Chapter 100 Evidence Trail
Crew's POV,
The meeting with Jennifer Mills happened at a coffee shop in Gastown, neutral territory away from both the Canucks offices and the Sun building.
I didn't go—Harper insisted Maya needed to handle this herself with just Harper as support. But I spent the morning at the arena talking to teammates.
"Garrett Morrison," I said to Marcus in the weight room. "What do you know about him?"
Marcus set down his dumbbells. "The PR guy? Not much. He's always around asking questions. Why?"
"Someone leaked confidential information to the press. Maya got blamed. I think it was Garrett."
"Maya would never leak anything. She's too professional." Marcus grabbed his water bottle. "What do you need?"
"I need to know if Garrett's been asking you questions. About contracts, injuries, anything internal."
"He asks everyone questions. That's his job."
"But has he asked you things that seemed outside his job? Things that felt like fishing?"
Marcus thought about it. "Actually, yeah. Last month he asked me about Tyler's contract negotiations. Wanted to know the dollar amounts, the term length. Said he needed it for a media guide but that information isn't public yet. I told him to talk to management."
"Did he follow up?"
"No. But he asked Ryan similar questions the next day. I heard them talking in the hallway."
I texted Ryan: Need to talk. Garrett Morrison. Available?
He responded immediately: Training room. Come now.
I found Ryan on a massage table getting his shoulder worked on by one of the physical therapists.
"Garrett Morrison," I said without preamble. "What's he asked you about?"
"Why? What's going on?"
"Maya's suspended for allegedly leaking information. I think Garrett set her up. What's he asked you?"
Ryan's expression darkened. "Son of a bitch. About three weeks ago he cornered me after practice. Asked about my contract status, whether I was negotiating an extension, what my agent was asking for. I thought it was weird but figured he needed it for some PR thing."
"Did you tell him anything?"
"No. I told him that was between me and management. But Crew, he was persistent. Asked me twice more that week. Different excuses each time."
"Who else has he approached?"
"No idea. But if he's systematically going after every player trying to get inside information, someone probably talked."
I spent the next two hours talking to teammates. Found five more who'd been approached by Garrett in the past month. Two had told him general information. One had mentioned contract details because Garrett claimed management had already approved sharing it.
By noon, I had a pattern. Garrett had been fishing for information from multiple sources, using his position to make it seem legitimate.
I texted Harper: Got statements from 7 players. Garrett was asking everyone for confidential info. How's the meeting with Jennifer?
She responded ten minutes later: Still here. She's talking. Will fill you in after.
\---
Harper and Maya showed up at the apartment at 2 PM looking exhausted but hopeful.
"Jennifer talked," Maya said, sitting on our couch. "She couldn't reveal her source directly but she said something interesting. The emails she received came from my account but the communication style was off. Too formal. Too much detail in places where I usually summarize. She said it didn't sound like me."
"Did she say that in the article?" I asked.
"No. She buried her doubts and ran the story anyway because the information checked out and her editor was pushing for publication." Maya pulled out her phone. "But she gave me copies of the emails she received. Look at this language."
She showed me one of the leaked emails. "Please find attached the contracted salary figures for the following players as per your request. This information is provided in confidence for background reporting purposes."
"You don't write like that," Harper said. "You're way more casual. Even in professional emails."
"Exactly. Jennifer noticed but her editor didn't care. Source seemed legitimate, information was accurate, story was newsworthy. That's all that mattered." Maya scrolled to another email. "But here's the thing. These emails were sent at times when I have alibis. This one was sent at 8 PM on a Tuesday. I was at dinner with Simone and six other people. This one was sent at 3 PM on a Thursday. I was in a meeting with the entire PR department including Garrett."
"So someone sent these from your account while you were provably somewhere else," I said.
"Right. Which means they either hacked my account remotely or accessed my computer while I wasn't there."
"IT said there were no unauthorized logins."
"Because they were looking for external hacks. They weren't looking for someone with physical access to my computer sending emails while logged in as me." Maya pulled up her work calendar. "Look. Every email was sent during times when I was in meetings or away from my desk but my computer was still logged in."
"Because you trusted your coworkers not to use your computer without permission," Harper said.
"Exactly. And the only person who consistently knew when I'd be in meetings was Garrett. He has access to my calendar. He schedules half of them."
I showed them my phone. "I talked to seven teammates this morning. Garrett approached all of them asking for confidential information in the past month. Two of them gave him general details. One gave him contract specifics because Garrett said it was approved."
Maya's eyes widened. "So he was gathering information from multiple sources, then leaking it using my account to make it look like I was the source."
"That's what it looks like. But can we prove it?"
"We need access to the office security footage," Harper said. "The cameras in the hallways. If we can show Garrett entering your office during times when you were in meetings and those times correspond with when the emails were sent—"
"That's circumstantial but it's something," Maya finished. "The problem is I'm suspended. I can't access security footage. And the investigation team isn't looking at Garrett. They're looking at me."
"What about Simone?" I asked. "She still has access to the building. Could she request footage?"
"On what grounds? She's social media, not security. She can't just ask for surveillance footage without cause."
We sat in silence trying to figure out the next move.
Harper's phone rang. Unknown number. She answered anyway.
