Football Dynasty-Chapter 66: Black Wednesday

Becoming the largest shareholder filled Richard with joy.

It meant he was now the majority holder, giving him control over City's operations and decisions. Having spent years at the club, he understood the inner workings of the board better than anyone.

With this newfound power, Richard moved quickly to activate the City Covenant, aiming to pressure Francis Lee's consortium or at least reduce their stake so he could acquire more shares and strengthen his influence.

To navigate this, he enlisted the help of City's barrister, Gordon Barry, and solicitor, Frank Shepherd, ensuring he had the legal backing to push forward.

With City affairs settled for now, Richard, in high spirits, turned his attention to his investment company, eager to dive into his next venture.

Maddox Capital didn't have an office—at least, not yet. For now, Richard managed his daily tasks entirely through his trusty phone, coordinating with Philip Harris from Lloyds and Taylor Smith from Barclays.

At this time, setting up a venture capital firm in the UK didn't legally require an office or employees. However, a registered business address was necessary for company registration.

For privacy reasons, Richard decided to use Britannia Inter-Continental London as Maddox Capital's official address.

Richard also made a new transition with their help—from Maddox Capital as a sole trader to a Private Limited Company (Ltd) with himself as the sole director. This structure ensured Maddox Capital was a separate legal entity, protecting his personal assets.

With support from Barclays and Lloyds, he smoothly registered the company with Companies House, set up annual accounting, and prepared for corporation tax filings. Since he wasn't managing external funds, he likely didn't need Financial Services Authority (FSA) approval to operate.

Mayfair, London, United Kingdom

Britannia Inter-Continental London

Richard moved his family here—not to the hotel, but to a nearby building, as he had already bought the entire block. He thought that with the area of Grosvenor Square Garden just in front of them, his father and mother wouldn't get bored here.

As for himself, he stayed in the hotel, working.

Richard leaned back in his chair at the Britannia Inter-Continental, staring at his Compaq LTE Elite, known as one of the first "true" business laptops with a high-resolution grayscale screen and a powerful Intel 386/486 processor.

The moment he hit connect, the modem speaker crackled.

Brrrrrrr-ding-ding-ding... shhhhhh-kkkkkkkrrrrr... beep-beep-beep...

A sequence of high-pitched tones filled the room, followed by the telltale static screech of data transmission. It was always an anxious wait—would it connect on the first try, or would he have to redial?

Finally, the noise settled into a steady hum. Connected.

Richard exhaled in relief. He was now online—slow, clunky, but functional.

"Shit internet," he muttered before pulling up his email client and beginning to type.

Updat𝓮d from frёewebnoѵēl.com.

54 Lombard Street, London, EC3P 3AH – Barclays Headquarters

Taylor Smith, Richard's personal relationship manager at Barclays, sat amidst the chaos, surrounded by traders as the pound's exchange rate swung wildly. The trading floor was a battlefield—screens flashing red, phones ringing non-stop, and voices raised in urgent shouts.

"It's dropping now!" someone yelled.

"Hey, it's Goldman! They're dumping pounds!" another trader called out.

"Don't worry, the pound won't collapse. It's still Britain, after all."

The room buzzed with frantic discussions, arguments, and speculation. Some were convinced the Bank of England would hold the line, while others saw disaster on the horizon.

Smith, however, remained silent, his eyes fixed on the monitor as sell orders continued flooding in. The pound was being offloaded at an unprecedented rate. Suddenly, his phone rang. He picked it up without taking his eyes off the screen.

"Hello, Taylor speaking."

"Taylor, it's me—Richard."

Smith immediately recognized the voice. "Richard, how are you today?"

"I'm fine," Richard replied. "By the way, how much are my Cisco shares worth today?"

It had been two years since Richard first bought into Cisco when the company went public. He had purchased 10 million' worth of shares at $22.32 per share, securing a 3.61% stake in the company.

In those two years, Cisco had rapidly expanded, becoming one of the first to sell commercially successful routers supporting multiple network protocols, pushing its stock price higher. As a result, they had no choice but to implement multiple stock splits.

"Hold on a minute," Smith said, calculating the latest valuation. After a brief pause, he spoke again. "Right now, Cisco's stock is at $0.73 per share. If you calculate it based on pre-split values, it's trading around $50 per share. Also, Cisco is in the middle of acquiring several companies, which is driving their stock up further for now."

