July 25 arrived under a clear blue sky, one of those rare Manchester mornings when the weather seemed determined to cooperate. Warm sunlight spread across the old industrial city, turning brick, steel, and glass gold beneath the morning sun.
Ethan had been awake early. By the time Eva found him, he had already spent an unreasonable amount of time standing in front of the bathroom mirror adjusting his clothes.
"You know," Eva said from the doorway, smiling, "you look more nervous than a groom on his wedding day."
Ethan laughed, crossed the room, and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her until she was breathless, then finally let her go so she could straighten the collar he had been fussing with for the past several minutes.
"Bring Sean along later," Ethan said. "The weather's too good to keep him indoors. A little sunshine will do him good."
Eva nodded. "Mum and Dad are taking care of him."
Her parents had recently moved to Manchester. With Ethan and Eva both constantly busy, they had worried that the young couple would struggle to balance work with a newborn, even with several nannies helping around the house. Eventually they had retired and relocated north, temporarily moving in with Ethan and Eva.
"When Sean's a little older, we'll get a place nearby," Eva's father had said.
Ethan had already bought a plot of land for them a short distance away, ready for construction whenever they wanted to begin.
They would hardly be alone. Mourinho's villa nearby had already been completed, while Kaká, Terry, Curtis, Messi, and several other players had expressed interest in buying homes in the same area. George Clooney and a few of Ethan's other friends were even discussing building a private clubhouse nearby that could serve as a base whenever they were in Manchester.
Property prices around the area had risen sharply as a result. Ethan paid little attention to the increase. Years earlier, the company established by Victoria and Eva had acquired a large amount of local land, and when players wanted to build nearby, the plots were transferred to them for little more than the original cost and administrative fees. Ethan had no interest in profiting from his own players simply because the neighbourhood had become fashionable.
Eva stayed behind with her parents and Sean while Ethan left first. He climbed into his bright red sports car and had barely reached the end of the road when another car appeared beside him.
Beckham.
The midfielder had bought himself a sports car as well.
The two men exchanged amused looks through their windows and continued towards the city. A few moments later, another red sports car appeared behind them.
Mourinho.
Ethan had bought it for him after the previous season as a personal thank-you for everything he had done for the club.
"If everyone around here starts driving these things," Ethan called with a laugh, "we'll turn the whole neighbourhood into one long traffic jam."
Beckham and Mourinho laughed as Ethan accelerated away.
Of the three, Ethan was unquestionably the most enthusiastic driver. He also happened to be very good. Audi had once invited several Red Rebels players to a performance-car launch, and Ethan had ended up taking part in the testing himself. He was nowhere near a professional racing driver, but he was comfortable enough behind the wheel to surprise everyone present.
The three red cars soon reached Alan Turing Way. Ethan led the group, gave the others a wave through the window, and turned first into the stadium's dedicated access lane.
From a distance, the new ground looked like an enormous ruby set into the eastern side of Manchester. Dedicated routes from Alan Turing Way and Ashton New Road fed directly into the underground parking complex, while separate controlled lanes led towards the players' entrance for the home and away team coaches.
Ethan parked in the staff section beneath the stadium and took the lift upstairs.
On his way towards the commercial offices, he stopped beside one of the large windows overlooking the surrounding district.
The place was already packed.
Thousands of people moved through the entertainment complex below, some having queued overnight, others having travelled from across Britain and Europe. There were supporters in Red Rebels shirts, tourists carrying cameras, families, Apple enthusiasts, football fans, and people who had simply come to see what all the publicity was about.
Public transport had been strengthened throughout the week. Manchester had increased rail and tram services serving the area, while additional buses had been added to routes terminating around the stadium.
The club and the city wanted visitors to leave their cars at home whenever possible.
Even a 10,000-space underground car park had limits. If half the crowd arriving for a match decided to drive, it would fill long before kick-off. Overflow parking had therefore been arranged across Ashton New Road, with pedestrian bridges allowing supporters to reach the stadium safely without crossing traffic.
Ethan watched the crowds for several minutes.
Two years of planning had led to this morning.
Judging by what he could already see below, the launch was halfway to being a success before the official programme had even begun.
When he entered the commercial department, everyone was working at full speed. The club had created a separate property-management company to handle the surrounding entertainment district and another company responsible for stadium operations, maintenance, and day-to-day logistics, but that did little to reduce the pressure on the commercial staff during opening week.
Ethan passed employees carrying folders, talking into phones, checking schedules, and hurrying between meeting rooms before eventually reaching Mark Davey's office.
"Look who finally decided to turn up," Davey groaned.
There were dark circles under his eyes.
Ethan laughed and took the chair opposite him.
Davey's office was stylish under normal circumstances. Today it looked as though an entire filing cabinet had exploded across it. Documents, event schedules, sponsorship agreements, security reports, guest lists, and maps covered almost every available surface.
Over the previous two years, Davey and Gardner had effectively carried the commercial department through its most demanding period. Once the stadium launch was finished and the department's reorganisation complete, responsibility would be spread across several permanent directors rather than resting so heavily on the pair of them.
Ethan had already promised both men two months of paid leave once the opening celebrations were over.
Davey had responded by declaring that their merciless employer had finally developed a conscience.
