บท 514: Ultimatum
Henry had thought he would enjoy a carefree summer, basking in the glory of his success. However, from the moment he returned with the national team to a hero's welcome, complete with cheers from the crowd and meetings with dignitaries, a sense of irritation began to creep in.
During the celebratory banquet in France, he privately vented his frustration to Trezeguet.
"David, tell me, am I asking for too much? I just want a weekly wage of £40,000. But the club is paying Henrik £100,000 a week, and they're only willing to give me a £5,000 raise? £30,000? This is unbelievable!"
Henry, like most players, left all negotiations to his agent. It was customary and part of the unwritten rules within football clubs. Players didn't typically march into the manager or CEO's office to demand better wages—it was unseemly, especially in this era.
At Millwall, this practice was even more stringent. As part of their internal policy, "All internal matters must remain confidential." Henry adhered to this rule. He refrained from airing his grievances through the media, knowing such actions would be career suicide. Clubs despised players who aired dirty laundry publicly, particularly concerning internal matters.
Thus, when the French media hounded him with questions about a potential transfer, Henry resolutely declared his intention to stay at Millwall, stating that contract negotiations were ongoing.
The French press, lacking any real grounds for speculation, simply assumed that as a newly crowned European champion and indisputably world-class player, Henry's contract negotiations were bound to be drawn-out and meticulous—a logical expectation.
Two years ago, when Millwall eliminated Monaco in the Champions League semifinals, Henry had cast a complex gaze at Trezeguet after the match. Now, their roles had reversed. This time, it was Trezeguet who looked at Henry with a mixture of envy and regret.
Had he not left two years ago to chase his dream of proving himself in the world's top league, perhaps his fame would now rival Henry's.
But the world offers no "what-ifs."
Whether it was him, Thuram, or Shevchenko, their moves to Serie A didn't diminish their reputation, but had they stayed at Millwall, their careers might have soared to even greater heights.
Pushing such regrets aside, Trezeguet accepted his reality. He had chosen his path, and there was no point in dwelling on what might have been. Besides, life at Juventus wasn't bad. While he hadn't become a revered icon at San Siro like Shevchenko, Juventus's standing in European football was undeniably strong, arguably superior to AC Milan's.
"Thierry, you can't compare yourself to Henrik. I'm not talking about skill or performance. You have to understand that six years ago, when Henrik, Pavel, Gareth, and I stood on The Den pitch, Millwall had nothing. Absolutely nothing! Over these six years, Henrik hasn't just won championships and a Ballon d'Or; he's won the hearts of every Lions fan. Especially, well... especially in contrast to those of us who left—me, Andrea, Lilian—his loyalty and steadfastness have elevated him to the status of a club legend, an icon, a banner of Millwall.
"Every transfer window since 1995, Henrik has faced countless offers, each more lucrative than the last. And yet, he chose to stay and repay Millwall and Mr. Hall with unwavering loyalty."
Trezeguet could no longer call Aldrich "boss," but his respect for the man who had brought him from South America to Europe remained. It was Aldrich who had helped him earn his fortune and fame, carving out his place in the football world.
A hint of bitterness crossed Henry's face. "I'm not jealous of Henrik. He deserves everything he's getting. I just feel like the gap between us is too big. Even Ronaldinho got a new contract with £50,000 a week. Why can't I?"
"I don't know," Trezeguet replied honestly. "But from what I remember, Mr. Hall has never been stingy with wages. It usually depends on the club's finances. If what you're saying is true, then this situation is quite puzzling. By all logic, you should at least earn the same as Ronaldinho, given your undeniable contributions. And Ronaldinho is a product of Millwall's youth system..."
"My agent told me that Pirlo and Ronaldinho's new contracts include weekly wages of £50,000. The club is only willing to offer me £30,000, and even if negotiations go well, I might get £35,000. That's on par with Sneijder, Zambrotta, Materazzi, and Butt."
Trezeguet shook his head, finding the situation utterly baffling.
Aldrich had spent four years at Millwall and knew well the club's tradition of valuing their "veterans." It was a policy that made sense; a team needed exceptional veterans to stay, or else, what was the point of developing a star if they sold them every time?
Before he transferred to Juventus, Millwall had offered him a lucrative contract, but he turned it down. His decision to leave had nothing to do with money.
Henry, though not exactly a veteran, shouldn't be earning less than players like Schneider or Materazzi, especially after his brilliant performance last season. If Millwall truly treated him that way, how could they expect to retain young players who made a name for themselves? After all, newcomers could never surpass the seniority of those who arrived earlier.
Returning to London, Aldrich arrived early at the club's headquarters, well ahead of the team's summer training camp, which was still two weeks away. He didn't necessarily need to be there to work; most of the decisions he had to make could be handled over the phone.
But this time, he came specifically to address the Henry situation.
