The City Ground stood silently in the morning mist, its floodlights dormant sentinels against the gray Nottingham sky. Liam paused on the footbridge spanning the River Trent, taking in the view of the stadium where Brian Clough had once built a team that conquered Europe.
Today, if all went according to plan, it would become his.
"Nervous?" Howard Mason, his lawyer, adjusted his umbrella to shield them both from the light drizzle.
"No," Liam replied truthfully.
He checked his watch—a Patek Philippe acquired last week, another symbol of the wealth he'd amassed in just three months. "Let's go. I don't want to keep them waiting."
They crossed the bridge and approached the stadium's main entrance, where a security guard directed them to the boardroom. Liam could feel the history pressing in around him—the faded photographs of glory days lining the corridors, the worn carpet bearing the club's crest, the trophy cabinet with European Cups that had gathered dust for decades.
A sleeping giant indeed.
In the boardroom, five people awaited them: Omar Al-Fahim, the Kuwaiti majority owner; his British financial advisor; the club chairman; the chief executive; and a representative from the supporters' trust. Their expressions ranged from openly curious to guardedly hostile.
"Mr. Torres," Al-Fahim stood to greet him, extending a hand. "Welcome to Nottingham."
The introductions completed, they took their seats around the expansive boardroom table. Liam noted the subtle tells that Window Five had revealed would be important: Al-Fahim's slight impatience, the supporters' representative's defensive posture, the CEO's poorly disguised desperation.
"Before we begin," the chairman said, "I must express some reservations. While your offer is financially attractive, your background raises questions. You appear to have generated substantial wealth very quickly, Mr. Torres. And while your time at Liverpool is noted, your experience seems... limited for someone seeking to acquire a club of Forest's stature."
Liam had anticipated this opening. Earlier that morning, he had used Window Five to review the first few minutes of this meeting, understanding exactly which concerns would be raised.
"I appreciate your directness," he replied, opening his leather portfolio. "Let me address both points. First, my financial position." He slid certified financial statements across the table. "Torres Financial Consulting has generated returns of over 300% for our limited client base in the past quarter through proprietary algorithmic trading. My personal wealth is now in excess of €60 million, with liquid assets of approximately €45 million."
He allowed that to sink in before continuing. "As for my football background, yes, I worked with Rafael Benítez at Liverpool as a tactical analyst. But my connection to football runs deeper than a job title."
Liam leaned forward, making eye contact with each person at the table. "I understand the game at a fundamental level. I see patterns others miss. The same analytical approach that has made me successful in finance applies to football—identifying value where others see only chaos."
The supporters' trust representative spoke up. "With respect, Mr. Torres, this club isn't just a financial asset. It represents generations of tradition, community, and passion. What guarantees do we have that you won't simply strip it for parts or abandon it when profits don't materialize?"
This was the crucial moment Window Five had revealed—the point where the entire acquisition could either accelerate or collapse. Liam had seen this question coming and prepared his response meticulously.
"Your concern is valid," Liam acknowledged, his voice softening. "Let me be clear: I'm not purchasing Nottingham Forest as a financial asset. I'm acquiring a legacy."
He reached into his briefcase and extracted a document, sliding it across the table to the supporters' representative.
"This is a legally binding covenant that I'm prepared to sign today as part of the acquisition agreement. It guarantees several things: First, that the supporters' trust will retain its 5% ownership in perpetuity, with an option to increase to 10% over five years. Second, that ticket prices will be frozen for the next three seasons. Third, that a minimum of £15 million will be invested in the first team squad within 90 days, and an additional £5 million in the academy and training facilities."
The representative's eyes widened as he scanned the document. Liam continued, "Furthermore, I commit to maintaining the club's historic identity—no name changes, no crest redesigns without supporter approval, no stadium relocation for at least fifteen years."
Al-Fahim leaned forward, brow furrowed. "These are... substantial commitments, Mr. Torres. They would significantly limit your freedom to operate."
"I don't see them as limitations," Liam replied. "I see them as foundations. Forest's history isn't a burden—it's the platform upon which we'll build its future."
He turned to the CEO. "I've studied the club's finances extensively. Your current debt position is unsustainable, and your wage bill is disproportionate to revenue. You've cycled through seven managers in five years, with no coherent recruitment strategy or tactical identity."
The CEO's face reddened, but Liam pressed on. "I'm not here to assign blame. I'm here to provide solutions. In addition to the purchase price, I'm prepared to inject £20 million in working capital immediately, clear all existing debt, and implement a comprehensive sporting structure that will return this club to the Premier League within three years."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Liam had deliberately laid out the club's precarious situation to demonstrate his understanding of the challenge—and to remind everyone just how badly they needed him.
The chairman cleared his throat. "Your confidence is... impressive, Mr. Torres. But these are bold claims. How can you possibly guarantee Premier League promotion within three years? Even with substantial investment, the Championship is notoriously unpredictable."
Liam allowed himself a small smile. "Football is only unpredictable when you can't see the patterns. I see patterns others miss."
