CHAPTER 390: A NEW EMPLOYEE

In the days that followed, Manchester was drenched by alternating spring showers, forcing the team to abandon their outdoor sessions. Training shifted to the indoor facilities at the youth academy, much to the delight of the younger players.

They admired the senior stars who occasionally joined them, but for some—Ronaldinho, Terry, Ashley Cole, and Eto’o—it wasn’t just admiration. There was a spark of competition, a quiet determination to prove they belonged on the same stage.

In one practice match, the youth side ultimately lost, but once again, Ronaldinho and Eto’o’s performances stood out so much that even a few of the first-team regulars took notice.

On this particular day, O’Neill kept training light. He knew the squad had a bigger task ahead: Nottingham Forest awaited them in the fifth round proper of the FA Cup.

For the first time since taking charge of Manchester City, O’Neill fielded a rather unconventional starting lineup for the rain-soaked match.

Goalkeeper: Paul RobinsonDefenders: Zanetti, Lúcio, Gallas, FinnanMidfielders: Van Bommel, Nakata, Lampard, Neil LennonForwards: Henry, Shevchenko

Lúcio, who had recently endured the bitter sting of receiving his first-ever red card, was determined to redeem himself. To his relief, O’Neill restored faith in him, handing him a place back in the starting lineup. For the Brazilian defender, it wasn’t just about playing again—it was about proving that the trust placed in him was not misplaced.

It resembled an asymmetrical 4-3-1-2 formation.

Lennon operated as the primary creator, the width was handled mostly by the full-backs, and Henry and Shevchenko worked in tandem, covering for one another and providing mutual support.

Manchester City’s performance wasn’t particularly elegant—heavy rain led to frequent errors, and the wingers struggled to deliver quality crosses. Yet the central attacking play proved effective. Lennon orchestrated the game brilliantly, finishing with one goal and one assist, while Henry also found the net after latching onto Shevchenko’s clever pass.

As for Nottingham Forest, their struggles had been glaring. Last season’s campaign was abysmal, ending with the bitter pill of relegation to the First Division. To be honest, the FA Cup stood as their only real chance to make a statement this year, since their league form offered little more than survival football.

Thanks largely to the striking partnership of Pierre van Hooijdonk, their new striker and Kevin Campbell, Nottingham Forest sat at the top of the First Division this season. Their manager, Dave Bassett, planned to rely on them once again against Manchester City.

After swiftly watching O’Neill’s post-match interviews, Richard returned to his office. He had just taken off his damp suit when the door opened, and someone stepped in, handing him a fresh stack of documents.

Richard glanced at the document before lifting his eyes to the woman in front of him. The sight was familiar, yet oddly out of place.

"What brings you here?" he asked, brows narrowing.

"Reporting for duty, boss."

"Duty?"

She smiled faintly. "Yes. I’m part of the press & communications department now."

Richard blinked, trying to process the words.

The person handing him the document was none other than Karren Brady.

It wasn’t her presence that shocked him, but the speed of it all. Normally, a company handover for an executive would take around three months, wouldn’t it?

Or perhaps...

Not long ago, Brady had quietly been reaching out, pressing Richard for a role within Manchester City’s management.

Her request had puzzled him deeply. Why would someone like her—already serving as the CEO of Olympique Marseille, a position that carried both prestige and authority—be so insistent on joining him merely as an employee?

The question lingered in his mind, sparking both curiosity and suspicion. After all, even if one could argue that her role at Olympique Marseille was more of a symbolic—since Richard himself, after bringing in Zidane and Makélélé, had largely left her alone—it was still strange.

In other words, her title as CEO carried weight, yet here she was, standing in his office as though it meant little.

"Ha, April Fool’s Day is still a long way off," Richard said dryly.

"No, I’m really here now. If you don’t believe me, ask Sadie," Karren replied with a knowing smile.

Richard fell silent.

Sadie Carpenter—the current head of press & communications . If Brady knew her name, then there was a good chance she wasn’t bluffing. And when Richard’s eyes drifted to the small badge in her hand, the truth became undeniable.

It was a Manchester City staff ID, complete with her photo and credentials.

Richard leaned back in his chair, a frown creasing his face. "Didn’t you just call me a month ago? How is it that you’re suddenly here already? And tell me—did you leave Olympique Marseille legitimately? I don’t want any problems coming back to haunt us."

Naturally, as a businessman—even in football—Richard knew very well that one cannot simply resign overnight. Especially for listed companies, where shareholders and regulators must also be informed. After all, just last year Olympique Marseille had been listed on the Paris Bourse (stock exchange).

Thanks to this, Richard was able to quietly inject money and help Brady consolidate her position.

