The Rise of Millwal

On Christmas Eve, Aldrich finally managed to coax Bert and Earl to sleep. They rarely spent the night at their grandparents' house, and despite having a specially prepared room filled with countless toys—a reflection of their grandparents' deep affection—they were not accustomed to sleeping in unfamiliar beds. It wasn't until their eyelids grew unbearably heavy that they tilted their heads and drifted off.

Aldrich, however, wasn't ready for sleep. On the nights before match days, he typically stayed up late. He walked out onto the villa's balcony, intending to enjoy the cold breeze and smoke a cigarette.

There, he found Barnett and Andrew already standing side by side, smoking and chatting as if they were reliving old times. When Aldrich joined them, Andrew—still in his pajamas and a comical Christmas hat—immediately went inside, returning with beer and snacks. "Come on," he said with a grin, "it's been ages since the three of us had a proper hangout."

Barnett readily agreed, giving Aldrich a knowing, amused look.

Aldrich thought to himself, Yeah, we've all grown up and have our own lives now. It's true, we don't see each other as often. Even having a heart-to-heart has become rare.

Naturally, he didn't want to ruin the mood.

"Hey, don't you think gifting me a yacht was a bit over the top?"

Aldrich knew that a yacht was no big deal for Barnett. With a net worth exceeding billions, the bursting of the dot-com bubble hadn't impacted Barnett much. His investments in tangible assets had remained stable, and this period of market turmoil was merely his way of consolidating resources for the next leap forward.

Before Barnett could respond, Andrew indignantly interjected, "What the hell, big brother? You've been biased since we were kids! Aldrich gets a yacht, and I only get a sports car?!"

Barnett sighed helplessly. "I didn't know what he liked. When it comes to gifts, you've got to cater to the person's preferences. Don't you love collecting cars? Tell me, how many do you have in your garage now? Enough to host an exhibition, I bet."

Andrew took a swig of beer before breaking into a grin. "Twenty-three top-tier sports cars, including some limited editions. Give it another twenty or thirty years, and they might be priceless! What I'm saying is, you should've given me at least ten cars, not just one."

"Fine. Make a list and send it to me. I'll have them delivered," Barnett replied without batting an eye.

As the eldest brother, Barnett had always been like this—generous to a fault, always giving his younger brothers whatever they wanted, as long as he could.

Aldrich exhaled a puff of smoke and nudged Barnett's shoulder. "You still haven't answered my question."

Barnett let out a soft sigh. "Aldrich, what's the point of asking? Can't you just be like Andrew? Just accept it. You always make things complicated, like you're trying to put some distance between us."

Aldrich was momentarily speechless, caught off guard by the rebuke.

After all, receiving a gift worth $200 million was no small matter. His first instinct had been that it was too much, something he couldn't possibly accept.

Struggling to come up with a clumsy excuse, Aldrich finally said, "The problem is, I don't even use this kind of thing much. Plus, maintaining it costs a fortune every year."

At the moment, his biggest annual expense was the construction and upkeep of his private island in Australia. Now, he had to account for a yacht as well—a thought that suddenly felt overwhelming.

Barnett placed a reassuring hand on Aldrich's shoulder and smiled. "The yacht's maintenance costs are covered by one of my offshore companies. You won't need to worry about it. Honestly, I think it's time you hired a manager to handle these things for you. Like with your island in Australia, you can't possibly oversee everything yourself. You're better off just enjoying what's already taken care of."

Aldrich grinned and said to Barnett, "See? That's how a real big boss talks."

But Andrew didn't laugh. Instead, he rolled his eyes and retorted, "It's not that he's particularly eloquent. The weirdest thing is you."

He even threw in a dramatic eye roll for emphasis.

Aldrich shook his head with a resigned laugh. Well, that was that—he'd been properly roasted.

On second thought, Andrew was right. Perhaps it really was time to hire someone to take care of these tedious affairs.

The three brothers talked easily, covering Barnett's business in the States, the new baby girl in his life, and Andrew's ongoing bachelorhood—always out and about, never settled. But when the conversation turned to Aldrich, his situation stood out as the most complicated. His life appeared perfect—a beautiful family, everything seemingly in place—but there was still this "ex-wife" who kept making surprise appearances.

Aldrich sighed at the thought.

Once a month, Melanie would show up. She'd claim to just be there for the kids, either visiting them or taking them out for fun, with Aldrich having to accompany them as the dutiful father.

Barnett, always mindful of his reputation, gave Aldrich a quiet reminder to avoid causing any trouble or embarrassing moments.

Andrew, though, just laughed and poked fun at Aldrich. "You're living the dream, man. Two women fighting over you? How many guys can say that?"

