331: Redoing my Life, Cousins In England pt.2

I’ve taken the second half of Chapter 330, rewritten it, and turned it into this new chapter. Chapter 332 will be posted soon.

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By the next morning, we were in the United Kingdom.

I had leased Henry’s jet again, and after landing in London, we made our way to Enfield in North London. Sofia lived with her family in a pleasant residential neighborhood lined with terraced houses. Their home was modest but comfortable, with red-brick walls, flower boxes beneath the windows, and a small front garden enclosed by a low fence.

“Nice place,” I said as I climbed out of the car.

Mom was already halfway up the path.

The front door opened before she reached it, and a woman stepped outside with a wide smile. Sofia looked close to Mom’s age, with dark hair, warm brown eyes, and a face that became strangely familiar the longer I studied it.

Mom immediately pulled her into a hug.

They held on to each other for several seconds, laughing and speaking too quickly for me to understand either of them.

A tall man with graying hair appeared behind Sofia, followed by two children. The girl looked around sixteen, while the boy appeared to be eleven.

Mom finally released Sofia and turned toward me.

“And here he is.”

Sofia looked at me.

Mom smiled proudly.

“Daniel, this is your Aunt Sofia.”

“Hi.”

Sofia stared at me for half a second before opening her arms.

“Oh, come here.”

She pulled me into a firm hug before I could react.

“It is so good to finally meet you.”

“Good to meet you too.”

Over her shoulder, I saw the teenage girl looking completely mortified. The younger boy seemed more confused than impressed.

Sofia released me and gestured toward the man beside her.

“This is my husband, Hector. Hector Wright.”

Hector stepped forward and shook my hand.

“Welcome, Mr. Adler.”

“Please, call me Daniel.”

Sofia then gestured toward the children.

“Our daughter, Freya, and our son, Adrian.”

Freya offered a nervous wave.

“Hi.”

Adrian nodded.

“Hello.”

Hector stepped aside and opened the door wider.

“Come inside before the neighbors decide to form a crowd.”

The house was warm and lived-in, with framed family photographs covering the hallway walls. Arsenal scarves, old match tickets, signed footballs, and other club memorabilia occupied an entire display cabinet in the living room.

Sofia and her family were easy to like.

They were welcoming without being overwhelming, and once the initial awkwardness faded, the conversation began to flow naturally.

Freya took the longest to relax. For nearly an hour, she seemed unable to look at me for more than a few seconds without becoming embarrassed.

Eventually, she began talking about the Percy Jackson books and admitted that she was a huge fan of the series.

That explained Mom’s warning.

Once Freya started discussing the characters, she quickly forgot to be nervous. Alice attached herself to both Freya and Adrian as well.

Adrian knew who I was, though he was not especially interested in my films or books.

His real obsession was football.

The only reason he had immediately recognized me was because he had seen photographs of Henry Cavill, Charlize Theron, Daniel Craig, Margot, and me at the World Cup final in Russia the previous month. It had been a strange combination of people. We had mostly run into one another there.

“You were there,” Adrian said, leaning forward excitedly. “At the France and Croatia final.”

“I was.”

“With Superman,” he added.

I laughed.

Adrian was enrolled at Hale End Academy, Arsenal’s youth academy, and dreamed of becoming a professional footballer. He spoke about the club with complete seriousness, explaining its players, recent results, and chances for the coming season.

By evening, Sofia announced that she had tickets for all of us to attend a Premier League match the day after tomorrow. Trips to the stadium were usually reserved for special occasions, such as birthdays or crucial matches, but Sofia had wanted Mom to experience a match with them. Mom seemed genuinely excited about it.

Watching the two of them talk, I began to understand why Mom had wanted to reconnect with her cousin.

Having more family was nice.

=========

I left that evening for Nottingham, where I had a meeting with Games Workshop, and returned only a few hours before the match.

Graves called while the car was taking me back to Enfield.

“So... some officials from Arsenal contacted us,” she said.

“Why?”

“They know you’re attending today.”

“How? Sofia bought the tickets, and her surname isn’t even Adler anymore.”

“Well, I was hoping you could tell me.”

The car pulled up outside the house just as she finished speaking. Adrian was standing in the front garden with a football at his feet. He noticed the car, caught the ball beneath one shoe, and waved at me.

“They’ve upgraded all your tickets,” Graves continued. “You’ll be seated in one of the best sections, and they’ve arranged a private tour of the stadium before the match.”

“That’s nice.”

“Well, you are Daniel Adler.”

“Thank you for reminding me, Graves.”

“It’s my job.”

I ended the call and climbed out of the car.