He opened his laptop and turned it toward the board. "This is my analysis of your current squad—strengths, weaknesses, tactical possibilities. I've identified seven transfer targets who would transform your team immediately, all available within budget. I've outlined a tactical framework that maximizes your existing talent while we rebuild. I've projected financial models that make this club self-sustainable within five years, regardless of promotion timeline."
For the next forty-five minutes, Liam walked them through his vision, answering questions with a precision that left them visibly impressed. He knew from Window Five exactly which concerns each board member would raise ahead of time and would prepare mid speech to address them. It was easy when he had already anticipated every possible scenario he could think of that would present itself in this endeavor.
It worked wonderfully.
By the time he closed his laptop, the atmosphere in the room had shifted dramatically. Where there had been skepticism, there was now cautious optimism.
Al-Fahim exchanged glances with his financial advisor, then nodded slightly. "I think we've heard enough to move forward. Mr. Torres, if you'll excuse us, the board needs to confer privately."
"Of course." Liam stood, gathering his materials. "I'll wait in the reception area."
As he and Howard exited, the lawyer whispered, "That was remarkable. How did you know exactly what they'd ask?"
Liam just smiled. "Preparation."
In the reception area, he checked his phone. Three missed calls from Valentina, a text from his financial advisor in Zurich confirming that the funds for the acquisition were ready for immediate transfer, and an email notification about his substantial bet on Zambia being flagged for review by one of the major betting exchanges.
Minor complications, all anticipated through Window Five. He'd call Valentina later, authorize the fund transfer immediately, and his lawyers would handle the betting exchange—reminding them that there were no legal limits on the size of bets a private individual could place.
Thirty minutes later, the boardroom door opened. The chairman emerged, his expression revealing nothing.
"Mr. Torres, if you'd rejoin us, please."
Back at the table, Al-Fahim spoke first. "Your proposal is compelling, Mr. Torres. We're prepared to accept your offer, subject to standard due diligence and league approval."
Liam nodded, maintaining a calm exterior despite the surge of satisfaction. "Excellent. My team is ready to expedite the process. I suggest we aim to complete within thirty days."
The chairman looked surprised. "That's... unusually quick for a transaction of this magnitude."
"I don't believe in unnecessary delays," Liam replied. "Every day wasted is a day we're not building for the future."
They spent another hour discussing logistics and next steps before Howard produced the preliminary acquisition agreement. Signatures were exchanged, handshakes completed, and a brief statement prepared for release to the media the following morning.
As they prepared to leave, the supporters' trust representative approached Liam privately.
"Mr. Torres," he said quietly, "I want to believe you're different from other owners we've had. That you genuinely care about this club."
Liam held the man's gaze. "I understand your skepticism. But judge me by my actions, not my words. In six months, ask yourself if Forest is in a better position than it is today."
The man nodded slowly. "Fair enough. But I'll be watching closely."
"I'd expect nothing less."
Outside, as they walked back across the Trent Bridge, Howard was jubilant. "Congratulations! You're about to become the owner of one of England's most historic football clubs."
Liam paused, looking back at the City Ground silhouetted against the afternoon sky. "This is just the beginning, Howard. Now the real work starts."
His phone vibrated—Valentina again. This time he answered.
"I was in meetings," he explained. "Important news—"
"I know," she interrupted. "It's already on Twitter. 'Spanish millionaire set to buy Nottingham Forest.' That was fast."
Liam frowned. The press release wasn't supposed to go out until tomorrow. "News travels quickly."
"Too quickly," Valentina said. "Liam, they're asking questions about you. Financial journalists. A reporter from El País called me asking how we met, how long I've known you. They're digging."
Liam had anticipated media interest, but not quite this soon. He needed to accelerate his timeline.
"Don't worry," he assured her. "Everything is in order. I'll be back in Madrid tomorrow. We can discuss it then."
After ending the call, he turned to Howard. "We need to move faster. I want preliminary approval from the Football League within two weeks, not four. And I want a press conference scheduled at the City Ground for next Monday."
"That's... aggressive," Howard said cautiously.
"I don't have time to wait." Liam checked his watch. "I need to be on a flight to Zurich in three hours. Arrange for the bank transfers we discussed and have the PR team prepare a comprehensive press kit. Background on me, vision for the club, everything we discussed inside."
As Howard made calls, Liam walked to the riverside railing, staring out at the water flowing beneath him. Through Window Five, he could see himself still standing here five minutes from now, watching the same river. A rare moment of stillness in what had become a whirlwind existence.
Part of him missed the simplicity of his old life—the anonymity, the focus on football rather than finance. But he'd crossed a threshold now. There was no going back.
His phone buzzed with a message from Miguel: *Just saw the news. Call me when you can.*
Liam smiled. Despite everything, his old friend's curiosity had been piqued. Another piece falling into place.
"Howard," he called. "Add one more thing to the press release—I'm appointing Miguel Alvarez as Director of Football Operations, effective immediately."
Howard looked up from his phone. "Is he expecting this?"
"He will be," Liam said, already composing a message to Miguel, "by the time the press release goes out."
The future—both the five-minute window he could see and the years beyond it—was unfolding exactly as he had planned.