# CHAPTER 9: THE UNVEILING
The City Ground's main suite had been transformed for the press conference. Forest's iconic red logo served as the backdrop, with Torres Ventures and other sponsor logos tastefully arranged alongside it. Nearly a hundred journalists packed the room—not just the usual Nottingham football reporters, but national sports writers, financial correspondents, and even several Spanish media outlets.
Liam stood in the adjacent room, watching the gathering crowd on a monitor. Miguel paced nervously beside him.
"There are more journalists here than at most Liverpool press conferences," Miguel observed, adjusting his tie for the third time. "Are you sure about this?"
"Completely," Liam replied, checking his watch. "Remember the talking points we discussed. Focus on the sporting project, the long-term vision. Redirect any questions about my finances to the prepared statement."
Miguel stopped pacing. "Liam, we've known each other for years, but sometimes I feel like I'm talking to a stranger now. The Liam I knew would be a nervous wreck before facing all those cameras. This version of you seems... impossibly calm."
Liam offered a small smile. "People change, Miguel."
"Not this much, this quickly." Miguel lowered his voice. "The rumors about your trading system—is it real? Did you really develop some revolutionary algorithm?"
For a moment, Liam considered telling Miguel the truth. His old friend had always been loyal, discreet. But no—Window Five was his secret alone, at least for now.
"The algorithm is real," he said instead. "The details are proprietary."
Before Miguel could press further, Howard entered. "They're ready for you."
Liam straightened his custom-tailored suit and nodded. "Let's make history."
The moment they stepped into the conference room, camera flashes erupted. Liam moved confidently to the center of the table, flanked by Miguel and the Forest chairman. He had rehearsed this moment using Window Five, repeatedly checking the next five minutes to perfect his delivery and anticipate questions.
"Good morning," he began once the room quieted. "Today marks the beginning of a new era for Nottingham Forest Football Club. I'm honored and humbled to become the custodian of this historic institution."
For twenty minutes, Liam outlined his vision—returning Forest to the Premier League within three years, rebuilding the academy, modernizing the stadium while preserving its character, implementing a distinctive playing style that would honor the club's attacking traditions.
He spoke with such conviction and detailed knowledge that even the most skeptical journalists in the room appeared impressed. This wasn't the usual vague promises of a new owner; this was a comprehensive blueprint delivered with absolute certainty.
Then came the questions. As Window Five had shown him, they focused initially on his football vision before inevitably turning to his finances.
"Mr. Torres," called a Financial Times reporter, "you've emerged seemingly overnight as a financial powerhouse. Can you explain how your trading algorithm works and why it's been so much more successful than established quantitative funds?"
Liam offered the prepared response. "Our proprietary system identifies micro-inefficiencies in various markets that others overlook. Beyond that, I'm sure you understand why I can't divulge specific methodologies. What I can say is that the same analytical approach that drives our financial success will be applied to football operations at Forest."
A tabloid journalist stood next. "There are reports of extraordinary gambling winnings, particularly in sports betting. Some bookmakers have reportedly closed your accounts due to suspicious patterns. Would you care to comment?"
This question had not appeared in any of Liam's Window Five previews—a reminder that the future could still surprise him if events beyond the five-minute window affected what occurred within it.
He maintained his composure. "Like many traders, I occasionally engage in sports betting as recreation. Any suggestions of impropriety are categorically false. My focus now is entirely on Nottingham Forest."
The questions continued for another thirty minutes, ranging from transfer plans to his relationship with Valentina ("Ms. Reeves and I are dating, but she has no involvement in my business ventures or the club") to his time at Liverpool ("An invaluable experience under one of football's great tactical minds").
Throughout, Liam projected absolute confidence, answering each question without hesitation—a performance made possible by multiple Window Five previews that had allowed him to rehearse every response to perfection.
By the time the press conference concluded, the narrative had shifted noticeably. The journalists were still curious about his wealth, but they were equally intrigued by his football knowledge and vision for Forest.
Afterward, as they moved to a private reception with club staff and key supporters, Miguel whispered, "That was... impressive. You handled them like you'd rehearsed every possible question."
Liam smiled. "Preparation is everything in football and business."
The reception lasted two hours—handshakes, photographs, brief conversations with everyone from groundskeepers to the club's oldest season ticket holder. Liam made each person feel valued, memorizing names and personal details with seemingly effortless recall.
When they finally left the City Ground, the sun was setting over the Trent. A small group of supporters had gathered outside, chanting Liam's name and singing Forest songs. He stopped to sign autographs and take selfies, projecting the image of an accessible, passionate owner.
In the car back to his London apartment, Miguel reviewed notes on his tablet. "I've already received inquiries from agents about twelve players. Your arrival has generated significant interest in the market."
"We move carefully," Liam cautioned. "No panic buys, no inflated fees. We have our targets list—we stick to it."