Adrian followed me toward the house, trying not to look too interested in the bag I was carrying.

“Here, kid. I brought you something.”

I took out a painted Space Marine figurine I had picked up in Nottingham and handed it to him.

His eyes widened.

“A Space Marine! My friend and his brother are obsessed with playing with these.”

“Yup. Straight from the source.”

“That’s brilliant.”

He examined it carefully as we entered the house.

Everyone else was gathered in the living room, preparing to leave. Hector was checking the tickets, Sofia was making sure nobody had forgotten anything, and Freya was helping Alice with her jacket.

Mom looked up when I entered.

“Oh, Danny, you’re here. I thought you might not make it.”

“I said I would come, didn’t I?”

I placed my bag beside the stairs.

“Speaking of the match, I just heard from Graves. Apparently, our tickets have been upgraded. The executive box, from what she told me. We’re also getting a private tour before the game.”

“The executive box?” Hector repeated in disbelief.

Adrian stared at me with open awe. Even Freya looked impressed.

Sofia appeared more confused than excited.

“How did that happen?”

“I don’t know.”

Her gaze slowly moved toward Adrian.

He had been standing beside me a moment earlier. Now he was edging away, still clutching the Space Marine figurine.

Sofia folded her arms.

“Adrian?”

He avoided her eyes.

“Okay, I might have told some people at the academy that Daniel was my cousin.”

Freya laughed.

Sofia did not.

“And they didn’t believe me,” Adrian continued quickly. “So I showed them the photograph we took yesterday. Then one of the coaches saw it, and... and...”

His voice faded beneath his mother’s glare.

“It’s fine, Aunt Sofia,” I said. “We did get a free upgrade because of it.”

“That is not the point.”

Mom intervened before Sofia could continue.

“Relax, Sofi. He was only excited.”

She looked at Adrian.

“It’s fine this time.”

Adrian nodded quickly.

His concern disappeared almost immediately.

“So, when are we leaving? Do you think we’ll meet the players? Will they let us go onto the pitch?”

I smiled.

“Let’s see what happens.”

=========

The drive to the stadium took longer than expected, though Adrian barely seemed to notice. He spent most of it talking about the game, Arsenal’s chances against West Ham, and which players I absolutely needed to watch.

Several Arsenal officials were waiting for us at the VIP entrance when we arrived at the Emirates Stadium.

One of them stepped forward as we left the car.

“Mr. Adler, welcome. It’s incredibly exciting to have you here.”

We shook hands.

“It’s good to be here.”

He introduced himself as Jonathan Mercer, a member of the club’s commercial team, before presenting the other officials accompanying him. They greeted the rest of the family and led us through the private entrance.

The tour began in the directors’ area, where polished floors and glass walls overlooked the interior concourses. We were shown the boardroom, several lounges, the press conference room, and the areas used by broadcasters before and after matches.

They then guided us through the Diamond Club, which looked less like part of a football stadium and more like an expensive private hotel. Leather seating filled the lounges, artwork covered the walls, and the dining area offered a direct view of the pitch.

Hector appeared afraid to touch anything.

From there, we were taken through the stadium’s internal corridors. Framed photographs covered the walls, showing famous matches, former players, trophies, and moments from the club’s history.

Adrian knew almost every one of them.

He stopped in front of a photograph of the team celebrating with a trophy.

“Nineteen ninety-eight,” he said immediately. “They won the league and FA Cup double.”

He moved to the next photograph before anyone could respond.

“Two thousand and two. Another double.”

Alice pointed toward a picture of Thierry Henry.

“Who is that?”

Adrian looked personally offended.

“That’s Thierry Henry.”

“Is he important?”

“He is the greatest Arsenal player ever.”

Adrian continued guiding us despite the fact that we already had several professional guides.

When we passed a display dedicated to the unbeaten 2003–04 season, he stopped so abruptly that I nearly walked into him.

“The Invincibles,” he said reverently. “They went the entire league season without losing.”

“I think we should hire him,” one of the guides said.

Adrian looked ready to accept immediately.

The tour eventually brought us toward the players’ tunnel. The sound of the growing crowd filtered through the walls, becoming louder with every step we took toward the pitch.

The officials had arranged for us to remain near the touchline while both teams warmed up.

Several Arsenal players came over to greet us.

I only recognized Özil. The others were unfamiliar to me.

Adrian and Hector nearly forgot how to speak when the players shook their hands.

I looked toward one player who was wearing some kind of protective helmet.

“Is that allowed?” I asked.

“That’s Petr Cech,” Adrian explained. “He always wears it.”

