The boardroom at Camp Nou was a place of hushed reverence, a chamber where the ghosts of footballing glory lingered in the air like incense in a cathedral.
The walls were adorned with photographs of legendary moments: Cruyff's revolutionary tactics, Guardiola's tiki-taka disciples, Messi's impossible goals.
But on this cold February morning in 2013, the atmosphere was not one of reverence, but of revolution. A silent, corporate coup was underway, and the soul of the institution was about to be auctioned to the highest bidder.
Sandro Rosell, the club's president, sat at the head of the polished mahogany table like a king holding court. His posture radiated a chilling, unshakeable resolve, the confidence of a man who had never been told 'no' and never intended to hear it.
He was impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than most people's annual salary, his silver hair perfectly styled, his manicured fingers steepled in front of him.
