"Why is there an emergency meeting?" Magnus asked, his voice controlled, though his heart thudded hard against his ribs, refusing to match the calm he tried to project.
There was a brief pause on the other end, papers rustling, voices overlapping faintly, before the secretary came back on, distracted.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Whitehall, but I need to make another call immediately," she said, urgency bleeding through every word.
Magnus's grip tightened around the phone. "What does that—"
"The location is at the NHL headquarters. The panel is convening right now, Sir. Please hurry."
A click, and the line went dead.
Magnus lowered the phone slowly, staring at the darkened screen as if it might explain itself. The room felt tighter all of a sudden, the air heavier against his lungs.
"At the headquarters?" he muttered under his breath. "Why not my arena? That was the arrangement. The agreement."
But silence answered him.
