NOVPUB
Chapter 85: Losing The Bet
The billion was nearly depleted—spent on Rover Group, his properties, Manchester City, and all the daily expenses.
When you’re poor, you dream of becoming rich, but when you’re rich, it feels like your needs only grow more demanding and endless, making you crave more and more.
Richard checked his account balance: £1,100,000.
He rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of it all. Before he could think further, his phone rang. When he saw the caller ID, it was Fay.
Suddenly, it hit him—the 1994 World Cup. He could make money with that. Wait—didn’t he have a bet on Bulgaria?
Excited, he picked up the phone, but before he could speak, he was stunned by what he heard.
"RICHARD, YOU LOST!!"
"What?" Richard asked instinctively, still trying to process it.
"BLOODY HELL, YOUR BET! BULGARIA LOST BADLY AGAINST NIGERIA!!! THEY WERE TRASHED 3-0! 3-0!!!"
Richard froze. Didn’t that mean his hundred thousand was gone?
He quickly ended the call and frantically searched for 1994 World Cup data, flipping through documents until he found what he was looking for. He quickly searched for one name:
Full Name: Hristo Stoichkov
Country: Bulgaria
Age: 28 years old
Position: Left Winger, Striker
Club: Barcelona
’What was wrong here?’
Just then, his phone rang again. He picked it up without thinking twice. On the other end, he heard a loud cheer.
"RICHARD, YOU’RE FAMOUS NOW!!!"
Richard pulled the phone away from his ear, confused. He glanced at the caller ID—it was still Fay.
He brought the phone back to his ear, asking, "What do you mean?"
"You lost your bet, and people already know about it!" Fay exclaimed.
Richard sighed. But—no, no. He was sure of it. 1994 was the prime time for Hristo Stoichkov.
This was the year the Bulgarian forward had taken the World Cup by storm, showcasing his skill and power on the field. He was one of the standout players of the tournament—he was certain of that.
He furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of it all. He couldn’t remember every detail, but certain moments from that World Cup were crystal clear—1994 was one of the craziest tournaments in history, and Richard had certainly been left with deep impressions from it.
First, there was the shock of Diego Maradona’s expulsion from the tournament after failing a drug test that revealed ephedrine, a weight-loss drug, in his system.
Then, there was Colombia—despite sky-high expectations thanks to their thrilling style and impressive qualifying campaign, they faltered, dogged by the influence of betting syndicates and drug cartels.
"And the third... Andrés Escobar," Richard mumbled, his voice trailing off. "He was tragically shot to death upon his return to Colombia."
That’s why he was so sure that Hristo Stoichkov, the Bulgarian winger, would be one of the standout players of the tournament—his name was synonymous with excellence.
"What? What did you just say?" Fay’s voice crackled through the phone, sharp with confusion.
"Nothing," Richard muttered, snapping out of his thoughts and forcing himself to focus. "How is it over there?" he asked.
Instead of answering, Fay switched to speaker mode. Instantly, Richard was hit with the chaotic noise of a packed betting shop—loud chatter, bursts of laughter, and the clinking of glasses.
"Oi, did you hear? The golden boy actually lost a bet!" someone jeered, followed by a round of mocking cheers.
"Hah! And here I thought he had some secret formula for winning. Guess he’s just like the rest of us after all!" another voice chimed in, dripping with sarcasm.
A loud THUD echoed—someone slapping a betting slip against the counter. "Should’ve cashed out while you had the chance, Maddox! Hah!"
More laughter erupted. Someone whistled. "You think he’s crying right now?"
Another voice, half-laughing, half-serious, muttered, "You know, I actually started betting on whatever he picked. Thank God I didn’t this time."
Fay’s voice came through clearer now. "The news is everywhere. People know about it and are celebrating. Your bet is gone."
"So, you’re saying people would lose their minds if I placed another bet, right?" Richard asked out of nowhere.
"...What?"
"Then let’s double the bet."
"Wait—what are you up to this time?"
"Do what you usually do with my bets. I’m still going with Bulgaria. This time, £200,000."
"You’re insane! They haven’t won a single match in their last five games!"
Richard chuckled. "And do you think I’m joking? Think about it—have I ever made a move without thinking it through?"
"Ah..." Fay said, her tone laced with sudden thought. But he was still skeptical. "How confident are you about this?"
