An hour ago
Pierce rose from his seat, straightening his jacket as the chatter of the stadium lingered behind him.
He started toward his office, footsteps steady, mind replaying every detail he had observed. Alex's restraint… Marcus's execution…
Halfway down the corridor, however, a thought struck him... sharp, valuable, undeniable.
His lips curved faintly as he adjusted his course toward Marcus and the group's changing room.
The corridor of the athletic complex stretched ahead of President Pierce, his leather shoes clicked against polished tiles as he approached changing room, each step measured and deliberate.
He'd allowed the boys enough time to marinate in their defeat.
Muffled voices died the instant his knuckles rapped against the door. A pause. Shuffling. Then the handle turned.
Marcus opened it, face still carrying the flush of lingering frustration.
