Page 37 of Speed Crush

Why keep this temporary? Why not make the simulator a three-month or even permanent loan to Mega Max? It solves my need to stay in Cedar Falls throughout the off-season while still training.

So, I hatch a plan. A great one at that.

What if we gave aspiring drivers more than just dreams? What if we gave them actual access to professional equipment?

Not some glorified arcade game. And definitely not a tourist trap with pre-programmed thrills. I'm talking about creating an elite-level facility—something that replicates the best of F1 training, adapted for public use.

A space that makes anyone—kid or adult—feel like they’ve stepped into the real thing. The authentic hum of machinery. The precise resistance of the pedals. That initial surge of power that sends your heart racing, regardless of age. This simulation will reveal true instinct and potential, not just measure basic reflexes.

It’ll be a hell of a flex for the Fagioli brand. This simulator will let the public experience one immersive moment as an F1 driver—while remaining professional-grade equipment that I can use to maintain my skills.

For Mega Max, it becomes a cornerstone attraction that distinguishes this venue.

For Cedar Falls, it's marketing gold.

For the Fagioli brand, it establishes goodwill and a lasting legacy that connects professional racing with everyday enthusiasts.

Before pitching to Mayor Lewis, I ran it by Dante. Brought it up during one of our calls—told him what I was seeing, what this place could become if we committed to it.

He didn’t hesitate. Told me to go for it. Said if I believed this town had the bones, he’d bring the muscle.

So I met up with Mayor Lewis earlier in the week for lunch and pitched him the vision. Showed videos of the rig, walked him through the long game.

How Mega Max could be more than just a winter thrill park. A proving ground. Not a home, not a start line, but something more permanent than both. A birthplace where the best could be born.

Something permanent. Something lasting. The words hit differently now, after what June said to me last night. About wanting someone who stays when things get hard. Maybe I'm trying to prove something—not just to the town or these kids, but to her. That I can build something that lasts.

Thankfully, Lewis gleefully lapped it up.

The mayor greenlit the idea before dessert. Fagioli’s logistics crew moved faster than customs paperwork ever should. It wasn’t just a delivery—it was a collaboration.

Normally, this kind of governmental projects take six months and five committees. But Cedar Falls? This town runs on gossip, sugar, and horsepower that runs down bureaucratic red tapes.

From the moment the mayor gave his nod, the Fagioli team leaned in, treating this town like more than a backdrop. Like a partner. Efficient, precise, unstoppable. And now here we are—setting up a world-class PR event in a snow-capped town on high-octane hope.

Dante didn’t just send gear—he sent intention. That’s the difference with his team. The Fagioli team culture isn’t just about results, though we rake in podiums like clockwork. It’s about legacy. Loyalty. Making sure every racing prodigy who walks through our ranks knows they’re not just stepping into a machine—they’re stepping into a family. One that demands the best, yes, but also builds it.

And Dante? He’s always had my back. Even when I pushed too far or ran too hot. He’s the reason I can pitch something like this and have an entire F1 operation move on a hunch. Because when I say I see something—he listens.

Thank God for that.

I flip through the simulator. Spa. Monza. Suzuka. No training wheels.

Marco’s voice comes through my Bluetooth. He’s calling from Fagioli HQ in Italy—probably surrounded by more screens than a broadcast truck, analyzing telemetry before he’s even had his espresso.

“Rig’s hot. Connectivity locked. I’m testing lag against real-time data. And yeah, Dante’s already there, right? Let me guess—pacing outside the sim room like he’s about to run his own lap.”

I glance toward the glass doors leading into the sim room—and yep. There he is.

Dante Fagioli. In the flesh. Dark suit, no tie, fitted like it was stitched to his damn shoulders. That stillness he wears like armor. The man himself, casually surveying the setup like he didn’t just fly in from HQ this morning.

I bring the mic closer to my mouth. “Remind me to thank you for shipping in the pressure, Marco.”

Dante’s voice cuts in, smooth and dry. “You always did handle pressure better with an audience.”

I flinch. “Wait—were you patched into that whole call while I was deep in simulation?”

“Of course I was,” Dante says through the call, voice low but clear. “I wanted to see how the setup handled remotely with real-time load.”

---