Richard rubbed his chin, considering the numbers. "So, how much is my total holding worth now?"

Smith checked his figures. "As of today, your stake is worth $22,445,000."

"How much further can the stock go?"

"I think it's possible to reach $60."

There was a brief silence before Richard made his decision. "Then sell it when the price reaches $60."

'Oh, nice,' Smith thought, grinning. More transactions meant more commissions—but he was also curious. "Why? Cisco is growing aggressively. Their expansion strategy is working."

"I don't like their aggressive expansion," Richard said simply.

Smith didn't push further. He understood. Some investors didn't just look at growth—they cared about sustainability, risk, and long-term stability.

"Alright," Smith said. "I'll process it."

"Thank you," Richard replied.

With that, the order was set in motion.

Bank of England Headquarters – Threadneedle Street, London

Phones rang endlessly. Desperate voices shouted across the room. Chaos.

RING! RING!

"360! Twelve million pounds!"

"Done!"

"350! Shit, eight million pounds!"

Barely a second after purchasing twelve million pounds, another wave of sell orders flooded the system.

A trader, who had been staring intently at his terminal, turned to the chief dealer with a grim expression.

"The sell orders aren't slowing down... they're still rising!"

"Ugh—dammit!"

The Bank of England was drowning. They were buying up pounds in a desperate attempt to stabilize the currency, but the market was relentless. Hedge funds, investment banks, speculators—everyone was selling.

With no other choice, the chief dealer picked up the phone and made the call.

"Governor, it's me."

A weary voice responded from the other end. "Oh... how is it?"

The man gripping the phone, his knuckles white, took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm sorry... I think we can't hold on much longer."

There was silence. A silence that stretched just long enough to make it clear—everyone knew what was coming.

The Governor's voice, tight and controlled, finally broke through. "What's the latest figure?"

"We've already burned through more than £1 billion in reserves trying to prop up the pound. It's still falling. Every time we buy, another wave of selling crushes us. It's not stopping, sir."

The Governor cursed under his breath. "How bad is the spread?"

"We're at 2.778. The pressure is relentless. If we don't act now, it'll go into freefall."

"Are you certain?"

The chief dealer hesitated for a moment, then spoke with conviction.

"Sir, this is the foundation of the economy. If we hold the fort, we'll have to face the full brunt of the crisis."

The Governor exhaled sharply. "Understood. I'll call the Prime Minister and the Chancellor to assess the situation."

"Yes, sir. Please do your best."

It was an unusual exchange—an order from a subordinate to his superior—but the Governor didn't care. Not now. Not when the entire financial system was on the brink.

Back at the Britannia Inter-Continental London, Richard was napping when a news report broke.

"The Bank of England just raised interest rates by 3%..."

"Wow," Richard instantly straightened up. Yesterday, it was 10%, then 2% this morning, and now another 3%—a total of a 15% increase in interest rates. That meant only one thing—the Bank of England was being forced to surrender.

SLAP!

Richard slapped his thigh in excitement before grabbing his phone and dialing Philip Harris from Lloyds.

"Hello, Mr. Harris?"

"Yes, Richard. What can I do for you?"

"Can you help me get in touch with whoever is in charge of the Midland Grand Hotel? I'm willing to offer them £150 million cash if they're selling it now."

"What are you talking about? That building—wait a minute. You—"

Harris, being a banker, was well aware of the country's situation. His mind raced, quickly piecing things together.

'You want to take advantage of the crisis, don't you?' he thought to himself

The UK was in turmoil. The pound was collapsing, and despite using interest rate hikes as a last resort, the decline showed no signs of stopping. However, the question remained—did they even have the cash?

It was clear that the country's economy was struggling under the weight of an overvalued pound, high interest rates, and rising unemployment. In a way, he was actually helping his country combat the crisis!

Indeed, the government still had a little confidence in combating the speculators betting against the pound. They were holding onto a sliver of hope—as long as they could find a way to escape this major embarrassment, everything could still be negotiated.

Richard was right. The government, through British Rail, could indeed sell the hotel, but they demanded a whopping £200 million.

He almost felt thankful that he had applied for a loan from Barclays and Lloyds beforehand.

