Chapter 99 Maya's Problem
Harper's POV,
Maya called at 11 PM on a Thursday, which immediately told me something was wrong. Maya didn't call late unless it was an emergency.
"Can you come over?" Her voice sounded strange. Tight. Like she was holding back tears.
"Right now? It's almost midnight."
"I know. I'm sorry. But I need—I need to talk to someone and you're the only person I trust with this."
I looked at Crew, already asleep next to me, exhausted from practice. Sixteen weeks pregnant and I was exhausted too, but Maya never asked for help.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes."
I left Crew a note on the nightstand, drove across town to Maya's apartment in Yaletown. She answered the door in sweatpants and a Canucks hoodie, eyes red from crying.
"What happened?" I asked, following her inside.
She sat on her couch, pulled her knees to her chest. "I got suspended. Pending investigation. They're saying I leaked confidential player information to the press."
I sat next to her. "What? That's insane. You would never—"
"I know I wouldn't. But someone did. And all the evidence points to me." She grabbed her laptop, showed me an email chain. "See? These emails show someone from my account sending contract details to a Vancouver Sun reporter. Information about Tyler's contract negotiations. About Marcus's injury status. About internal team strategy."
I read through the emails. They were damning. Sent from Maya's account, her signature, everything.
"But you didn't send these."
"Of course I didn't. But IT can't find any evidence my account was compromised. No unauthorized logins. No suspicious activity. Which means either I sent them or someone with physical access to my computer did." She wiped her eyes. "Harper, they're threatening legal action. The team's saying I violated my NDA. They could sue me. I could lose my job. My career. Everything."
"Who would do this? Who has access to your computer?"
"Anyone in the PR department. We all share the same office space. I don't lock my computer when I'm in the building because we're supposed to be able to trust each other." She laughed bitterly. "Clearly that was stupid."
"Do you have any idea who might have done it? Someone who wants your job? Someone who has a grudge?"
Maya was quiet for a moment. "There's one person. Garrett. He's the assistant PR director. Applied for my job when I got promoted. Didn't get it. Has been passive-aggressive ever since."
"Would he do this? Frame you?"
"I don't know. Maybe? He's ambitious. And he's been pushing for more responsibility, more access to high-level decisions. If I'm gone, he's next in line." She pulled up another email. "Look at this. This is from two weeks ago. He sent me an email asking for access to my executive folders. Said he needed it for a project. I said no because those folders contain exactly the kind of information that got leaked."
"So he has motive and opportunity."
"But no proof. And even if I'm right, how do I prove it? I can't just accuse him without evidence. That makes me look desperate and defensive."
I thought about it. "What about security footage? Your office has cameras, right?"
"Only in the hallways and common areas. Not in the actual office space. Privacy concerns or whatever." She set down her laptop. "Harper, I'm going to lose my job. After everything—moving to Vancouver, building this career, finally being happy—I'm going to lose it all because someone set me up."
"We're not going to let that happen. We're going to figure this out."
"How? I'm suspended. I can't even go into the building. And the investigation team is looking for reasons to fire me, not reasons to believe me."
I pulled out my phone. "Crew knows the team. He knows the front office. Maybe he can help. Ask around quietly. See if anyone saw something."
"Harper, it's almost midnight. Don't wake him up for this."
"He'd want to help. Let me text him."
I sent Crew a quick message: Maya's in trouble. Someone framed her for leaking info. She's suspended. Can you help?
He responded immediately: On my way. Give me 15 minutes.
"He's coming," I told Maya.
"You guys don't have to do this. This is my mess."
"You're family. Your mess is our mess."
Crew arrived twelve minutes later, still in sweatpants, hair sticking up. He'd clearly just rolled out of bed.
"Tell me everything," he said, sitting on Maya's other side.
So she did. The leaked information. The emails from her account. The suspension. The possible culprit.
"Garrett Morrison," Crew said when she finished. "Yeah, I know him. He's always around. Always asking questions about contract stuff, injury updates, things that aren't his business."
"Has he ever asked you directly about confidential stuff?" I asked.
"A few times. I usually blow him off. But now that you mention it—" He pulled out his phone, scrolled through messages. "Look. Two weeks ago he texted me asking about Marcus's contract status. Said he needed it for a media guide. I told him to ask Marcus directly."
Maya leaned over to look. "That's the same week the contract information leaked. What if he was fishing for information from multiple sources?"
"Do you think other players got similar questions?" I asked.
"Probably. Let me ask around." Crew started texting teammates. Within minutes, he had responses. "Yeah. Three guys said Garrett asked them about contracts or injuries in the past month. Always casual. Always with a work-related excuse."
"That's not enough to prove he leaked the information," Maya said. "It just proves he's nosy."
"But it establishes a pattern. If we can show he was actively seeking the exact information that got leaked, that's suspicious." I turned to Maya. "What about the reporter? The one who received the emails. Would they tell you who actually contacted them?"
