After finalizing the Alves deal, Arthur didn't head straight back to England. With the main business done, he decided to take a brief detour. He gave Lina, his trusted assistant, two days off and caught a flight to Madrid—alone.
There was no press conference, no business meeting. Just a quiet evening that turned into a memorable night, spent in the company of Shakira, who happened to still be in Madrid. It was the kind of night that stayed off the headlines but lingered in the memory.
Meanwhile, back in England, the real fireworks were just beginning.
The next morning, as Arthur and Shakira remained sound asleep in the soft comfort of a luxury hotel suite, the Yorkshire Post published an exclusive interview with Miles Allen, Leeds United's general manager. It instantly reignited the buzz around the club, and especially around the previous day's events.
At exactly 8:30 in the morning, just a short walk from Leeds United's Thorp Arch training base, Antonio—player agent and orchestrator of controversy—was enjoying a quiet breakfast in the apartment he'd been renting in Leeds.
Still in his robe, fresh from the shower, he sat at the small kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a plate of toast, scrolling idly through his phone. He had been in a good mood since the day before. His carefully planted story about Arthur's treatment of Maicon had taken on a life of its own. It had been spreading across the football world, gaining traction online, stirring up outrage from pundits, fans, and media personalities alike.
By late evening the day before, it was everywhere—how Arthur Morgan had supposedly thrown a respected player into the reserve squad without warning or reason. The public outcry had been exactly what Antonio wanted. Arthur's silence only made it better. One full day without a response? That was gold.
He and Calderón had even spoken on the phone the previous night. Both were confident that Arthur had overstepped this time. No club could afford to alienate players that way and expect to keep a good reputation. Word gets around. Players talk. If Leeds United started being seen as a club that discarded players without warning, future signings might think twice before joining.
Antonio leaned back in his chair, satisfied. "He's probably panicking," he muttered to himself. "Trying to figure out how to save face."
Just then, his phone rang loudly on the kitchen counter. He glanced at the screen.
Maicon.
He picked up, still relaxed. "Michael, morning. What's going on?"
Maicon's voice came fast and tense. "Antonio, have you seen today's Yorkshire Post?"
Antonio blinked, caught off guard by the urgency. "No, I haven't gotten it yet. Why?"
"The club's responded," Maicon said, his voice tight. "You should come over right now. There's a report. A long one. You need to see it. I think… I think the situation isn't quite what we thought it was."
Antonio sat upright. Something about the tone unsettled him. "What do you mean, different? What are you talking about?"
There was a short pause on the line. Then Maicon spoke again, sounding resigned.
"Just get over here. It'll make more sense once you read it."
Antonio, now properly alert, nodded even though no one could see him. "Alright. Don't worry, I'll be there in ten minutes."
He ended the call and stood up quickly, almost knocking his chair over in the process. The toast sat uneaten. The coffee forgotten. He grabbed his jacket and shoulder bag, completely forgetting to clear the table.
Without wasting another second, he left the apartment and rushed out the door, heading straight for Maicon's place.
****
Exactly ten minutes later, Antonio stepped into Maicon's apartment, still slightly out of breath from rushing over. The door clicked shut behind him, and without a word, Maicon pointed him toward the living room. He looked tense—too tense for someone who usually handled bad press like a seasoned pro.
Antonio dropped into the sofa and followed Maicon's gaze to the coffee table. There it was—The Yorkshire Post, still open to the sports section. And staring back at him from the front page was the unmistakably smug face of Miles Allen, Leeds United's general manager.
Antonio picked up the newspaper slowly, eyes narrowing as he began to read.
It didn't take long.
Beneath Allen's photo was the headline:
"Leeds United Breaks Silence – Allen Fires Back at Player Agent and Real Madrid."
Antonio scanned the text. The opening quote hit like a freight train.
"Antonio is a complete liar. Leeds United offered Maicon very favorable renewal terms. But Maicon, under Antonio's influence, rejected them—because Antonio, blinded by money, convinced him to demand five times his current salary. We will never agree to demands that undermine team unity."
Antonio's jaw clenched.
It got worse.
