Chapter 335: A New House

Manchester City’s preseason preparation plans faced a sobering reality check. With the club now set to compete in European competition for the first time under Richard’s leadership, there was a pressing need to elevate the squad’s tactical awareness and adaptability.

He wanted to familiarize his players with the various football styles from other countries. Together with the coaching staff, he mapped out a comprehensive preseason itinerary. The plan began with a high-profile friendly against Celtic, hosted in London—a match designed to simulate the intensity and physicality of British derby clashes on neutral ground.

From there, the squad would head to France to take on AS Monaco, where they could test themselves against Ligue 1’s technical finesse and rapid transitions. The next stop was Spain, for a friendly against Deportivo La Coruña, a club then on the rise, known for its tactical discipline and possession-based football.

The tour would wrap up back in Manchester with two domestic friendlies—first against Crewe Alexandra, then against Everton. These matches were aimed at helping the squad refocus, refine team chemistry, and re-engage with home supporters before the season officially kicked off.

While Manchester City was busy forging its path forward in European football, the landscape of English football itself was evolving—both symbolically and structurally.

Stoke City officially moved into the newly built Britannia Stadium, leaving behind the historic Victoria Ground after more than a century. The grand opening was attended by football legend Sir Stanley Matthews, whose presence paid homage to the club’s rich heritage.

Sunderland unveiled the Stadium of Light, a state-of-the-art facility and the largest football club stadium built in England since the 1920s. Opened by the Duke of York, the venue symbolized Sunderland’s ambitions to grow as a major force in modern football.

And lastly, Arsenal announced their intention to relocate from their historic home at Highbury, a decision driven by the stadium’s limited capacity of under 40,000 and the mounting difficulties in expanding the site due to surrounding residential areas and planning restrictions. The move marked a significant turning point in the club’s history, setting the stage for a new era of growth.

In the transfer market, the summer was anything but quiet, marked by major moves and surprise decisions that reshaped the Premier League landscape.

Middlesbrough made headlines by paying £4.5 million—a record fee for a club outside the top flight—for Arsenal midfielder Paul Merson. The ambitious signing was a clear statement of intent as Boro prepared to fight for promotion and secure their place among England’s elite.

Meanwhile, after a two-year stint in Italy with Inter Milan, England international Paul Ince made his much-anticipated return to the Premier League, joining Liverpool in a £4.2 million move. His arrival was expected to inject steel and experience into the Reds’ midfield.

The most surprising transfer, however, came from Newcastle United, who sold star striker Les Ferdinand to Tottenham Hotspur for £6 million. The move shocked fans and pundits alike, especially given Ferdinand’s prolific record at St. James’ Park and his partnership with Alan Shearer.

Defensive records were also broken. Graeme Le Saux returned to Chelsea after more than four years at Blackburn Rovers in a £5 million deal, setting a new national transfer record for a defender at the time.

Not to be outdone, Manchester United matched that fee, signing Henning Berg from Blackburn for £5 million, signaling Sir Alex Ferguson’s determination to reinforce his defense with experience and reliability.

Overall, the transfer window reflected the growing financial muscle of Premier League clubs and the escalating competition at all levels of the table.

The moment Richard arrived in Manchester, the first thing he did was head straight to the newly rebranded Seas Containers Hotel, formerly known as the Chorlton Hotel—a property that had once brought controversy to his name.

The Chorlton Hotel—now rebranded as Sea Containers—is a prominent new hotel building on the south bank of the River Irwell, which marks the boundary between Manchester and Salford. Its lower reaches are part of the Manchester Ship Canal.

Sea Containers is situated toward the eastern end of the Irwell’s South Bank cultural area and falls within the Manchester borough of Southwark. A continuous riverside walkway—technically part of the River Medlock Path—runs in front of and beneath the building, linking it to nearby riverside areas such as northern Greater Manchester, eastern Oldham, and the Cheshire border.

The hotel was originally designed by noted American Modernist architect Warren Platner in 1974 as a luxury hotel. However, during construction, its location near the city of Manchester led to the decision to complete it as office space instead. It opened in 1978 and took its name from its former long-term tenant, Chorlton.

"It’s quite magnificent, isn’t it?"

Richard couldn’t help but boast a little as he accompanied miss Heysen and Marina Granovskaia while they toured the newly rebranded hotel.

The building faced the River Irwell, offering sweeping riverside views from many of its rooms and public spaces. Its prime location gave the hotel a unique charm—serene and picturesque, yet still firmly rooted in the heart of the city. It was the kind of place that seamlessly blended urban convenience with a peaceful, riverside atmosphere—an ideal setting for discerning guests.