Nobody took the complaint seriously. Ethan regularly encouraged senior staff to take time away from work. The problem was that the commercial department was filled with workaholics who rarely wanted to. Their compensation was partly performance-related, and with New Manchester United growing so quickly, most were determined to see how far they could push the club.
"How does security look?" Ethan asked.
A gathering of this size was the one thing he refused to take lightly.
"Covered," Davey said through another yawn. "Greater Manchester Police are fully deployed, and because of the scale of the event they've brought in additional officers from neighbouring forces. We've spent a fortune on security and crowd management. Unless someone does something spectacularly stupid, we're fine."
"You look terrible. Go and sleep for an hour."
Davey shook his head immediately.
"Not a chance. Who could sleep today? We've been planning this launch for two years. I want to see whether the thing actually works."
Ethan smiled and patted his shoulder.
"Once tonight is over, at least we can finally relax."
Davey looked unconvinced.
"Not quite. If we retain the Premier League or make a proper run in the Champions League, commercially we'll go up another level. We might even catch Manchester United."
Ethan's expression became more serious.
"Mark, don't let the commercial side put pressure on José or the football department. You know where I stand on that."
That boundary had existed from the beginning. Walsh and the football operation were based at Newton Heath. The commercial department operated primarily from the stadium. Ethan wanted the separation to be physical as well as organisational.
The football team existed to win matches.
The commercial department existed to make those victories more valuable, not to dictate how they were achieved.
Davey raised both hands.
"I know. I'm hoping, not interfering. What supporter doesn't want his club to win everything?"
Ethan laughed.
The principle had been repeated so often inside the club that nobody in the commercial department could misunderstand it. Sporting decisions came first.
The rest of the morning was spent reviewing the opening programme.
The inaugural match would not begin until later that evening, while the main ceremony was scheduled for six o'clock. Before then, however, there were guests to receive, sponsor events to coordinate, shops to open, television crews to position, entertainment schedules to check, and countless smaller details that could easily derail an event of this scale.
The guest list alone was extraordinary.
Former players, coaches, and employees had naturally been invited, but Ethan had also called in friends and contacts from across European football. Berlusconi, Florentino Pérez, Beckenbauer, Moratti, Abramovich, Ferguson, David Gill, Kenyon, Wenger, and numerous other club owners and executives had received invitations. Every Premier League club had been represented at ownership or executive level, while senior figures from the Premier League and FA were attending as well.
The business world was just as heavily represented.
Steve Jobs would personally host the opening of Apple's flagship store. Audi's senior leadership would attend its own launch events, while Adidas, Vodafone, and the other major partners were sending executives from the highest levels of their companies.
Then there were Ethan's personal friends.
George Clooney, Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, and several other Hollywood figures had agreed to attend. Bill Gates and Warren Buffett were also expected, along with prominent names from finance, technology, entertainment, and public life.
Receiving an invitation had itself become something of a status symbol.
Granada Television had paid heavily for the domestic broadcasting rights to the ceremony, while international rights had been sold separately through one of Murdoch's pay-television groups. Interest in the United States had been particularly strong because of the number of Hollywood and American business personalities attending.
By the time the deals were finished, New Manchester United's stadium opening had become less like a traditional football event and more like an international entertainment broadcast.
The surrounding complex had been designed accordingly.
Every retailer had been encouraged to stage its own event. Some had product launches, others competitions, exhibitions, live performances, autograph sessions, demonstrations, or limited-edition merchandise. Visitors who had entered the district early in the morning were already spending hours moving from one attraction to the next.
The entertainment value was deliberate.
The club wanted people to regard the stadium district as somewhere worth visiting even without a football match.
For the arrival ceremony, the commercial department had borrowed shamelessly from Hollywood.
A long red-carpet route had been constructed through the main entrance area, creating what the staff jokingly called the Avenue of Stars. Audi supplied the cars that delivered the major guests, ensuring that every arrival also became another advertisement.
There was one difference from an ordinary awards-show red carpet.
Months earlier, New Manchester United had invited supporters online to suggest things they wanted to see during the arrivals.
The internet had responded exactly as expected.
Some requests were sensible.
Others were ridiculous.
The commercial staff selected the funniest ideas that could actually be arranged and quietly contacted the guests involved.
One supporter had asked to see Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie stage an argument on the carpet. They happily obliged, turning the whole thing into a playful promotion for Mr. & Mrs. Smith.
Another wanted Ferguson and Wenger to arrive together and behave as though they were the closest of friends in football.
So they did.
The sight of the two managers walking side by side, smiling for cameras and theatrically linking arms, produced one of the biggest cheers of the afternoon.
There were dozens of similar moments. Nothing malicious, nothing designed to humiliate anyone, but enough carefully planned mischief to make the arrivals feel different from the stiff corporate ceremonies normally associated with stadium openings.
Even the guests seemed to enjoy it.
Reporters filled the designated media zones. Television cameras followed every arrival. Supporters leaned over barriers shouting names, waving shirts, and taking photographs.
By late afternoon, the area outside the stadium was louder than many grounds during an actual match.
Then the clock reached six.
The lights around the plaza shifted.
The music faded.
Every giant screen surrounding the stadium came alive at once.
And the inauguration of New Manchester United's new home officially began.
(To be continued.)
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