The atmosphere, which had just relaxed, instantly tightened again thanks to John's pointed question. Judging by the expressions of the two others in the room, they were nearly in full-blown panic—one looked ready to explode in defense of John, the other seemed about to fall to his knees in desperation, if not for John standing right there.
Interesting.
Lance's curiosity about John's identity only deepened. Judging from the context, he was clearly someone at the level of Jerry Jones or James Dolan—likely with some disdain for Jerry.
But Lance didn't have time to think too deeply. He needed to respond.
"No," he said calmly.
"Jerry Jones is Jerry Jones. He represents one way of running a team, but clearly, Dallas isn't the only successful franchise out there. That just means there are different inspirations, and we can find our own path."
"In business, there are no eternal enemies or friends—only eternal interests."
"Professional sports are the same. The line between rival and ally is much blurrier than people think."
Unhurried. Unflustered.
While the two others were visibly on the verge of collapse, Lance stood his ground with poised ease, diffusing the tension with confident subtlety.
John's gaze never left Lance, his polite smile unmoved, but the room thickened with unspoken pressure—the sharp edge of silent conflict.
Lance didn't flinch or shift his eyes. He met John head-on, calm and steady, unafraid of confrontation.
In the end—it was John who blinked first.
"Heh."
He chuckled, tilting his head ever so slightly, his expression softening with a trace of approval.
"Well said."
"Who knows? Today Madison Square Garden is gritting its teeth at Curry, but if he signs with the Knicks tomorrow, it's a whole different story."
Lance gave him a look. "Is that a jab at the Cleveland Cavaliers?"
LeBron James: Who? Who's throwing shade back there?
John couldn't hold it in any longer—he burst out laughing, and all the tension melted from the room.
Then, studying Lance again, John said, "You really are a fascinating guy. Now I see why the media loves you."
Lance smirked. "Like a circus act?"
John laughed. "Not all performers become Charlie Chaplin."
"I'm working on it," Lance replied.
"Keep at it. Maybe next time you're on the Super Bowl stage, you can perform at halftime too."
Lance widened his eyes. "Is that a blessing or a curse?"
John cracked up again.
And just like that, the atmosphere turned friendly and fluid. Despite the earlier tension, Lance had deftly navigated it all and come out ahead.
Dolan never showed. But Lance had sat down with John and come away with a meaningful exchange. The two other men in the room stared in disbelief, jaws slack, unable to process how Lance had just waltzed through it all with such ease.
The secret?
He wanted nothing.
Tension often stems from desire—if Lance had known John's full identity and sought something from him, he wouldn't have been so relaxed. But not knowing, and not asking for anything, allowed him to be completely at ease.
Still, once out of the suite, Lance dialed Donald Yu and relayed what had just happened.
Rustle. Rustle.
There was a pause. Donald was thinking.
Lance waited patiently.
Then—
"...John Mara. If I'm not mistaken, he's the one who fits all your descriptions."
Donald gave the name.
"John Mara, owner of the New York Giants. Uncle to actresses Kate Mara and Rooney Mara. Their grandfather's side owns the Pittsburgh Steelers."
So it was the Giants.
Lance tilted his chin. "So all this? The whole roundabout? Was just the Giants' owner trying to meet me?"
No wonder Dolan never showed.
No wonder John had come so prepared.
"What, he planning to bring me to New York?" Lance asked.
Donald chuckled. "This is your career we're talking about. So casual."
Lance shrugged. "I don't have any leverage right now. I'm just a piece on the board—anyone can trade me at any time. If I want control, I need to perform even better. That's just the truth. No point pretending otherwise."
Donald paused, then nodded to himself. That was the Lance he knew.
"From what I can tell—yes. They're likely considering it."
Donald continued, "Your return to New York made waves on social media. The attention was unreal. And with that catch that knocked out the Patriots in the divisional round, the city sees you like their own Spider-Man."
"And the Giants? They lack a face. Their relationship with Eli Manning has soured badly. Whether he returns or not next season, they need a PR boost. You fit that profile."
"Just a guess. I'll look into it further."
"And you?" Donald asked. "If the Giants do make an offer—would you want to come to New York?"
Of course, this was all hypothetical.
Rookie trades? Rare.
Rookie contracts last four years and are cheap. Teams use that window to build championship-caliber squads. A rookie like Lance wouldn't likely be traded unless something huge happened.
Even if the Giants made an offer, the Chiefs would almost certainly reject it.
So Donald was just gauging Lance's mindset.
Lance didn't hesitate. "I'm happy in Kansas City."
Donald wasn't surprised. "Got it. Still—we need to make sure Veach and the league understand your value."
Though Lance's rookie deal still had time left, Donald was already laying groundwork.
He hadn't forgotten his promise—to secure a groundbreaking running back contract for Lance. A contract that shattered precedent.
He was going to make it happen.
To break the league's biases against RBs, Lance's Chinese heritage alone wasn't enough. Donald knew that better than anyone.
It's all chess. And before you move, you must think ten steps ahead.
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Powerstones?
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