Page 6 of Red Flagged
“We must be careful about precedent,” he said, voice calm. “Creating mandatory dual-authorizations and independent vetting across every team is costly and complex. We need a roadmap. There are timelines and budgets to be considered?—”
Aurélie’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. She leaned forward until her face was close enough to the files in front of us to be surgical. “Or we could start by protecting human beings. The very ones that make you said money to make this change happen to begin with,” she said, slow and precise, as if she were talking to a toddler. I fought the smirk that made my lips twitch. “What do you propose we do today about a man who cornered me in our workplace and put his hands on me? Not a hypothetical. This isreal. What is your plan for a driver who sexually and physically assaulted a colleague?”
The effect was immediate. The stewards’ practiced neutrality slipped into visible discomfort. Reinhardt’s hand paused above his notes. You could see the calculation flicker through his eyes—politics, optics, litigation risk.
“We are bound by due process,” Reinhardt began, but his voice had lost some of its edge. He cleared his throat as if to buy time, hooking. “Any criminal allegations should be referred to the appropriate authorities and we’ll assess sporting sanctions pending an investigation.”
“Due process doesn’t mean time served for the privileged,” Aurélie protested. “It doesn’t mean ‘wait and see’ while someoneelse—someone who’sdangerous—goes back on track. You can suspend provisionally pending investigation. You can ensure access to evidence. Or you can keep saying ‘due process’ while drivers keep getting hurt.”
Reinhardt exhaled slowly, the kind of controlled breath meant to lower the temperature in a room. “Mademoiselle Dubois, we must be careful not to extrapolate one isolated incident into a pattern. Every driver faces tension in this sport. Tempers rise. Misunderstandings occur. We cannot set a precedent for suspension every time there is… contact.” His voice softened on the last word, as if framing assault like a racing term would make it easier to swallow.
As if that would make this allokay.
My hands curled into fists under the table, but I kept myself in check. For now.
“And other drivers, male or female, have also raised concerns and waited their turn through proper channels.”
Aurélie sighed, the sound quiet but deliberate, and leaned back in her chair. “Contact?” she repeated, almost gently, though the word landed like a slap in the quiet room. “I know what wheel-to-wheel contact feels like. I know what a collision feels like. This wasn’t that. This was hands on my body where they didn’t belong. This was a man deciding he could use his strength to corner me and then brag about it. You call that contact?” She let the silence linger, her eyes never leaving his. “Monsieur Reinhardt… you’re a father. Imagine your daughter describing that to you, and someone brushing it off as a misunderstanding. Would you still call it contact then?”
The tension around the table was palpable, and Reinhardt’s composure cracked for a second when guilt flashed across his features. I knew he was imagining it, his daughter, that the inside world of F1 knew, was his entire life.
“You are right, Aurélie,” Reinhardt said, and my eyes flew to my hairline at the admission. Everyone in the room took in a collective breath as we awaited his explanation. “Assault is never acceptable, nor should we turn a blind eye to it. I apologize if my…” his gravelly voice trailed off as he slowly leaned forward on his forearms, eyes only leaving hers to flick to me, “perceived dismissal comes off as brash. My first inclination as the president of the FIA is to protect the brand and the sport as a whole.”
Aurélie just cocked an eyebrow at him. “I appreciate that, but I’d like to know what course of action will be taken to hold Adrian Morel accountable for his inappropriate,violatingbehavior.” She appeared as confident as can be, but as she squeezed my hand tighter, I knew she was feeling anything but. Her free hand gestured to her face. “He left marks. I thought he was going to dislocate my shoulders. And whether you like the word or not, we’ll call it what it is:molestation.He molested me, and if there isn’t a formal investigation done, despite the damning evidence I’ve already provided, thiswillgo public and Iwillpress charges. And then the ‘brand’, as you put it, will be tarnished. Imagine that: you’re employing a sexual predator without reprimand, and allowing him to be around fans. Children and women all over the world, not to mention the female employees of Orion GP and within the paddock itself.”
Jesus.Watching her like this made my chest ache and swell at the same time. I never wanted to get on her bad side, not because she was ruthless, but because she was right. Righteous, actually, and so goddamn brilliant. Proud didn’t even cover it; I felt gutted by awe, lit with fury, torn apart by love. Part of me wanted to stand on the table and scream that if they didn’t protect her, I’d strangle them all myself. The other part wanted to drop to my knees and kiss the hand that had just eviscerated the president of the FIA with nothing but the truth.