The current hotel manager hurriedly briefed Richard, the new owner.

"At the beginning of this year, there was a plan to renovate and update the property, but due to financial difficulties, the plan was temporarily shelved... also..." He paused, hesitating.

The scandal that broke out recently had been a heavy blow—devastating, in fact—for the original owner of the hotel. Had they insisted on keeping the property, they would likely have suffered significant losses. Richard had been the only one bold enough to make an offer—10% above market value—despite his own reputation being far from spotless. He’d effectively acquired the hotel at the lowest price point in its history.

Remembering all this, the hotel manager’s lips twitched slightly. But even so, he didn’t dare show any disrespect to the man standing before him.

Richard, too, understood the unspoken message behind the manager’s words.

"I suspect the original plan was to renovate once the hotel became profitable, and eventually open a more upscale branch somewhere else in Manchester."

But instead... they had chosen to tangle with him.

Richard turned toward the hotel manager. "You’re right. While it’s clear the hotel staff have done their best to maintain things, the facilities and décor are showing their age. It’s time for some changes."

He paused before continuing, "But instead of minor touch-ups, I believe a more comprehensive renovation is in order. The site has enough space to support a taller structure. That way, we could expand the hotel’s business area and create space for additional operations."

The manager looked at him, surprised. "Sir... are you suggesting we demolish the building and replace it with a high-rise?"

"No," Richard shook his head. "We’ll only be renovating the interior. Don’t worry—this won’t be implemented right away. There will be a proper transition plan for the hotel. Also..."

He paused for a moment, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"I heard there’s a rather lonely room tucked away at the very top floor... with a private rooftop, is that right? What did they call it again? The Presidential Suite?"

The manager hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Yes, sir. That’s correct."

Richard chuckled softly. He remembered it clearly—there was a room that almost seemed to sit apart from the rest of the hotel. Accessible only by a discreet private staircase just above the penthouse level, it was nearly hidden from view. Isolated, luxurious, and steeped in old-world charm, it had been the pride of the Chorlton in its heyday.

"Would you like to see it, sir?"

Richard nodded. "Yes. Let’s go have a look. I want to see what stories the top floor still holds."

The manager led Richard through a back corridor, bypassing the main elevators entirely. They reached a narrow stairwell tucked behind a staff-only door. It spiraled upward, its steps lined with dark wood and brass railings that had long since dulled.

At the top, he unlocked a heavy oak door with an old brass key.

The hinges groaned softly as it opened.

And there it was—the Presidential Suite.

Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows that wrapped around the room, casting long golden streaks across the polished parquet flooring. The space was vast—far larger than any other room in the building—and styled in a mid-century modern aesthetic that had faded, but not lost, its elegance.

A pair of armchairs sat near the fireplace, untouched for years but still dignified in their silence. Ornate wall sconces flanked the main bedroom doors. Thick velvet curtains lined the windows, now partly drawn back to reveal the River Irwell glittering below.

But what truly set it apart was the private rooftop terrace.

Richard stepped through the glass doors and onto a wide, secluded patio framed by waist-high stone balustrades. From here, the city unfurled in every direction—Manchester’s rooftops to the east, Salford’s rise to the west, and the river winding quietly below like a silver ribbon.

The terrace had once been a garden. Now overgrown and weary, ivy crept along the stonework, and a rusted metal table stood in the corner, still bearing the ghostly outline of a long-forgotten dinner.

Richard stood silently, taking it all in.

"It’s... hauntingly beautiful," Marina murmured.

The manager nodded. "No one’s stayed here in years. It became too expensive to maintain. Eventually, the bookings just stopped."

He assumed Richard was here to revive it—but the next instruction caught him completely off guard.

"Please close this place up," Richard said, calm as ever.

"..."

The manager blinked. "I—I’m sorry, sir?"

"Close it. No bookings. No staff access. Lock the elevators. Cancel the VIP list. From now on... I’ll be living here."

The manager looked as though he’d just been hit by a double-decker bus.

"Y-you mean... permanently? This suite? Sir, it’s not exactly—"

"I’ll move my belongings in tomorrow. Tell the staff to be ready," Richard replied, already surveying the patio like a man choosing furniture for a palace.

Miss Heysen raised an eyebrow. "You’re joking."

Richard kicked aside a dead potted plant and sat down on the rusted garden chair like it was a throne.

"Nope. Effective immediately, this is my residence."

If Napoleon had Elba, then he would have this rooftop—facing the water in front, the city of Manchester rising behind. He was going to turn this forgotten suite into his lair!