"Impossible. Absolutely out of the question."
Marina Granovskaia leaned forward across the mahogany conference table, her dark eyes flashing with sharp irritation.
"Chelsea sat down with you in good faith because we were open to professional discussions. That does not give you license to insult this institution with fantasy proposals."
Across the table, Michael Edwards sat back in his chair, his hands resting easily on his notebook, entirely unbothered by the sudden spike in temperature.
As Roman Abramovich's most trusted executive at Stamford Bridge, Marina had earned a formidable reputation across the continent. When external proposals fell below Chelsea's valuation, her answer was a blunt, non-negotiable rejection. She had little patience for the drawn-out theatrics typical of European sporting directors.
Yet today, despite her visible fury, she remained anchored in her seat.
Her usual dismissal never left her lips.
Edwards smiled, knowing precisely why the Russian director had not walked out of the room. She held zero leverage.
"Ms. Granovskaia, I hold complete respect for your work," Edwards said calmly. "An offer of thirty million euros represents a fair, realistic valuation from Liverpool. His current listing on Transfermarkt stands at twenty-five million."
Marina let out a cold, humorless laugh.
"Transfermarkt figures from six months ago, Michael? Nineteen goals and eleven assists across half a season in Tuscany. Name another wide player in English football who produced those numbers last spring."
"If that database refreshed tomorrow, his valuation would sit north of fifty million. In open market conditions, we would demand sixty without blinking."
She tapped her manicured fingers against the polished wood. "Even with twelve months remaining on his registration, thirty million is a farce."
Edwards tilted his head slightly, keeping his gaze level.
"Let us speak with complete candor, Marina."
"You stated Chelsea opened these talks willingly. Is this meeting your preference, or is it the demand of the player sitting in your dressing room?"
The words landed heavily.
Marina's posture stiffened, the subtle shift in her shoulders revealing the hit.
The moment Salah had informed the club of his desire to move to Anfield, she had placed a strict media embargo over the training ground, warning the Egyptian winger and his representatives against leaking a single syllable to the press.
She understood the cold reality of the market. If rival executives learned that a key player with one year left on his deal was refusing to extend and demanding a specific domestic rival, Chelsea's negotiating floor would vanish overnight.
Forcing her expression back into a cool, detached mask, Marina met his eyes.
"I have no idea what rumors you are entertaining, Michael. Salah requesting Anfield? As the director managing his registration, that is news to me. Using tabloid gossip to drive down an asset's price is amateur work."
Edwards chuckled softly, reaching into his suit pocket to retrieve his phone.
Unlocking the screen, he tapped an audio file and set the device face-up in the center of the table.
The speaker crackled to life, filling the quiet boardroom with the unmistakable voice of Mohamed Salah speaking directly with Renzo Uzumaki.
Marina stared at the glowing screen, the blood draining from her face.
"You..."
Her voice caught in her throat.
The confidence Edwards had brought into the room suddenly made brutal sense. Liverpool had not simply capitalized on an opportunity; they had orchestrated the rebellion from the very beginning.
"Thirty-five million," Marina said through clenched teeth, abandoning the pretense. "Thirty-five million euros, and we conclude the paperwork today."
Prolonging the talks only exposed Chelsea to greater risk. If the audio surfaced or Salah took his stance public, the fee would drop further. She wanted the ordeal settled before the squad departed for preseason.
"No," Edwards replied, borrowing her trademark response with a calm grin.
"Thirty million."
"That number reflects genuine goodwill toward Chelsea, Marina," Edwards continued, leaning in slightly. "Twelve months on his deal, an outright refusal to sign your terms, and an explicit demand to wear red. Under standard market pressure, another club would drag this into August and take him for twenty."
"We offer thirty million to conclude the matter cleanly today. There is no reason to test anyone's patience."
Edwards knew where to draw the boundary. Pushing Marina into a corner risked a spiteful retaliation; she was entirely capable of banishing Salah to the reserves for a year simply to protect the club's pride, an outcome that benefited nobody.
Marina stared at the tabletop in silence for a long moment, calculating the options, before slowly giving a single nod.
Three days later, Liverpool and Chelsea issued joint statements across their official channels: Mohamed Salah had completed a permanent transfer to Anfield for a fee of thirty million euros.
The announcement sent shockwaves through the national sporting press.
Chelsea supporters flooded their club's social media feeds with angry, bewildered messages.
"Why are we selling Salah? He tore Italian football apart last spring."
"Thirty million euros for our brightest winger to a direct rival? Who approved this?"
"Where is the leadership? How does this transfer make any sense?"
Within hours, local reporters covering Chelsea revealed the background details, noting that the winger had refused all renewal proposals following direct contact with his former teammate, Renzo Uzumaki.
The reaction among Liverpool supporters was pure jubilation.
"Thirty million for Salah is highway robbery."
"Edwards pulled off a miracle. From loaning Renzo out to reuniting the Florence partnership in one window."
"First he secures the captain's future, and now he brings Salah to Anfield on a discount. Renzo is running the entire recruitment department."
For the English football press, the transfer flipped the narrative of Liverpool's summer upside down.
While Raheem Sterling had dominated the headlines with his public push to join Manchester City, Liverpool had quietly secured an upgrade before their rebellious winger had even packed his bags.
Sterling found himself in an increasingly uncomfortable position.
His televised interview had been designed to humiliate Liverpool and force a swift exit to the Etihad.
Instead, Liverpool had unveiled a superior winger within forty-eight hours, leaving Sterling looking stranded.
Humiliated by the turn of events, Sterling urged Manchester City to finalize the paperwork immediately.
Yet with Salah safely through the doors at Melwood, Edwards felt zero pressure to rush.
Every time City's representatives pushed for an agreement, Edwards dragged his feet, forcing the Manchester club to revise their figures upward.
Forty-five million pounds became forty-seven million.
Forty-seven million became forty-nine million.
To City's growing frustration, Liverpool remained unmoved.
Sterling grew genuinely panicked. Forty-nine million pounds broke the national transfer record for an English domestic player. Having completely burned his bridges with the Anfield dressing room and closed his social media accounts to escape the backlash, the thought of the deal collapsing left him terrified.
Manchester City finally broke the impasse, submitting an ultimatum of fifty million pounds, nearly sixty-five million euros, stating it was their final offer.
Satisfied that he had extracted the absolute maximum from the Etihad hierarchy, Edwards signed off on the paperwork.
The following morning, Manchester City officially announced the arrival of Raheem Sterling for a record-breaking fifty million pounds.
Liverpool supporters could hardly contain their satisfaction.
The club had parted ways with an unsettled player, brought in an elite replacement in Mohamed Salah, and pocketed a net surplus of thirty-five million euros in the exchange.
In his office at Melwood, Michael Edwards sat behind his desk, scrolling through the flood of praise on his private messages.
Only a few months earlier, the decision to loan Renzo to Italy had nearly cost him his career.
Now, through that very connection, Liverpool had pulled off the most lucrative piece of business in their modern history.
Edwards leaned back in his chair with a quiet, appreciative sigh. Keeping Renzo Uzumaki happy was truly the finest professional strategy he would ever have.
I've made some changes to the tier system. You can now access all three football novels with one membership, with chapters available ahead of the public release.