"Hello?... Yes, this is Harper... Wait, what?... Are you serious?... Yes, I'll tell her. Thank you."
She hung up looking stunned.
"That was Robert Chen. The Canucks GM. He said he needs to meet with Maya tomorrow morning. Off the books. He has information about the investigation."
"Why would the GM call you?" Maya asked.
"Because apparently Crew told Marcus what was happening and Marcus told the GM. The GM has been watching Garrett for weeks because other staff members have complained about him. He has his own suspicions."
I grabbed my phone. Text from Marcus: Told Chen what you found. He wants to talk to Maya. Be at his office tomorrow 9 AM. Bring everything you have.
"Marcus went to the GM," I said. "The GM wants to meet with you tomorrow."
Maya looked between us. "So we might actually have a shot at proving this?"
"We might," Harper said. "But Maya, you need to be prepared. Even if we prove Garrett did this, the damage to your reputation might already be done. People might always wonder if you leaked information."
"I'd rather people wonder than know for certain I'm guilty of something I didn't do." Maya stood up. "I need to organize everything. All the evidence. Player statements. Jennifer's observations. The timeline of when emails were sent versus when I was in meetings. The security footage request we need to make."
"I'll help," Harper offered.
"No. You're pregnant and exhausted. You've done enough." Maya hugged her. "Thank you. Both of you. For believing me. For helping me fight this."
"That's what family does," I said.
After Maya left, Harper collapsed on the couch.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Tired. Growing a human is exhausting. Saving Maya's career on top of that is extra exhausting."
"You should rest. Take the afternoon off from the clinic."
"I have three clients scheduled."
"James can handle them. You need to take care of yourself."
She looked at me. "When did you become the responsible one?"
"Someone has to be. You keep trying to save everyone while ignoring your own needs."
"I'm not ignoring my needs. I'm just prioritizing Maya's crisis over my fatigue."
"Your fatigue is your body telling you to slow down. The baby needs you to slow down."
Harper put her hand on her stomach. "The baby is fine. I'm fine. Stop treating me like I'm fragile."
"I'm not treating you like you're fragile. I'm treating you like you're sixteen weeks pregnant and ran on four hours of sleep to help your best friend. Which is admirable but not sustainable."
We argued for another five minutes before Harper finally agreed to cancel her afternoon appointments and take a nap.
I called James to let him know Harper wouldn't be in.
"Is everything okay?" he asked. "Is the baby okay?"
"Baby's fine. Harper's just exhausted. Can you handle the three afternoon clients?"
"Of course. Tell her not to worry. I've got everything covered."
Harper fell asleep on the couch within minutes. I covered her with a blanket, made sure her phone was on silent, and sat in the chair across from her doing absolutely nothing productive.
Just watching her sleep. Thinking about the fact that in four months we'd be parents. That this woman who couldn't stop trying to fix everyone's problems would be responsible for a tiny human who would need her for everything.
She was going to be an incredible mother.
Exhausting, but incredible.
My phone buzzed. Text from David: How's Maya's situation?
Getting better. GM wants to meet with her tomorrow. We might be able to prove she was framed.
Good. And how are you? Seven months sober today. Don't forget to celebrate that.
Seven months. I hadn't even realized.
Seven months. Doesn't feel as monumental as it should.
That's because you're living it instead of counting it. That's progress.
I looked at Harper sleeping, at the baby growing inside her, at the life we were building.
Seven months sober. Married. Bought an apartment. Having a baby in four months. Helping my wife's best friend fight for her career.
Somehow I'd gone from overdosing on a practice rink to this.
To a life that felt real instead of just survived.
Thanks for everything, I texted David. For answering at 2 AM when I wanted to use. For talking me through every panic. For making me believe I could do this.
You did this. I just showed up. That's all any of us can do. Show up.
Harper stirred, opened her eyes.
"How long was I asleep?"
"Forty-five minutes."
"That's not enough."
"Then keep sleeping."
"Can't. My brain won't shut off. I keep thinking about Maya. About the meeting tomorrow. About whether we found enough evidence."
"We found enough. Chen wouldn't want to meet if we didn't have something."
She sat up, rubbed her face. "What if Garrett fights back? What if he has his own evidence that makes Maya look guilty?"
"Then we deal with it. But Harper, you can't control everything. Sometimes you just have to show up and hope it's enough."
"When did you get so wise?"
"Seven months sober today. Apparently sobriety comes with unwanted wisdom."
She smiled. "Seven months. That's huge."
"It's a day. Just like yesterday was a day."
"It's more than a day. It's seven months of choosing recovery. Seven months of doing the work. Seven months of being the man I married instead of the man you were scared of becoming."
I pulled her close. "I'm still scared of becoming that man. Every day. But I'm more scared of losing this. You. The baby. The life we're building. So I stay sober. Not because it's easy. Because the alternative is worse."
"That's very profound for someone who hits people with sticks for a living."
"I contain multitudes."
We spent the evening preparing for Maya's meeting. Organizing evidence. Writing timelines. Making sure every detail was documented.
By bedtime, we had a case. Not perfect. But strong enough to create reasonable doubt.
Strong enough to maybe save Maya's career.
And if we were very lucky, strong enough to prove Garrett had done exactly what we suspected.