It started, ironically, with the best game of Nathan Scott's life. The Knicks are already on fire, with Nathan and his teammate Lucas leading the charge. They're kicking ass, and the team is almost at the done with the season, with an astounding 56 wins, and 12 games to go. Nathan's having the best season of his career, everything is going his way, with the exception of a few games.
The final buzzer sounds just as he sinks in a three-pointer, and the roar of the crowd overwhelms all of his senses. It takes until Lucas slams into, shouting happily, for him to move. The team descends, Antwon "Skillz" Taylor barreling into his left side, crowing in his ear. Jake Jagielski, the only mature one on the team, leaps onto the pile and pushes them into motion. Nathan wriggles free from the team, pausing to wave at the still screaming crowd. Everyone goes insane when does, fans leaping to their feet and snapping pics.
Eventually, the team gets herded into the locker rooms, passing the dejected Blazers. Nathan feels a little buzzed, likes he's had too much champagne. His head is reeling. This is the seventh consecutive win, and it's all thanks to him. He has about fifteen minutes before the press find their way into the locker room, so he moves fast. He throws himself into the shower and scrubs hard. His teammate's mill around, still loud and happy from the win. Nate's back in a suit before anyone else, ready to be swarmed by the press.
Just as he's walking out into the main room of the locker room, press swarm his coach. Brian "Whitey" Durham handles the press with ease, considering he's had decades of practice. The press see him, and sports reporters turn their questions to Nathan. He's not going to lie, he loves the spotlight, and he's good in it. He takes questions with ease, until one question throws him off balance.
"Mr. Scott, what will you do about your agent Chris Keller? How much money was lost? Are you financially alright?" The questions come in rapid fire succession. His smile falters and words die in his throat.
"W-what?" Suddenly the flashes of cameras is blinding, and he feels too exposed. Thankfully, before he can a fool of himself, Whitey grabs him by the shoulders and ushers him away. He's pushed into Coach's office.
"What's going on?" Nathan asks. He runs his hands through his hair, a self-soothing gesture. Whitey sighs, one of his long suffering sighs that he heaves when the team's done something wrong.
"Listen son, there's something you need to know." Whitey's got this face on like he's about to tell Nathan he's getting traded, or worse, thrown from the NBA all together. "Your agent and your lawyers were arrested tonight. At the start of the third quarter. The news spread fast."
Nathan can't really comprehend what that means, so he stays quiet.
"There's been some… financial implications, son," Whitey tells him, voice soft like he's talking to a child.
"What do you mean, financial implication? Like to me? Like I'm losing money?" Panic bubbles up into Nathan's throat. He's never really thought about money before, never worried about it because his father took care of that. Oh, god, his father.
"Dan's been arrested?" he asks dumbly.
"Yes," Whitey answers softly.
"How much money?"
"I don't know, son. You have to talk the firm. I'll handle the press." With an air of finality, Whitey offers Nathan his office phone. Peyton. He has to call Peyton, the paralegal at his father's law firm. He dials the number with fumbling fingers, shaking a little. The phone rings three times before Peyton answers, sounding frazzled.
"Law office of Dan Scott."
"Peyton, it's me. What the hell is happening?"
"Oh my god, Nathan! It's awful, the police just burst into the office and cuffed Dan. They literally dragged him out," she tells him, voice bordering on amused.
"What does this mean for me?" he hisses. None of this is funny, even if Dan got dragged off, which is a pretty great image.
"Oh, I don't know. No one even told us what for," Peyton says, apologetic this time.
"The reporters are saying fraud, embezzlement even." Peyton gasps, putting the pieces together faster than he had. He hears the clacking of keys and a sharp gasp.
"Jesus Nathan, it's a whole scheme. The accountant, everybody. Christ, this is bad."
"How bad? Just tell me," Nathan's voice is weak, and he feels far away. This is not happening. Not really. This is just some horrible, adrenaline induced dream.
"Oh, Nathan," Peyton's voice is soft, and pitying like he's never heard it before. This is bad, really bad, if Peyton's being this kind to him.
"What?" he says desperately.
"It's… fifty million. Oh my god, Nathan, I'm so sorry. Oh, god." Peyton's voice breaks and she sobs.
His head is reeling. Holy shit. Sweet Jesus Christ on a bike. That's everything. That's everything he has. Everything he's worked for, ever since college.
"Wh-what about Chris?" Peyton asks, hiccupping slightly. "Can't he do anything?
"Chris is gone. I bet you anything that bastard is behind this," Nathan snarls, suddenly angry.