Richard injected a total of £179 million in cash, combined with a £71 million loan from Barclays and Lloyds, bringing Maddox Capital's total funds to £250 million.

Adding the remaining £30 million after investments in WWF and Premier League sponsorships, Maddox Capital's cash reserves now totaled £280 million.

After extensive discussions, a deal was finally reached at £180,000,000 for the Midland Grand Hotel, instantly reducing Richard's cash holdings to £100,000,000.

Thankfully, a week later, the Cisco stocks were also sold, adding £15,350,000, bringing his total cash reserves to £115,350,000.

With additional cash in hand, the Bank of England intervened by buying pounds, still holding onto hope that they could save the currency. However, these efforts were in vain.

The selling pressure was too intense, and by the end of the day, the UK government conceded defeat. The Bank of England's reserves of nearly $40 billion were all but exhausted. The pound was forced out of the European Exchange Rate Mechanism (ERM) and allowed to float freely on the currency markets, immediately experiencing a significant devaluation.

"Ah, I want to buy British stocks," Richard suddenly mumbled.

Due to the sudden recession, stock prices of companies listed on the London Stock Exchange had plummeted to rock bottom.

'But that won't be an issue later, though,' Richard thought as he began making calculations.

The collapse of the pound was a major embarrassment and was seen as a devastating blow to the UK's economic credibility. Yet, in a twist of fate, the devaluation of the pound and the subsequent lowering of interest rates helped stimulate the economy. The country's competitive position improved, exports became cheaper, and economic recovery followed.

However, before he could do that, the fax machine suddenly began whirring to life. Richard glanced up, momentarily distracted.

He didn't think much of it at first. He pulled the freshly printed document from the tray and scanned it, and when he saw who sent it, he was taken aback—it was from Manchester City, or to be exact, the fax itself that made him pause.

Simply put, the FA faxed Manchester City, and now Manchester City was faxing him.

"They want me to attend a hearing? What the heck is this about?" Richard was confused after reading it all.

Not long after, Richard's phone rang.

RING!

He picked up instantly. "Hello?"

A familiar voice came through. "Mr. Richard, it's me—Gordon."

Richard immediately sensed the urgency in his tone. "Yeah, I hear you. What's going on?"

Gordon took a deep breath. "The FA has stepped in regarding the covenant."

Richard's grip on the phone tightened. "What? What do you mean?"

"I sent you a fax—have you seen it yet? Please check."

Richard's gaze snapped toward the fax machine. After a moment, he could only mutter. "Thank you for informing me, Gordon."

"No problem. But please notify us within three days so we can proceed accordingly."

"Understood," Richard said before taking a moment to think.

Then, he dialed Adam Lewis, knowing he was still knee-deep in the Bosman case. He didn't launch straight into his own problems—first, he asked for an update.

"FIFPRO is backing Bosman's legal fight against UEFA and the Belgian FA. His lawyer, Dupont, managed to get the French and Dutch player unions involved voluntarily. They're pushing to take the case to the European Court of Justice—probably later this year."

Richard leaned back, rubbing his temple. "Do you think they'll win?"

"I'd bet on it."

"That's good." He paused briefly, then added, "Listen, I need a favor."

"What happened?"

Richard exhaled sharply, then got straight to the point. "The FA... they've frozen my assets in the club."

"What the hell? Why?"

Richard explained how the FA was using his dual role—both as an agent and the club's largest shareholder—against him, arguing it was a conflict of interest. If he didn't comply, they threatened to suspend his rights as a shareholder until he was forced to sell.

"And if you refuse?" Lewis asked, his tone serious.

"They're trying to squeeze me out." Richard let out a bitter laugh. "Make it impossible to stay until I have no choice but to sell."

A brief silence followed. Then Lewis asked, "Do you want to sell?"

Richard didn't answer right away. Instead, the question lingered in his mind. 'Do I want to sell?'

He heard Lewis sigh on the other end. "Look, I can't come over right now—Bosman's case is at a critical stage. But I can put you in touch with someone."

Richard sat up. "Who?"

"Nick De Marco. Head to Blackstone Chambers tomorrow. I'll make sure they're expecting you."

Richard didn't hesitate. "Alright. Thanks, Adam."

"Don't mention it."

After hanging up, Richard sat there for a moment, staring at his phone. Then, with a deep breath, he leaned back and closed his eyes.