Football Dynasty

Chapter 95: Publishing Company Makes More Sense

The mother of Harry Potter: Joanne Catherine Rowling, or JK Rowling!

The magical world of Harry Potter and its beloved characters were the brilliant creations of the future J.K. Rowling. With this godsend of a treasure sent right to his doorstep, how could Richard possibly let it slip through his fingers?

Harry Potter + St. Pancras Renaissance Hotel = Billions.

The author herself, unknowingly on the brink of creating a cultural phenomenon, was right there—frazzled, flustered, and entirely unaware of the legacy she would one day leave behind.

Richard’s instincts kicked in. He wasn’t going to waste this moment. A billion-dollar combo was right in front of him now.

Not now. Not ever.

After playing with Jessica, the daughter of the future J.K. Rowling, the little girl soon grew drowsy. Her eyes grew heavy, and her mother gently tucked her into her stroller, her tiny thumb still tucked firmly in her mouth.

As the stroller rolled forward, her soft curls bounced slightly with each movement. She blinked up at them dreamily, let out a big yawn, then snuggled deeper into her cushion—like a kitten curling into its nest.

Peaceful. Content. Safe.

The café was just that—a café. Not a home, not a place with extra rooms or cozy corners for naps. That’s why Joanne always brought the stroller. It was the only way her daughter could get any rest during the day.

Luckily, the café was owned by her sister and brother-in-law, so it was a safe and familiar space. She didn’t feel alone here. There were always people around, the soft hum of conversation, the clink of cups, the comforting rhythm of daily life.

As for why she chose to spend her days here instead of staying at her sister’s house, Joanne had her reasons. Being alone at home felt like a waste—especially the electricity. She hated the thought of being a burden and the inconvenience to her sister’s family, even in small ways.

And more than that, the café had a certain magic. It was livelier, more inspiring. Watching people come and go, catching fragments of their conversations, seeing life unfold in small, ordinary ways—it sparked her imagination.

It helped her write. Somehow, it was easier to build new worlds here than in the silence of her sister’s spare bedroom.

After gently settling Jessica into the stroller and tucking a small blanket around her, Joanne turned to Richard, ready to thank him for entertaining her daughter.

But before she could speak, the café door swung open with a sharp jingle.

A man stepped inside.

He wore a dark, neatly pressed suit, and despite the overcast skies outside, he had on sunglasses. His posture was stiff, eyes—hidden behind the lenses—swept across the café with precision, as if assessing every face, every corner.

When he saw that the place wasn’t crowded, he let out a small breath of relief. Slowly, he reached up to remove his sunglasses, revealing sharp eyes and a worn, haunted expression.

Joanne’s face turned ashen.

Without thinking, she rushed toward her table, grabbing her old-fashioned typewriter and the incomplete manuscript of her Harry Potter story, clutching it close as if protecting a treasure from a thief.

The café wasn’t large to begin with—just a medium-sized space with a few tables and chairs pressed up against the walls—so it was easy to notice every customer. The man’s gaze locked onto her, and his eyes lit up.

Without wasting a moment, he called out, "Joann—"

"Go away!" she screamed, startling everyone in the room.

In the kitchen, her sister and brother-in-law—who had been busy preparing cakes for display—were shocked by the outburst. They hurried out to see what had happened.

But as soon as their eyes landed on the man at the door, their expressions darkened.

"How dare you!" her sister growled, rushing over and positioning herself protectively between Joanne and the man.

"You wait right there!"

Joanne then saw her brother-in-law pick up a rolling pin, gripping it tightly like a weapon. The sight made everyone in the café freeze in disbelief.

"You bastard! How dare you come here?" he shouted, stepping forward.

"Wait—just let me explain—" Realizing how quickly the situation was spiraling—and just how unwelcome he truly was—the man tugged his cap low over his face, shielding his expression.

For a brief second, he hesitated. His eyes flicked toward his wife’s table. He remembered how she always spent her days writing that "useless story." How precious it had been to her—more than he’d ever understood.

