* * * * *
“Shit,” said Max. “Grant, don’t let Goliath submit. Tell him help is on the way.”
Max took his headset off and yelled into the backstage area. “Somebody get me Scott Rollins, now!”
Five seconds later, Scott Rollins, formerly Crusader, was standing in front of Max Zeffer, the man who had saved him from a career putting over cocky young stars and given him his first legitimate shot at the main event.
“Scott, I need a favor,” said Max.
In less than a minute, Scott Rollins was at the arena entrance, preparing to enter. Half the roster followed him to the entryway, wanting to get a view of whatever chaos was to come. Unseen in the excitement was Gene Harold, Revolution’s Head Booker, leaving his post in Max’s booth to go to the locker room.