"Relax. My confidence isn’t blind," Richard replied, his voice steady. "The next match is against Greece. If they win, they’ll regain their confidence. And since Argentina lost their spiritual leader, they’re playing like chickens without a head. As long as they win the next two matches, Bulgaria will qualify. Isn’t that right?"
Hearing his nonchalant response, Fay sighed. He had initially thought he might be privy to some secret, maybe shady information or even match-fixing, but after hearing the logic behind it, he gave up on trying to persuade him.
Richard, on the other hand, didn’t feel the need to explain much more—he was exhausted. After all, he had just returned from the Rover Group Center, and the weight of the journey from the West Midlands to Manchester was catching up with him.
So, after arriving at the Holiday Inn, the place where he was staying, he slept like a log.
Time passed, and suddenly, through the thin walls of his room, he heard an uproar. 𝑛𝘰𝑣𝑝𝑢𝑏.𝘤𝑜𝘮
"GOAL!!!!"
The sound of cheering and shouting shot through the quiet hotel, jolting him awake. He sat up in bed, his heart racing from the shock.
"FUCK!" Richard muttered angrily, still disoriented from exhaustion. He grabbed the pillow next to him and hurled it at the wall in frustration.
"I thought there was an earthquake or something, goddamn it!" he grumbled.
But his voice was drowned out by the deafening cheers and shouts from the neighboring room. The celebration echoed through the walls, relentless and loud.
Rubbing his temples, Richard flopped back onto his bed, trying to block out the noise. But no matter how hard he tried, sleep wouldn’t come
The constant shouting made it impossible to settle. In the end, he turned on the radio, hoping the soft music would help lull him back to sleep. With this, he closed his eyes, praying for a bit of peace and quiet.
[...Bulgaria actually got off on the wrong foot when they arrived in America for the 1994 FIFA World Cup. Nigeria lit up the Cotton Bowl in Dallas to kick off their Group D campaign with a 3-0 win. Rashidi Yekini, Daniel Amokachi, and Emmanuel Amunike all hit the scoresheet...]
A man’s voice sounded on the radio.
[...But a trip to Chicago to take on Greece at Soldier Field helped Penev get the Lavovete back on the right track. His entertaining lineup only needed five minutes to break the deadlock as Stoichkov fired in a penalty. The striker also scored from 12 yards again in the second half...]
[...Yordan Letchkov followed up Stoichkov’s double before substitute Daniel Borimirov got in on the act. It was quite the statement performance after losing to Nigeria. It also set Bulgaria up to face Argentina in Dallas, who had just lost their captain, Diego Maradona...]
Richard instantly opened his eyes. ’FUCK! Can’t you let me sleep for once?!’
Just as the thought passed through his mind, another ring from his phone broke the silence. He already knew who it was. With a sigh, he rejected the call, turned off the radio, and tried his best to get back to sleep.
The next four days followed the same routine. Richard traveled to Maine Road to oversee Manchester City, and when he wasn’t at the club, he stayed in constant contact with his management team at Rover Group.
There was a reason he chose to stay more involved in Manchester City rather than Rover Group.
First, Rover Group already had a mature and capable management team, so his presence there wasn’t as crucial. Second, he didn’t have much experience in the car industry, so it made more sense for him to delegate to the experts. He would only step in for major decisions where his input was essential.
At Manchester City, he was hands-on, managing the day-to-day operations, while with Rover Group, his role was more strategic—guiding them through major changes and overseeing the bigger picture.
Night fell, and Richard continued his deep dive into the car industry, particularly focused on Rover Group. As he sat alone in his room, the only sound that accompanied him was the quiet hum of the radio.
RING.
His phone rang, but he quickly muted it, preferring not to be disturbed. The room fell silent once again, with only the radio filling the stillness.
[...FIFA banned Maradona from the remainder of the 1994 USA World Cup after an anti-doping test revealed ephedrine in his system. His absence proved costly for La Albiceleste, who went on to lose 2-0 to Bulgaria. Stoichkov and Nasko Sirakov scored the goals...]
[...Argentina still led Group D until Sirakov’s dramatic goal in the 91st minute. His strike pushed Argentina down to third, while Nigeria claimed the top spot in a three-way tie, each team with six points. Bulgaria moved into second place, thanks to their victory in Dallas...]
With this, it’s fixed. Bulgaria advances to the knockout stage. Richard nodded, satisfied with the result.