’Maybe... maybe if I grabbed it—’

But then he looked up. Every pair of eyes in the café was locked on him. Even people outside had begun to gather at the window, watching, whispering, judging.

He dismissed the idea instantly. Without another word, he turned and walked out the door, disappearing into the gray of the street beyond.

That was a family matter, though.

From beginning to end, Richard never intervened or acted like some kind of hero. He wasn’t there to save the day—what really caught his interest was the Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone manuscript. Now that the drama had passed, he finally turned his attention to the piece of paper he had been holding.

It looked ordinary at first glance, but the neatly written English notes had a certain charm. The lines formed a short, whimsical story, and before he knew it, Richard was completely drawn in.

Meanwhile, the Rowling family was still handling the aftermath of the earlier incident. With the café full of customers enjoying their meals and placing orders, the last thing they expected was any kind of drama.

Wanting to keep the atmosphere calm, they focused on reassuring and attending to the guests first. It took another five to ten minutes before everything finally settled down. Only then did Joanne return to her manuscript, ready to sort through the pages once more.

"Wait—something’s missing!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with panic.

She flipped through the pages of her Harry Potter draft, but then spotted Richard quietly absorbed in reading. Letting out a soft sigh of relief, she relaxed.

Richard, oblivious to the world around him, continued flipping through the pages, fully immersed. He didn’t notice the presence beside him—his focus was locked on the magical tale unfolding before him. Every now and then, he’d lift his coffee cup or take a bite of cake, all without looking away from the manuscript.

Just as he was eagerly turning the next page, the story suddenly ended—right at the part where Harry first meets Ron and Hermione on the train. The unexpected stop left him with a strange sense of emptiness, like waking from a dream too soon.

Richard sighed and was about to stand when he realized someone was standing next to him. A mature woman with a slender figure and long golden hair that cascaded just past her shoulders. Her face was beautiful but tired, and when Richard met her eyes, he caught a fleeting sadness in her expression—quickly replaced by a forced smile.

Her long fingers were curled around the handle of a stroller. Inside, Jessica—the chubby little girl who had played with him earlier—dozed peacefully, her expression soft and innocent in sleep.

"Ah—sorry, miss. It was just too good. I got completely lost in it," Richard said sheepishly as he handed the pages back to Joanne.

She blinked in surprise, then smiled warmly. After all, what writer wouldn’t feel joy when their work truly touched someone’s heart?

Joanne waved her hand with a gentle smile. "It’s okay," she said.

In truth, she was grateful to this man. He had taken the time to play with her daughter earlier, tiring the little girl out enough to fall asleep peacefully—so much so that she didn’t even notice her father’s arrival.

Thanks to his experience as an agent, Richard was skilled at communication, which helped ease the atmosphere quickly. Plus, his appearance—just like that of any other young man from the neighborhood—was non-threatening, with no flashy displays of luxury, allowing him to blend in naturally. Before long, the two of them were deep in conversation.

"Miss, I really envy you—being able to write such a good story," Richard said, his voice tinged with admiration and a hint of longing.

Back when he wandered like a ghost, weighed down by loneliness, stories were his only escape. He had no one to talk to, no one to share a table or a laugh with. So sometimes, he would drift through places like cinemas or libraries, lingering quietly behind people who were lost in those fictional stories.

In time, those screens and books became his silent companions. All of this made him want to create his own story—to build a world where someone like him wouldn’t feel so out of place. A world filled with meaning, connection, and just enough magic to remind people they weren’t alone.

Unfortunately, as a ghost, he couldn’t touch a pen or paper. All he could do was stay silent, quietly following the hands of others as they flipped through books or changed channels on the TV.

For a moment, he stared at the manuscript again, then looked up at Joanne with a faint smile."I guess... it reminded me of what it feels like to belong somewhere."

"..."

Joanne was surprised by his words. "Wait... do you want to be a writer too?" she asked without thinking.

Richard was taken aback for a moment, then let out a light laugh. "No, no, Miss. I suppose I forgot to properly introduce myself," he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a wallet and handed her a business card.

