inside, his mind was still calm. The failure to gain promotion didn't upset him. If anything, he welcomed it.
He hadn't come here to ride the momentum of success—he came to rebuild. Taking over a winning team would have tied his hands, stirred unrest, even made him a villain if changes went wrong. But with failure comes freedom. This team was broken. That gave him license to tear it down and start again.
As they made their way toward the press area, Aldridge suddenly turned and asked, "You mentioned Polk earlier. Who is he?"
Andrew, still trying to keep up, replied, "Leader of the Bushwackers. They're Millwall's main firm. The ICF are West Ham's lot. Those two have been going at each other for decades."
Aldridge gave a small nod.
He knew the names. Bushwackers and ICF—football hooligan firms, not just fan clubs. Organized, violent, and notorious even across Europe. Millwall vs. West Ham was never just about football.
At the press conference, reporters and staff were already gathered. Millwall executives were wrapping up a routine post-match address. Most people in the room knew Andrew—he technically held a directorial position, though it was rarely mentioned.
As Aldridge and Andrew walked toward the podium, the chatter slowly died down. Nearly a hundred eyes turned to watch the two sharply dressed young men approach. There was no announcement. No introduction. Even the security guards didn't intervene.
Aldridge stepped up to the microphone and stood tall.
"Good afternoon," he said calmly. "My name is Aldridge Hall. Two years ago, Millwall Football Club was acquired by BAA Investment Group. As of last week, the club has been transferred from BAA's portfolio to my personal ownership. In other words, I am now the sole owner of Millwall."
He paused, his gaze steady.
"You're free to verify it. But know this—starting today, Millwall is entering a new era. An era led by me."
He placed the microphone down and walked away without another word.
The room was frozen in stunned silence.
Backstage, Andrew caught up with him, half-laughing. "You know… that was actually kind of cool."
Aldridge turned to him, dead serious. "Within a week, I want the entire coaching staff gone. Resigned or released. And draft me a contract—I'm borrowing thirty million pounds from our brother."
Andrew stared at him like he'd just grown a second head. But he nodded slowly and followed.