"God, Nathan, what are you going to do?" Peyton ask, sobbing all the while. He deflates at the question. What is he going to do? He's broke, essentially. Peyton sniffs, hard.
"Okay, you need to call the agency. And see what this all means. But, god, Nathan, don't talk to anyone about this. It's a really big deal." Finally, Peyton's back, all sharp and logical.
"Yeah, okay," he says, before hanging up. He needs to call the agency next, and see what the hell happened to Chris, and what this means for him. He grabs his phone from his pocket and finds the number for Chris's office. He calls, and Chris's assistant picks up almost immediately.
"Nathan?" Mia says. "God, I'm so sorry."
"What the hell is going on?" He asks, for what feels like the millionth time that night.
"We've been trying to get a hold of you. The agency president wants to meet with you," she tells him.
"Yeah, I wanna know what's going to happen."
"How's tomorrow? For breakfast? The agency will take care of it," Mia assures him.
"Fine," Nathan says, curt. Suddenly, he's exhausted, like all the adrenaline has drained from his system.
00000
The biggest break of Haley's career comes with the news of her boyfriend's arrest. She's at home, watching the Knick's game, when the sportscaster, a Marvin McFadden, breaks the news of Nathan's financial plummet. At first, she doesn't think anything of it, except that it's an awful thing to happen to anyone, even an overpaid basketball star. It takes her a moment to remember that Nathan Scott is Chris's client. Chris mentions him all the time, bragging about getting into parties and meeting all kinds of celebrities. She's half convinced he's in love with Nathan, and she's always sort of resented Nathan for it.
She fumbles for her phone and calls him, knowing either way she won't reach him. He's at the game, and he never picks up on game nights. If he's been arrested, the police would have taken his phone, and no one would pick up then. It goes straight to voicemail, so she hangs up anyways. It's not like he checks messages from her anyways.
Her phones rings a bit after a minute, and she jumps, not expecting it.
"Hello?" she asks.
"Haley? It's Mia, we need to talk." Mia Catalano is Chris's assistant. She's a little young, but scary good at her job, which mainly means herding Chris. Even with how much of an asset she is, Chris only keeps her around, and hired her, because she's easy on the eyes. It's a damn shame.
"Hey, honey, what's up? What the hell is happening?" Haley asks, panic rising. Mia lets out a shaky breath.
"God, where do I begin?" she laughs a little, but it's humorless. "I guess Chris and Dan Scott had been scheming to ruin Nathan's life for a little while now. They've apparently been tying his money up in different things for years now. God, these files go back to before even I started working here. I'm on his computer now, working with an officer to get all these files over to them. Jesus Christ, it's been all here the entire fucking time! God what a dumbass, I can't believe he kept all these files here! The only smart thing he did not put any locations on here."
"Holy mother of god, I can't believe him! How does this affect me? I mean, why did you call me?" Haley's glad someone called to let her know what the hell happened, but she's a little confused as to why Mia's the one doing it. If anything, she's expecting Chris to call from the police station, begging for her to come get him.
She doesn't know why, but she loves that douchebag, for whatever reason.
"Here's the thing, Haley, the company is doing some people moving, meaning you're getting a new assistant and a new client." Mia says, sounding a little hopeful.
"Wait, what?" she says, a little dumbly.
"They're moving Nathan Scott to you, and I'm going to be your assistant," Mia tells her.
"Mia, I don't do sports. I represent artist! And the occasional actor," Haley counters.
"Yeah, but you get a new assistant!" Mia reminds her.
"Jesus, okay. Now what?" Haley asks, raking her free hand through her hair.
"Okay, listen, there's a meeting in the morning. We're trying to keep Nathan with the agency, and you're the best shot we have."
"What? I'm not a sports person! What would I even know with how to help him?"
"Haley, listen. You're god at what you do. You're the leader when it comes to securing promo deals, which is something he'll need."
"God, you sound like you've really thought this through. Maybe you should represent him," Haley chuckles, but it's nervous, bordering on hysterical.
"You know how I am in front of other people. Haley, you have to do this," Mia says, with a ring of finality. It's really too bad that Mia is painfully shy, because she'd make a kick ass agent.
"Okay, fine. Email me the details. I'll talk to you later," Haley says. They hang up, and Haley settles back on her couch.
It's not exactly her first night at home, quite the opposite. Chris really only came home to spend the night with her when he wanted to have sex, or wanted her to make something for her, or hound her for money.
It's fine that she's relieved that her boyfriend, who she loves, thank you very much, isn't coming home, right?
It's fine. All she has to do is focus on this Nathan Scott thing and wait for Chris to somehow weasel his way out of this one, like he always does.