Hunt wasn't an idiot. He wasn't naïve enough to believe that Veach and Lance were just exchanging casual greetings.
But if it wasn't that, and their conversation had been so simple—
Did that mean Veach had chosen to believe Lance?
Deep breath. Another deep breath. Hunt tried to calm himself—
Hunt couldn't help himself. He stopped in his tracks, waiting.
He called again and again, pulling Lance to a stop, darting suspicious glances left and right like a thief terrified of being caught—completely unaware that his skittishness only drew more attention.
"What did the general manager just say to you?" Hunt lowered his voice.
But before Lance could answer, Hunt hurried on, "I'm telling you, the road's already paved. You just need to play along."
Lance let out a silent laugh—
Was Hunt's brain really that small, or did Hunt think his brain was that small?
Even now, Hunt thought Lance would just stand there like a Barbie doll, letting him pull the strings?
Lance nodded lightly, face sincere. "Yeah, that's exactly what I did."
Hunt's brow furrowed, confusion plain as he stepped back to study Lance more closely.
Lance stayed serious, then smiled. "Be patient. The good news is coming soon. I'll congratulate you in advance."
He patted Hunt's arm, then made a light fist and gave it a little shake.
Then he brushed past Hunt and left.
Hunt stood rooted, his face shifting between expressions, unable to pin down his thoughts.
A beat later, he realized—he'd forgotten to ask the most important question:
What had Lance and Veach actually talked about?
In a sense, Lance was right—Hunt didn't have to wait long for news. But the problem was—
To be precise, it was terrible news—enough to blow up the entire social network. Not just Hunt, but the whole Kansas City Chiefs were dragged into it.
On Wednesday, as the league's attention was slowly turning toward Thursday Night Football, an unexpected voice disrupted the NFL's plans.
A gossip site based in Los Angeles, founded after the turn of the millennium, that quickly climbed to the top of the internet.
At first, TMZ was no different from countless other gossip outlets, training their sights on Hollywood actors and singers. But as the internet evolved, they branched out—sports included.
In 2009, golf legend Tiger Woods was in a car accident. What seemed like an unfortunate mishap spiraled into a scandal—
Drugs, alcohol, addictions, and a shocking nineteen mistresses. Four of them came forward on camera with evidence, gave interviews, even planned books—turning the affair into a media storm.
All of it, unearthed by TMZ.
What set TMZ apart from traditional gossip media—the key to their brand—was truth.
It seemed absurd, but compared to the fabricated, exaggerated nonsense plaguing gossip circles online, TMZ had decided to chase verifiable evidence.
Gossip was still gossip—but they made sure it was backed by proof.
Soon, when new rumors broke, people waited for TMZ to confirm them before believing.
In today's strange media world, TMZ had become the gold standard for "true" scandal.
Now, TMZ and the NFL appeared together in a headline—and for the NFL, it wasn't good.
This time, TMZ's sights were on football, locked on the defending champions.
They released a hotel security video—
In it, a man shoved and violently kicked a woman.
According to TMZ, the incident happened in Cleveland last February, right after the Chiefs' Super Bowl parade. The man in the footage was identified as Hunt, the team's number-two running back.
The impact was explosive.
TMZ reported that the woman had called the police and intended to press charges, and that both the Chiefs and the NFL were notified.
But… neither the team nor the league took action.
On the contrary, the woman later dropped the charges and disappeared from public view. The event never caught attention online.
TMZ's implication couldn't have been clearer—pointing fingers straight at the team and the league.
A storm swept across the internet.
With the Chiefs' recent success, their fan base had grown—but so had their haters. And now, those haters had a field day.
Outrage. Attacks. Insults.
On social media, people condemned Hunt's actions in the strongest terms. The violence was plain and indefensible—unacceptable under any circumstances.
Criticism also targeted the Chiefs and the NFL. They'd had ten whole months—from February to November—to investigate, yet nothing had been done.
Worse, some suspected they'd actively buried the case.
Even without diving into conspiracy theories, the league's lack of consistency and transparency in handling player violence was glaring.
Back in 2014, Ravens running back Ray Rice had knocked his fiancée unconscious in an elevator and dragged her out. The NFL initially suspended him for only two games.
It was only after public outrage that the suspension became indefinite, and the Ravens cut him.
Incidents weren't rare—they were common.
Linebacker Reuben Foster, drafted by the 49ers, was accused of domestic violence twice. The first case in February was dropped. The second, in November, came after a breakup, and the ex-girlfriend pursued charges.
The 49ers released him immediately.
But Washington signed him right after—even though the NFL was still investigating and had suspended him from play in the meantime.
Clearly, Washington didn't care.
One case after another. This wasn't an isolated problem—it was systemic. Teams and the league would have to face it.
The whole city was in uproar.
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