To witness a goddess in action was truly a sight to behold. She was utter perfection, pure radiance, and nothing but the love of my life.
Aurélie seized the pause, her voice steady but laced with steel. “And while we’re on the subject, let’s not pretend this is only about procedures. If I were a man, my complaints would’ve been investigated. If I were a man, the stewards would’ve believed my evidence instead of calling me emotional. The negligence that nearly killed me, that nearly killed Callum, happened because I was dismissed as a woman first, a driver second. That negligence opened the door for assault, for tampering, for humiliation. And if I don’t say that here, in this room, it will keep happening.”
She didn’t stop there. “You want to talk about progress?” Her gaze swept the table. “Look at the F1 Academy—good publicity, yes, but it isn’t enough. You put us in a sandbox and call it inclusion, but once those women graduate, you slam the door. I’ve had girls come to me, all the way down to the karting leagues, asking how to survive when sponsors won’t touch them, when team bosses laugh them out of the room, when harassment is treated as banter. I fight for them because no one here does. That’s why I’m here. Not just for me.”
The silence that followed was deafening, and I couldn’t stay quiet anymore. “She’s right,” I said, my voice carrying even though I didn’t raise it. “You’ve ignored her because it was easier. But ignoring her nearly killed her, and nearly killed me. You want us to separate the personal from the professional like they aren’t bound together by blood and risk every time we step in a car. But here’s the truth: she’s the bravest, most precise driver I’ve ever seen. She’s exposing every flaw in your system not because she wants attention, but because she wants every single person on this grid to survive it. She’s not going anywhere but straight to the top of this sport, both as a driverandas anadvocate. She will change it from the inside out, whether you like it or not. So if you can’t respect her as a driver, then respect her as the mirror you’re too cowardly to face.”
The room went still. Seconds stretched. Reinhardt’s eyes stayed on me, sharp, weighing, like he was deciding whether to strike or fold.
“And if I were you,” I continued, “I wouldn’t take her threats for legal action lightly.”
Finally, Reinhardt leaned back in his chair, steepled his hands, and gave a single, reluctant nod. “Very well,” he said. “A formal investigation will be opened. After this race concludes, we will begin immediately. In the interim, Mademoiselle Dubois, you will be provided additional oversight with security personnel assigned in the paddock, full access to your car’s scrutineering files, and the option to have a GPDA delegate present at all technical meetings. That is my compromise.”
Aurélie exhaled, the faintest sound of relief breaking past her composure. She nodded once, controlled, but her hand tightened on mine under the table. I didn’t need words to know what it meant. Gratitude, resolve… and something that still burned like a live wire between us.
“Thank you,” she said. “For listening. That has literally been ninety percent of my battle, Monsieur Reinhardt.”
I stared at her like I was memorizing her. Every line of argument, every precise term. Genius, not as a headline, but as a weapon, as armor to protect everything she stood for. She wasn’t just surviving this room. She was teaching it.
While she spoke, a separate current flickered to life in the back of my brain, trying to give substance to a wild train of thought.
Orion GP. Ownership handover. New investors. Rebrand in progress. Reputational hazard. The kind of words that loomed larger than any penalty a steward could dish out. If Alain—Auri’sattorney—packaged this evidence and sent it to the incoming owner’s lawyers and insurers with the intention to press charges, they’d torch their own driver to save the deal.
As for the FIA, they didn’t listen to morality. They listened tomoney. “Bringing the sport into disrepute” suddenly cut both ways—a clause of their own regulations that Aurélie had brought to light during her social media crusade.
My mind kept spinning. Iknewthe new owner. He was an old friend of mine, a billionaire business mogul who’d leapt at the chance to own a Formula 1 team. I’d spoken to him in passing several times about the ongoing acquisition negotiations of Orion GP the last couple of years. This year, we’d discussed terms of sponsorship, potentially even ownership opportunities…
If I could influence a team from the inside, maybe I could help change the sport itself. I could help Aurélie, and the other drivers, just by playing a role in who was on the grid. Forcing out pay drivers, blocking predators like Morel, and make space for drivers who deserved it. Maybe more female drivers, too.
The FIA wanted to ignore Aurélie, but Orion’s lawyers—especially my friend’s shark of an attorney—wouldn’t. This was a lever. One we could pull.