"Ugh, enough about you," Andrew said. "Let's go for a drive, get some fresh air."

Barnett and Aldrich really didn't feel like it, but they couldn't escape the persistence of the second son of the Hall family. The three brothers changed into something more casual and headed downstairs. Although Andrew didn't visit often, the garage at the villa was still full of his cars—none of which were part of his collection, though.

Aldrich and Barnett assumed they'd be driving a sports car, but then Andrew tossed them helmets.

Aldrich and Barnett could hardly believe it.

"Are you kidding me? It's the middle of winter, Christmas Eve, and you want us to ride motorcycles around?"

"Why don't we just dress up Arthur's dogs as reindeer, tie them to a sleigh, and pretend we're Santa Claus?"

But, surprisingly, the motorcycle ride turned out to be a blast. The brothers laughed and joked as they cruised through the streets, reminiscing about their youth.

Years ago, Barnett owned a beat-up motorcycle, and he'd often take his younger brothers on joyrides around the neighborhood. Back then, it felt daring and exhilarating.

Now, riding high-end motorcycles, they didn't dare push the speed too far—wealth and age had made them cautious. Still, the ride was a throwback to their carefree childhood, a time when they could forget everything and simply enjoy the thrill of the road.

The late-night fun left Aldrich sleeping in on Christmas Day. When he finally got up, a "gift" awaited him:

Butt's injury would sideline him for at least two and a half months.

A fractured arm required a long recovery. Two and a half months was an optimistic estimate for rehabilitation, let alone returning to the pitch for key matches. Aldrich braced himself for the likelihood that Butt's season was effectively over.

It was a sunny day, but Aldrich had no plans to go out. After waking up, he found that Yvonne had already gone over to Arthur's villa. In the afternoon, Aldrich stepped out onto the front lawn, laptop in hand, and settled into the swing to work.

Bert and Earl were kicking a football nearby, while Yvonne and his sister-in-law chatted. Meanwhile, Aldrich had no time to relax; he was already searching for a new starting goalkeeper for the second half of the season.

He picked up his phone and dialed Boas.

"Hi, Villas. Merry Christmas."

"Uh, Merry Christmas. Let me guess—it's about Butt's injury?"

"You've got it."

"Yeah, the team's going to need a reliable keeper, right?"

Boas's job included updating the club's long-standing player database, something he personally enjoyed.

"Here are my requirements. First, the goalkeeper we sign must have reliable skills and plenty of experience. Second, this goalkeeper isn't meant to permanently replace Butt. Once he recovers, I'll assess his form. If his performance returns to normal, he'll remain our starting goalkeeper. Third, keep the cost reasonable. I don't want to cause any controversy during the winter break."

Aldrich's three requirements were clear. The first needed no discussion. For the second, he hadn't even considered using this as a chance to replace Butt with a superior world-class goalkeeper. People form emotional bonds, and Butt had proven himself trustworthy. While he might not match the peak performance of legendary keepers, he had never made a critical, unforgivable mistake in key matches during his time at Millwall. If the club discarded him due to an injury, at his age, he would never agree to take a backup role. Therefore, both logically and emotionally, Aldrich sought a temporary solution, someone who could later serve as a backup. The third requirement aimed to avoid media scrutiny or public pressure from a high-profile transfer.

"Got it. I'll send over a shortlist as soon as I've compiled it."

"Alright, thanks. Goodbye."

After ending the call, Aldrich began searching for suitable candidates on his computer.

To be honest, this period yielded almost no suitable options in his memory. Most players he could recall were relatively well-known. The goalkeeper position wasn't particularly glamorous, and only a few names stood out. Finding someone both competent and willing to be a backup was incredibly challenging.

Andrew woke up later than Aldrich. Now, wearing his pajamas and a Santa hat, he walked out carrying two steaming cups of coffee. Was this a deliberate attempt to be cheeky?

Handing one cup to Aldrich, he sat down on a swing nearby. Watching Bert kicking a ball around, Andrew chuckled and said, "Your son looks like he's got the makings of a professional footballer. Let me be his agent—I'll make him a star."

"You'd better stay away from my son. I don't want you corrupting him," Aldrich replied flatly.

"Ha! You've got room to talk. When your kids grow up and start asking questions, I'd love to see how you explain your thing with Chisholm."

"Don't make me pour this coffee over your head."

"Alright, alright, just kidding!"

Aldrich took a sip of his coffee, then turned to Andrew with a serious expression.

Andrew froze. "You're not seriously going to pour coffee on me, are you?"

Aldrich shook his head. "Do me a favor. Get in touch with the Fleet Street gunners. Tell them to go all-out criticizing Millwall."

Andrew was stunned. "What?"