Page 104 of Racing for Redemption
Another board member, one of the oldest members, nods approvingly. “Smart. What’s your timeline for this?”
“I’ll have a complete report by Imola,” I say. “In the meantime, I’ve managed to convince Gritt Tires to hold off on any decisions until after the European leg begins.”
I absentmindedly touch my wrist, where William’s watch sits. He’d left it on my nightstand, and since Melbourne, I wear it as a silent promise that we’ll meet again. I’ve worn it every day since, as ridiculous as it looks with my attire.When did I become this sentimental? This attached to someone when I shouldn't?
I snap back to focus on Amelia as she asks about Nicholas.
“This brings me to my second point,” I say, clicking to a new slide showing a young driver in an F3 car. “Ethan Jordan. Seventeen years old, currently leading the F3 championship. No academy backing, and not on the top teams’ radars, because he doesn't have sponsors. But I've studied his footage, and his raw talent is undeniable.”
I play a video compilation of EJ’s recent races. His overtakes are bold, but calculated, his defensive driving mature beyond his years. He has the skills to become a top driver. The talent is there, and I want to bring him in, nurture his talent in a team that will support, protect, and treat him like family.
“Blake Simmons brought him to my attention,” I continue. “He doesn’t have enough super license points for F1 yet, but I believe he represents the future of Colton Racing alongside William Foster.”
“And Nicholas?” asks a board member.
“His contract ends this season. I propose we don’t renew, and instead, in the meantime, we bring EJ in as our reserve driver, giving him enough Friday practice sessions to accumulate super license points while learning from William. And then, he takes over Nicholas’ place next season.”
Chairman Reeves frowns. “Nicholas’ father has significant business connections. Cutting his son could have repercussions. We're talking about the automotive industry not wanting to sponsor or work with us.”
“I’m aware,” I say. “That’s why we need to handle this delicately. We frame it as a mutual decision, emphasizing Nicholas’ desire to explore other opportunities. We give him a dignified exit while clearing the path for our future.” The last thing I want is him crying out to the media that people were mean to him, then rally fans behind him for a smear campaign.
The board members exchange glances. Their hesitation is obvious, weighing politics against performance.
“William and EJ could form a partnership that lasts years,” I press. “Youth and experience, passion and talent, both hungry to prove themselves. It’s exactly what my father would have wanted for this team.”
I rarely invoke my father in these meetings as I want them to not draw parallels between us, and immediately rule that I'm not even close to how amazing he was as Team Principal and CEO, but sometimes, sentiment can tip the scales where logic fails.
After a moment, a board member nods. “I support this direction. Nicholas has been more of a liability than an asset lately.”
One by one, the others signal their agreement. Even Chairman Reeves eventually gives a grudging nod.Well, this is a first.
“You have our approval to approach EJ,” he says. “But tread carefully with Nicholas. His father isn’t someone we want as an enemy.”
“Understood,” I say, a small weight lifting from my shoulders. “I’ll handle it personally.”
We move on to technical updates, marketing strategies, financial projections. The usual business of running a Formula 1 team. But beneath the professional discussion, I sense a subtle shift in the room. The skepticism that greeted me when I first took over after my father’s death has softened, replaced by a cautious respect.
They are listening to me, slowly welcoming my input. I have a lot of work to do, but this eases a bit of the stress I have going on. The team, sponsors—or lack thereof—the drivers, the difficulties the team is facing without a reliable car, and a solid budget behind us. We're doing a lot with very little. I can only imagine how unbelievable we'd be if we had the resources we need. How far we'd go. How high we'd climb.
When the meeting finally concludes, Chairman Reeves lingers as the others file out.
“Your father would be proud,” he says quietly, surprising me. “That points finish in Melbourne—first in a decade. It’s a start.” Oh, hell must have frozen.Is this the same man that wanted me out after last season’s finale?
“Just a start,” I agree. “We’re aiming higher, that's the goal.”
He studies me for a moment. “The board was ready to replace you if this season began poorly. You know that, right?”
I keep my expression neutral, though his words confirm suspicions I’ve harbored for months. “And now?”
“Now, we’re waiting to see if Melbourne was a fluke, or a foundation.” He collects his papers. “Don’t make me regret supporting you, Violet.”
After he leaves, I remain seated, alone in the vast boardroom. Outside the window, London sprawls gray and rain-slicked. So different from the heat of the paddock, the noise of the garages, the smell of rubber and fuel.
I miss it. More than I expected to.
I check my phone. Three missed calls from Blake. A text message about William’s medical clearance after the crash. My heart skips at his name on the screen; an involuntary reaction I’m still not entirely comfortable with.
I thumb William’s watch, spinning it around my wrist. Our arrangement had seemed so simple in Melbourne—physical release, no strings, a way to “blow off steam” between two consenting adults who happened to work together. Clean. Uncomplicated.