And now she wants to come here? Well, Richard didn’t forbid it, but he couldn’t help feeling it was a pity—thankfully, he already had Zidane and Makelele fully settled here.

"Well..." Karren Brady let out a long sigh at Richard’s question.

To be honest, she hadn’t intended to say this out loud, but keeping it buried was becoming impossible.

After Marseille president Bernard Tapie and general manager Jean-Pierre Bernès were implicated in the match-fixing scandal, the French Football Federation (FFF) stripped OM of their Ligue 1 title and banned them from the following season’s Champions League.

Tapie was forced to resign as his trial began, and in his place, he entrusted the club to Karren Brady. Though she initially positioned herself as little more than a figurehead, her sharp management skills quickly proved vital, keeping Marseille from collapsing entirely and ensuring their survival in Ligue 1.

Even so, the damage was immense. The scandal left OM drowning in debt, struggling with unpaid wages, and burdened by a ruined reputation.

Only last season did the club finally see a glimmer of stability. The high-profile sales of Claude Makélélé and Zinedine Zidane to Manchester City, along with Patrick Vieira’s transfer to Arsenal, allowed Marseille to record a profit for the first time after five straight years of financial losses.

This turnaround came despite already having sold off cornerstones like Didier Deschamps, Marcel Desailly, Fabien Barthez, and Jocelyn Angloma, and despite the fact that, on sporting merit, the team had still managed to qualify for European competition the following year.

Her contribution to Marseille was undeniable, yet there was one incident that left her utterly disgusted with the club—and with French football as a whole. She remembered it vividly.

It wasn’t the boardroom politics, nor the endless battles with creditors and regulators. No, what finally broke her patience was the sexism she faced in her role.

After working tirelessly to relist Olympique Marseille on the Paris Bourse the previous year—a feat that stabilized the club’s finances and silenced many doubters—Karren decided, for the first time, to experience something more ordinary: traveling with the players on the team bus.

She wanted to see them up close, to better understand their world, and to show that she was not some distant executive locked away in an office.

But the reception she received was anything but professional. A player, loud enough for everyone to hear, smirked and said, "I can see your tits from here."

The bus went quiet.

Eyes darted nervously between her and the player, as if waiting to see whether she would laugh it off or walk away humiliated.

Instead, Brady fixed him with a cold stare and fired back: "When I sell you to Crewe, you won’t be able to see them from there, will you?"

True to her word, the player was gone within weeks. But the bitterness lingered.

For Brady, that incident wasn’t just a crude joke—it was a reminder of how little respect women were afforded in the male-dominated world of French football. However, her decisive action did not go down smoothly. Several board members questioned her judgment, arguing that she had acted impulsively and jeopardized the squad’s stability.

From that moment on, Brady began to wonder whether Marseille—despite everything she had done to rescue the club—was truly worthy of her contribution.

"Well, even if I’ve already resigned from there, you still hold your shares, don’t you? And as promised—even if I admit I slipped with Vieira—I delivered Zinedine Zidane and Claude Makélélé to you. And also..."

She lifted the folder in her hand. "The scouting reports in Africa, the ones you requested—they’re all here."

Richard’s eyes lit up at her words, though he tried not to show it too openly.

One of Richard’s main reasons for quietly backing Karren Brady’s position at Marseille was strategic: he saw her not just as a stabilizing figure for a scandal-rocked club, but also as a gateway into untapped talent markets.

Africa was emerging as a goldmine of football potential. Nations like Nigeria, Cameroon, Ivory Coast, and Ghana were producing waves of gifted players, many of whom were still undervalued compared to their European or South American counterparts.

The success of players such as George Weah (Ballon d’Or 1995) and Samuel Kuffour had already proven that African footballers could thrive at the highest levels.

European clubs had yet to fully invest in systematic scouting across the continent. Most transfers still came through chance tournaments, youth competitions, or the work of agents with local connections. Richard recognized this gap.

With Brady in charge at Marseille—a French club already deeply linked to Francophone Africa—he believed she could serve as his proxy, building scouting networks, gathering reports, and opening doors to a pipeline of future stars before rival clubs even realized the opportunity.

But now, with Karren’s sudden departure? Richard smiled wryly. What was the point of maintaining his stake in Marseille if Brady was no longer there to oversee things?

He exhaled deeply, a sigh that carried both relief and resignation. Without her, the club was nothing more than a liability, another tangled mess of French politics and endless boardroom squabbles—something he had no desire to clean up himself.

Sliding open his drawer, Richard pulled out his phone. His thumb lingered over the keypad for a moment before dialing a familiar number.

"Lewis, I need your help" he muttered under his breath.

It was time to let go of his shares.