"But the salary demand wasn't the only issue. Maicon, again under Antonio's direction, became what I can only describe as a contract traitor. Leeds United had been open to reasonable discussions. Just last week, Real Madrid's president called us directly with interest in Maicon. We didn't shut the door. Arthur Morgan even took the call himself."
Antonio looked up at Maicon, who said nothing—he only stared at the wall, arms folded, breathing heavily through his nose.
"But what shocked us," the interview continued, "was that the offer was absurdly low. Insulting, really. And then came the threat—'You'll get nothing if he runs out his contract.' That's when it became clear to us: Antonio had been negotiating behind our backs all along."
"We suspect he's violated multiple Football Association rules by contacting clubs during an active contract period without the club's permission. And we won't let this slide."
Antonio dropped the paper onto the table like it had burned his hands.
The last paragraph hit the hardest. The actual transcript of the call between Arthur and Calderón had been printed—right there in black and white. Not the full audio, of course, but a verbatim excerpt that painted Calderón as smug and Leeds United as the wronged party.
It was brutal.
Antonio turned to Maicon. "We're done," he muttered. "This isn't just damage control. This is a total counterattack."
Maicon didn't speak. He just nodded slowly. His career at Leeds United was over. That much was clear. There'd be no way back from this—not with the fans, not with the dressing room, and certainly not with Arthur still calling the shots.
Antonio stood up and started pacing. He looked like a man whose plan had collapsed midair.
"They actually printed the call," he muttered to himself. "They brought Calderón into this. Named him directly. And now everyone's going to think we were playing dirty the whole time…"
His mind raced. There was still one way out.
Calderón.
If Real Madrid still wanted Maicon, they had to act fast. January wasn't far off. The winter transfer window would open in weeks, and if a deal could be struck before then—if they could get Maicon out of Leeds and into Madrid—then maybe, just maybe, they could recover from this.
Without wasting another second, Antonio grabbed his phone from his bag and dialed Calderón's number.
The call connected after a few rings.
"Good morning, Antonio," came Calderón's smooth voice, laced with charm and that familiar air of control. "Do you have good news for me?"
Antonio took a breath. He couldn't sound desperate. He needed to stay composed—even though his gut was in knots.
"Good morning, Mr. Calderón. I do have news… but I'm afraid it's not the kind you were expecting."
There was a pause on the line. Calderón was confused but intrigued.
"Oh?" he said lightly. "Go on, then."
Antonio launched into the story. He explained everything—the Yorkshire Post interview, Allen's accusations, the part about the salary, the betrayal angle, the contract violations, the published phone call. He didn't skip a detail. He made sure to emphasize that Arthur publicly airing Calderón's call was a massive breach of decorum, a move that should offend the president of a club like Real Madrid.
On the other end of the line, Calderón sat in his office, a cappuccino in hand. He listened quietly, only occasionally raising an eyebrow as Antonio laid out the entire situation.
When the agent finished, there was a beat of silence.
Then Calderón chuckled.
Antonio blinked. "Did you… just laugh?"
"I did," Calderón replied calmly. "It's bold of Arthur to print our conversation, yes. But do I care about the English FA's rules? Not particularly."
Antonio frowned. "But it's out in the open now. He made you look like a bully—"
Calderón cut in smoothly, "Antonio, let's not forget who benefits from all this. The worse Maicon's relationship with Leeds gets, the easier it is for us to swoop in. If the bridge is already burning, I don't have to light the match."
Antonio fell silent. He knew Calderón wasn't wrong.
"Here's what matters," Calderón continued. "We're not pulling out of the deal. Real Madrid still wants Maicon. But we need to be smart. Publicly, we'll say nothing. Privately, you and Maicon must continue to push for an exit. Leeds will be more desperate to offload him now."
"And the fee?" Antonio asked cautiously.
"We'll make another offer," Calderón said. "But it won't be a charity gift. You and Maicon will have to play your part. Stir the pot a little. Keep the tension going. Eventually, they'll want him gone, and we'll be waiting with a check."
Antonio let out a breath. The door hadn't shut completely. There was still a path forward—but it would require careful maneuvering.
"I understand," he said.
"Good," Calderón replied. "Because this isn't about pride anymore. It's about timing."