The buzz in Fleet Street was growing louder, and the narrative surrounding Henry's potential transfer was concerning. The media seemed to be stirring up a storm, painting a picture as if Henry was being "forced" to leave.
For the press, which made for a better headline: Henry staying or Henry leaving? Naturally, it was the latter.
And so, they spun their tales, creating a frenzy and capitalizing on the speculation.
In his office, Aldrich listened as Adam delivered a report on the club's current affairs.
The summer preparations were proceeding smoothly. Adam's primary focus was on internal matters.
Contract renewals were progressing well.
Except for Henry, every first-team player had signed extensions, with the shortest being four years and the longest five.
While this significantly increased the club's wage bill, it was still within Millwall's acceptable range.
Meanwhile, the new stadium was set to debut, and the summer sponsorship deals had all at least doubled.
Puma and Standard Chartered were the headline sponsors, covering kits and shirt fronts. Combined with Umbro's deals for lower-tier teams, stadium sponsorships, and other partnerships, Millwall was generating over £70 million annually from domestic sponsorships alone. With global strategic partners factored in, their yearly sponsorship revenue could surpass £100 million.
After six years of relentless work building a global commercial network and achieving unprecedented success on the pitch, Millwall was finally reaping tangible rewards. This financial windfall was crucial for the club's long-term development. Their brand had become a valuable asset, ensuring that even if the Hall family someday sold the club, its inherent value wouldn't drastically diminish.
Lastly, Aldrich paced back and forth in his office as Adam detailed the negotiation process with Henry over his contract renewal.
When Adam finished, Aldrich stopped and asked grimly, "He wants £75,000 per week? Non-negotiable?"
"That's what his agent claims."
"What about Henry himself?"
"I contacted him by phone earlier. When I brought up the renewal, he said he's left everything to his agent."
"And in the past month, has he said anything publicly?"
After thinking for a moment, Adam replied, "In interviews, whenever asked about the club's future, he only gave diplomatic answers."
Diplomatic answers?
That meant he had said nothing at all.
After a moment of contemplation, Aldrich spoke calmly, "Give his agent an ultimatum: if Henry doesn't renew, he'll be a bench player next season. He can leave for free when his contract expires in two years."
Adam hesitated, concern etched on his face. "But Henry's commercial value..."
Before Adam could continue, Aldrich interrupted him, his expression impassive. "Adam, remember this: Millwall is now a top club."
Adam froze momentarily before nodding firmly. "Understood, boss."
After Adam left, Aldrich stood by the floor-to-ceiling window. The office building, located within the Leo training base, offered a clear view of eight regulation training fields. Outside, several youth academy squads were already in training.
Hands clasped behind his back, Aldrich closed his eyes and murmured, "Thierry, you make my heart ache."
When players like Shevchenko and Trezeguet left for transfers, Aldrich didn't see it as betrayal. At that time, Millwall was just a small temple incapable of retaining gods. Those players wanted to reach greater heights, and who could guarantee that Millwall would have achieved its current glory had they stayed?
But Aldrich had made it happen. He had transformed Millwall into a shining beacon of success. More importantly, he had elevated Thierry Henry—made him richer, more famous, and more successful than ever. Henry's achievements now far surpassed those he might have attained at this stage in history.
League titles. Champions League trophies.
Top scorer in the league. Golden Boot in Europe.
What more could he want?
The Ballon d'Or? FIFA World Player of the Year?
Millwall had already produced two Ballon d'Or winners, proving that players could achieve the pinnacle of individual accolades here.
What could Henry possibly still be dissatisfied with?
Aldrich never held back on what he could provide.
But before asking for more, The first question should always be: How much have I given to deserve this?
If Henry aimed to earn more than Larsson or Nedvěd, then he had to prove he was worth it—above all, through unwavering loyalty.
And that was why the demands made by Henry's agent were something Millwall could never agree to.
If negotiations ultimately fell apart, Aldrich was prepared to bench Henry. If conflict arose, further actions would be taken.
In this era, clubs no longer had the power to impose severe sanctions on players because player rights had significantly improved.
For a player of Henry's caliber, Millwall was obligated to ensure his right to work—meaning he must be allowed to train, play, and appear in matches. Even if Aldrich wanted to sideline Henry, he couldn't simply exile him to the reserves for two years. Otherwise, Henry could take Millwall to court and potentially win an early termination of his contract.
Such situations were exceptions, handled on a case-by-case basis with no fixed rules.
For example, if Van der Meyde were to stay at Millwall and be relegated to the reserves, the club would likely win in court if he challenged them.
Van der Meyde didn't possess the skill or fame to demand a starting role. Sending him to the reserves was within acceptable limits. But Henry? A World Cup, European Championship, league, and Champions League winner? Banishing him to the reserves? If it went to court, Millwall would lose without question.
The baseline was clear: he could only be benched, not exiled.
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