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Well, technically, they belong to one of my corporations, which belongs to another corporation, which ultimately belongs to me.

Details.

I lean back in my chair and stare at the screen.

Waiting.

For what, exactly?

Fireworks?

Champagne?

Some heavenly choir to burst through the ceiling of my office singing For He’s a Jolly Good Billionaire?

Nothing happens.

Of course not.

This is business. I buy things all the time.

Companies.

Buildings.

Land.

Technology.

Once, an entire media platform because the CEO pissed me off during a dinner meeting.

In my defense, he was an asshole. And the company was undervalued.

But this? This is different.

The Carolina Rovers aren't another investment. They aren't a line on a spreadsheet. They aren't some shiny new addition to the Knight portfolio.

This is—fuck.

I close my laptop. Stand. Walk toward the windows.

Then immediately turn around and open the damn thing again. It’s still there.

CAROLINA ROVERS.

OWNER: MITCHELL KNIGHT.

A laugh escapes me. Just one. Short and probably slightly unhinged.

Good thing I'm alone. Then again, I'm usually alone.

Occupational hazard of being the eccentric billionaire nobody can get an interview with.

According to the internet, I'm either a genius, a recluse, an asshole, or some combination of all three. Depends on which article you read.

I don't particularly care. Never have.

Granddad would've cared even less. That thought wipes the smile right off my face. I reach into the top drawer of my desk.