"And the manager situation?"
"We'll meet with him tomorrow. He stays until the end of the season, regardless of results. No point creating unnecessary instability."
Miguel nodded, then hesitated. "Liam, there's something else. I received a call from UEFA's Financial Investigation Unit. They're asking questions about your acquisition funding."
Liam had anticipated this. UEFA had recently strengthened their financial monitoring following several controversial takeovers.
"Direct them to Howard. All our documentation is in order."
"It's not just UEFA. The Spanish financial regulators are looking into your trading activities. And three sports betting companies have filed a joint complaint alleging pattern recognition software use, which they classify as a form of cheating."
This was accelerating faster than Liam had expected. He activated Window Five, looking ahead to see if Miguel would provide more specific information in the next five minutes. He saw a continuation of this same conversation, but no new revelations.
"Legal noise," Liam said dismissively. "They find it easier to allege impropriety than to accept that their systems can be beaten through superior analysis."
Miguel didn't look convinced. "These are serious entities, Liam. They have resources, influence."
"So do we, now." Liam's phone chimed with a message—Valentina had arrived at his London apartment. "Let's continue this tomorrow. The car will take you to your hotel."
As Miguel exited at the Mayfair hotel, he gave Liam a long look. "Just be careful. Success this sudden attracts more than just admiration."
In the penthouse apartment, Valentina waited in a sleek black dress, champagne already poured. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a spectacular view of London's skyline.
"The press conference went well," she said, kissing him briefly. "You're all over social media. #ForestOracle is trending."
Liam accepted the champagne, studying her expression. "But?"
"But," she continued, sitting gracefully on the designer sofa, "my agent called. I've been dropped from the Dior campaign."
"Why?"
"They cited 'association with controversial financial activities' as incompatible with their brand values." She sipped her champagne. "Meaning you. They're worried about being connected to whatever it is you're doing."
Liam frowned. The ripple effects were spreading faster than he had calculated. "I'll have my team speak with them."
"That's not the point, Liam." Valentina set down her glass. "When we met at Ascot, you were charming, mysterious, suddenly wealthy. I didn't ask questions because... well, I've dated wealthy men before. But this is different. There are investigators, journalists digging into your past, your finances. It's affecting my career now."
"What do you want to know?"
"The truth. Not the press release version."
Liam weighed his options carefully. Valentina was becoming important to him—perhaps the first genuine connection he'd formed since Window Five activated. But telling her everything was impossible.
"I developed a system," he said finally. "A method of analyzing patterns in various markets—sports, stocks, currencies. It's been extraordinarily successful. That's the truth."
"And that's it? No insider information? No manipulation? No illegal data access?"
"Nothing illegal," he confirmed, which was technically true. Window Five wasn't illegal—it wasn't covered by any existing law because it wasn't supposed to be possible.
Valentina studied him for a long moment. "There's more you're not telling me."
"There's always more, with everyone," Liam said softly. "But I promise you, Valentina—what I'm doing will change football for the better. I just need time."
She seemed to accept this, or at least decided not to press further tonight. "The Oracle of Madrid and his supermodel girlfriend. We make quite the headline."
"Is that all this is? A headline?"
Her expression softened. "No. Despite my better judgment, it's becoming more than that."
Later, as Valentina slept beside him, Liam stood at the window, looking out over nighttime London. His phone displayed a cascade of notifications—emails from regulatory bodies, messages from his legal team about inquiries from the Football Association, alerts about new articles analyzing his wealth.
The scrutiny was intensifying daily. He needed the Forest acquisition to close quickly, and he needed the AFCON tournament to arrive sooner rather than later. Once Zambia won as he knew they would, his finances would be secure beyond questioning.
His phone vibrated with a text from an unknown number: *The algorithm can't explain everything. We should talk before others start asking harder questions.*
Liam stared at the message, a chill running through him. Someone knew—or at least suspected—that his success couldn't be explained by conventional means.
He activated Window Five, looking ahead to see if any follow-up messages would arrive in the next five minutes. Nothing. Whoever had sent this was waiting for his response.
It could be a bluff, a fishing expedition from a journalist or investigator. Or it could be someone who had genuinely noticed impossible patterns in his activities.
Either way, it represented a new threat—one he hadn't foreseen.
Liam deleted the message without responding. If they had actual evidence, they wouldn't be sending cryptic texts.
Tomorrow, he would accelerate everything. The Forest acquisition needed to close immediately. His public profile needed to shift completely from "mysterious trader" to "visionary football owner." And he needed to implement additional security measures around his communications and movements.
Window Five had transformed him from nobody to multimillionaire in three months. Now he needed it to protect what he'd built.
As dawn broke over London, Liam was already dressed, on the phone with Howard.
"I don't care what it takes," he said quietly, not wanting to wake Valentina. "The acquisition closes this week. Pay the premium if necessary. Just get it done."