"Journalists protect their sources. They're not going to tell me anything."
"Not officially. But maybe unofficially?" I pulled up the Vancouver Sun website, found the reporter's byline on the leaked story. Jennifer Mills. "Wait. Isn't this the reporter who wrote about Crew's recovery?"
"Yeah," Crew said. "She was fair to me. Professional."
"So you have a relationship with her. Could you call her? Ask if she'd be willing to talk to Maya off the record?"
"I can try." Crew stepped into Maya's kitchen to make the call.
Maya looked at me. "I can't believe you guys are doing this. At midnight. When you're pregnant and exhausted."
"You'd do the same for us. You have done the same for us. Multiple times."
"Still. Thank you."
Crew came back in. "Jennifer said she'll meet with you tomorrow. Off the record. She can't reveal her source but she's willing to talk about the circumstances around how she received the information. She said something felt off about it from the beginning."
"Off how?" Maya asked.
"She wouldn't say over the phone. But she agreed to meet you at that coffee shop near the Sun offices. Ten AM tomorrow."
Maya nodded. "Okay. Thank you. Both of you. I don't know what I'd do without—" Her voice cracked. She started crying. Real crying, not the held-back tears from earlier.
I hugged her. Let her cry on my shoulder. Crew sat on her other side, awkward but present.
"I was so scared," Maya said between sobs. "I thought I'd lose everything. My job. My reputation. My visa status. Everything I've built here."
"You're not going to lose anything. We're going to prove you didn't do this."
"But what if we can't? What if Garrett covered his tracks too well?"
"Then we keep looking until we find something. But Maya, you're not alone in this. You have us. You have Simone. You have the entire team who knows you'd never do this."
She pulled back, wiping her face. "Simone's been amazing. She wanted to come over tonight but I told her I needed space. Which was stupid. I should have called her first."
"Call her now," I said. "Let her be here for you."
Maya nodded, grabbed her phone.
While she called Simone, Crew and I moved to the kitchen.
"This is bad," he said quietly. "If they can't prove who actually leaked the information, Maya's the obvious scapegoat. The emails came from her account. She had access. She's the one who gets fired."
"So we prove it was Garrett. We find evidence."
"How? We're not detectives. We're a hockey player and a physical therapist."
"Then we figure it out. Because Maya needs us." I looked back at her, still on the phone with Simone, voice steadier now. "She's been there for every crisis we've had. The fake dating thing. The wedding. My father showing up. Your recovery. Everything. We owe her."
"We don't owe her. We just love her. There's a difference."
"Then we help her because we love her."
Simone arrived twenty minutes later with wine for Maya and sparkling water for me. She hugged Maya hard, didn't let go for a full minute.
"We're going to fix this," Simone said. "I've been working in sports media for six years. I know people. I know how these investigations work. We're going to find who did this."
The four of us sat around Maya's living room until 2 AM, making a plan. Crew would talk to more teammates, see if anyone else had been approached by Garrett. Simone would reach out to contacts in other team PR departments, see if Garrett had a history of this behavior. I would go with Maya to meet Jennifer Mills tomorrow, provide moral support.
By the time Crew and I left, Maya looked less like she was drowning and more like she was fighting.
"Thank you," she said at the door. "I mean it. Thank you for showing up. For not making me do this alone."
"That's what family does," I said.
In the car, Crew grabbed my hand. "You need sleep. You're growing a human. You can't survive on four hours."
"I'll sleep tomorrow. Tonight Maya needed us."
"I know. But Harper, you have to take care of yourself too. The baby—"
"The baby is fine. I'm fine. Maya is not fine. Priorities."
He drove home in silence. In bed, I couldn't sleep. Kept thinking about Maya's face when she'd answered the door. The fear. The betrayal. The uncertainty of whether her career was ending.
"You're not sleeping," Crew observed.
"Can't stop thinking about Maya."
"She's going to be okay. We're going to help her."
"What if we can't? What if Garrett really did cover his tracks perfectly?"
"Then we find another way. But Harper, you can't fix everything. Sometimes you just have to show up and let things play out."
"I hate that."
"I know. But it's true anyway."
I put Crew's hand on my stomach, where the baby—now the size of an avocado—was allegedly growing even though I couldn't feel anything yet.
"Our kid is going to have the best aunt," I said. "Maya's going to spoil them rotten."
"If Maya still has a job by the time the baby comes."
"She will. We're going to make sure of it."
Crew kissed my forehead. "You're a good friend. Even when it's inconvenient. Even when it's the middle of the night and you should be sleeping."
"Maya would do the same."
"I know. That's why you're both exhausting to love."
"But worth it?"
"But worth it."
I fell asleep thinking about tomorrow's meeting with Jennifer Mills. About finding evidence. About proving Maya's innocence.