Eventually, we were led back to the executive box. It offered one of the best views in the entire stadium. The whole pitch lay beneath us without any obstruction, while food and drinks of every kind had been arranged inside.

The match began, and Adrian was shouting from the opening whistle. Alice joined him despite understanding almost nothing about what was happening.

By halftime, Arsenal led two goals to one.

I left my seat to get a drink while the players disappeared down the tunnel. I was waiting near the bar when an overweight man with a very familiar face began walking toward me.

“Daniel Adler,” he said in a heavy Russian accent.

I studied him for a moment.

Usmanov.

Something Usmanov.

I shook his hand.

“You do remember me, I hope,” he said. “We met in Moscow last month.”

That brought the rest of it back.

“Alisher Usmanov. How could I forget?”

He laughed loudly.

He and several other Russian oligarchs had invited me to a party during the World Cup. I had declined, though they had remained remarkably persistent throughout the evening.

“I knew you would not forget,” he said. “How are you finding the match? And the seats?”

“The match is good. The seats are even better.” I glanced around the box. “Am I right in assuming you’re the person I should thank for this?”

He spread his hands.

“Oh, yes. I heard from a little bird that you were in London and attending the game. I could not allow the Daniel Adler to sit among the rabble.”

I frowned slightly and looked toward the thousands of supporters in the stands.

“I’m sure the rabble would be delighted to hear that.”

He laughed again and briefly placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Come. Let us talk.”

We spoke casually at first. He asked about Midas' upcoming films and said he was looking forward to seeing The Usual Suspects. When the second half began, Usmanov accompanied me back to the seats and remained nearby.

Only then did I begin to understand the reason for all the sudden attention.

“Have you ever considered investing in football, Mr. Adler?” he asked.

I looked at him.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”

“You own a significant stake in the Golden State Warriors, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“And a cricket club in Australia.”

“You know a great deal about my investments.”

“I looked into them yesterday.”

At least he was honest.

Usmanov gestured toward the pitch.

“I own over thirty percent of this club.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yes, yes. Thirty-two percent. The largest shareholder is an American who has been trying to force me to sell.”

I looked at him more carefully.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice beneath the sound of the crowd.

“I am prepared to sell, Mr. Adler, but I do not wish to sell to that American.”

“But you might sell to this American?”

Usmanov laughed.

“Yes. Perhaps.”

His smile faded slightly.

“I am growing older. My position in my own country has become increasingly complicated, and I have other interests that require my attention. Selling would give me liquidity, but I would rather my shares go to someone other than Kroenke.”

“Someone you think could cause Kroenke problems.”

“Someone who might eventually take the entire club from that bastard.”

I smiled despite myself.

“That sounds less like an investment opportunity and more like recruitment for a private war.”

“Business is war, Mr. Adler. You know that better than most.”

That was difficult to argue with.

Usmanov studied me while the crowd roared at something happening on the pitch.

“You have the money. You have influence. You understand media, entertainment and the everchanging global audiences. More importantly, you are young and rich enough to win.”

He gestured toward the stadium around us.

“A club such as Arsenal is not merely a sporting institution. It is history, influence, identity, and access to millions of supporters across the world. For an ambitious man like yourself, ownership creates advantages that cannot always be measured on a balance sheet.”

He allowed the thought to linger between us.

“So,” he said, “what do you think?”

I remained silent for a while, watching the game, before finally speaking.

“I think I’ll consider it.”

“Do not consider it for too long. I do not have much time. This meeting was a last-minute decision, a Hail Mary, as you Americans say. A final chance to fuck over my business partner.”

I smiled.

“I assume you have a price.”

“A fair one, Mr. Adler. A very fair one.”

He stood and straightened his jacket.

“Enjoy the rest of the match, Mr. Adler.”

I rose and shook his hand.

“Thank you for the seats.”

He smiled.

“Perhaps one day, this will all be yours.”

Usmanov left the box.

A voice came from directly behind me sometime after the Russian man had left.

“Are you going to buy Arsenal?”

The excitement in it startled me badly enough that I nearly dropped my drink.

“Jesus, kid.”

Adrian stood behind my chair with his eyes wide.

“Are you? Are you going to buy the club?”

“I haven’t decided anything.”

“But you’re thinking about it.”

I lowered my voice.

“And you are not telling anyone about that conversation.”

Adrian nodded quickly.

“I won’t.”

“I mean it.”

“I swear.”

I turned my attention back toward the match.

I already owned part of a basketball franchise and a cricket club, as Usmanov had been kind enough to remind me.

Football too, I supposed.

Why not?