Joanne didn’t think much of it—until her eyes landed on the name and title printed clearly in bold:

[Richard Maddox, Chairman of the Board, Maddox Capital]

Her expression shifted instantly. ’This guy’s so young... and already the chairman of a company?But Maddox Capital? Why had she never heard of it before?’

Richard gave a small cough and offered a modest smile. "It’s just a small investment company of mine—only three employees at the moment, so don’t think too much of it."

After bringing in Fay from Paddy Power and Stuart Olm from the Islington Housing Council, Maddox Capital became a lean team of just three.

In a typical private equity or venture capital firm, you’d usually find several key roles depending on its size and structure.

At the executive level (Leadership/Ownership), roles like CEO or General Partner are responsible for managing the firm’s funds and overall investment direction. In Maddox Capital’s case, Richard takes on all those responsibilities himself, serving as Chairman of the Board.

The investment team, which often includes analysts, associates, and partners, doesn’t exist at Maddox Capital. That’s because all investment decisions come directly from Richard’s own brain, so there’s no need for a separate department.

Lastly, there’s the operations & support side. Fay now serves as Chief Operating Officer, handling day-to-day operations, internal reporting, and fund administration—all reporting directly to him.As for Stuart Olm, thanks to his experience in government offices, he has taken on the role of Managing Director, responsible for maintaining high-level investor relationships, managing due diligence, and overseeing deal execution.

Their conversation flowed easily, and eventually, Richard gently brought up the man from earlier—and her sudden outburst.

At first, she hesitated, unsure if she wanted to share something so personal. But feeling the need to release some of her frustration, she decided to open up, even if just a little.

It turned out the man was her husband. Soon, Richard realized that future J.K. Rowling’s current circumstances were actually quite difficult.

She was in the midst of a divorce battle. Not only did she rely on government assistance to cover her living expenses, but she also didn’t have a home of her own and was currently staying with her sister family.

Richard paused for a moment in thought.

Joanne was clearly destined for greatness—which meant she would probably win her case eventually and, in time, become a renowned author. And that also meant an opportunity—a chance to lend a hand and, perhaps, bring her on board before the world discovered her brilliance.

Maddox Capital, his venture capital firm, had already acquired Rover Group in the automotive sector. Alongside his property investments, he had been eager to expand into entertainment and media—but never quite knew where to start.

The unexpected encounter with J.K. Rowling felt like the breakthrough he had been waiting for—maybe even a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Based on what she shared, the case itself was mostly a tug-of-war over custody and alimony—something that, in Richard’s eyes, could be easily handled. Perhaps he could even ask the team at Black Chambers to take care of it for her.

"Miss Joanne," Richard said seriously, "please don’t take this the wrong way—I have no hidden intentions. It’s just that your Harry Potter story truly captivated me." His gaze shifted to the manuscript in her hands, lingering there with quiet reluctance.

He let out a small sigh and shook his head. "I’d love to keep reading it, but I think it’s better if I wait until you publish it. That way,"—he paused, offering a faint smile—"everyone else will have the chance to be amazed too."

He then seriously looked toward the mature woman in front, "Miss, as you know, I’m from a venture capital firm. We don’t just invest in companies—we invest in people. And you... your story, your imagination—it’s something truly rare. I believe Harry Potter is going to be something extraordinary. I don’t need the world to validate it first. I already see the magic in it. So—"

He leaned forward slightly, his tone sincere. "Miss Joanne, as Chairman of Maddox Capital, I would like to formally invite you to join us... as our first author."

"..."

Miss Joanne was stunned. The offer had come out of nowhere, leaving her momentarily speechless. When she finally found her voice, she asked just one simple question.

"Does your company even have a publishing house?"

"..."

Now it was Richard’s turn to be speechless. How could he forget something so basic? He almost slapped his forehead—then remembered the staples on his scalp and wisely held back.

Still, he kept his cool. With a calm smile, he looked at her and replied gently, "We can figure that part out later. What matters now is helping you get to a place where you can write freely. If there’s anything I can do—financial support, legal help, anything at all—to help bring this story into the world... it would be an honor to be part of that journey."