Page 4 of Red Flagged
Maybe I should take some notes. I thought I was the same way… until I lost my shit yesterday.
I chuckled dryly. “No shot. It’s Silverstone. They’d run it in a hurricane if it sold tickets.”
Henric and Dom stood at the doors of the conference room, waiting like wardens. Their grim expressions told me they weren’t just here to escort us. They were here to remind us where the leash belonged—grim faces, folded arms, and all.
Henric’s tone was all false patience, clipped French accent telling me. “Fraser. Dubois. You know the procedure. One driver at a time.”
Aurélie bristled, but I let go of her hand and pressed my hand against her spine. “No,” I said. “They’ll speak to us together.”
Dom shifted, uneasy. “That isn’t how these meetings are handled.”
“It is today,” I snapped, my own patience wearing thin. Dom opened his mouth to respond, but I beat him to it. “We’re not here as two separate drivers. We’re here because of an incident that involved both of us yesterday. One of you nearly let her die,” I narrowed my eyes at Henric, “and one of you tried to stop me after another man laid his fucking hands on her.” I gestured to Aurélie’s face, the purpling bruise along her temple and cheekbone that she hadn’t bothered to cover with makeup today.
Sheknewthe impact it would have when she dropped this bombshell on everyone.
Aurélie crossed her arms, her tone all stern fortitude and seriousness. Fuck, it was a turn-on when she was like this. “If they’re afraid of two voices, maybe it’s because they know how badly they’ve fucked up.”
Henric exhaled loudly. “Aurélie?—”
“Let me rephrase,” she quipped. “Maybe it’s becauseyouknow how badlyyoufucked up. You let someone sabotage my car right under your nose. What, you didn’t confirm my set up preferences matched what was submitted to the FIA? Isn’t that part of your job? Aren’t you supposed to protect your drivers? Or were you just complicit in letting this happen because you regret signing me?”
“Either they see us together,” I cut in, quiet and final, “or they won’t see us at all.”
Lightning flashed outside, white light cutting across the glass wall of the corridor. For a split second it lit up the conference room ahead. Rows of suits were already seated, faces turned toward us, waiting patiently. Not a single person moved. They looked like vultures sitting there, patient and hungry.
Aurélie’s arms tightened across her chest, her chin tipped higher. I pressed my palm more firmly against the small of her back, guiding her forward as I pushed the double doors open. Together, we walked in.
The air inside the conference room was colder, too clean, almost like disinfectant was trying to cover the corruption. Stewards lined one side of the table. Victor Reihnardt, the FIA president, sat at the head with sharp eyes and an absent smile. Henric and Dom slipped in behind us, flanking like guards escorting prisoners to their hearing.
“Dubois. Fraser,” Reinhardt said tersely. “We’ll begin with individual statements?—"
“No,” I cut in. My voice echoed. I didn’t raise it. Didn’t need to. “We will both be present.”
A flicker of irritation flashed across a steward’s face. Another shifted in his seat. Reinhardt squinted at me. Papers were uselessly shuffled around.
You could hear a pin drop.
Aurélie and I stood next to each other, waiting for them to concede. Eventually they would, when they realized we weren’t budging and there was a race in a matter of hours. And people paid a fuck ton of money to see us compete.
Reinhardt nodded once and gestured to four empty chairs with the air of authority of a man used to being obeyed. So we all sat, side by side. Henric, Aurélie, me, and then Dom.
“Gentlemen, ladies,” Reinhardt began, hands steepled. At least he had the decency to nod in Aurélie’s direction. That was when I noticed she was the only woman in the room.Of fucking course.“This meeting will address several matters arising from yesterday’s events: Driver Dubois’ allegations of tampering and assault, Driver Fraser’s abandonment of his car during a qualifying session, and the subsequent altercation inthe paddock. We will take statements, review evidence, and determine any necessary action.”
Henric’s face was a practiced mask. “Luminis is committed to driver safety,” he started, leaning forward on the table, palms flat. “But we must caution that allegations must be demonstrable?—”
“—and verifiable,” Dom interjected, shooting Henric down. He looked at us, then at the stewards, as if daring anyone to dismiss the obvious. Thank fuck he was on our side of this whole debacle. I didn’t know what to expect heading into this meeting. Maybe because he’d known me for so long, knew who I was at my core and what I stood for. “This is about safety.”
Henric’s pivot was subtle but sharp. “Of course. But reckless accusations destabilize teams and reputations.”
Aurélie’s silence had a weight to it. I watched her carefully, heart palpitating as I scanned the bruise on her temple, the band of purple encircling her wrists where Morel’s hands had been, the way she held herself together even though the stiffness in her shoulders said otherwise.
Reinhardt flicked through a folder. “We will begin with factual questioning. Mademoiselle Dubois,” he dipped his chin as he met her gaze, and she nodded back, as if acknowledging the respect of using her title in French, “please describe the events in the corridor.” His tone implied neutrality, but his eyes were already searching for anything to discredit us.
She told it. Quiet, clipped, breath-tight. She didn’t curl into the hurt, didn’t beg for sympathy. She named names. The accomplices on her team, the drivers involved. She said Morel’s name, and more than that, she said what he’d done, what he’d bragged about, what he’d admitted. She said he’d boasted about tampering, about making space. She said he’d shoved her and touched her and laughed. She played the surveillance footage of the incident, and it was about as damning as evidence could get.
A ripple moved across the table. Reinhardt listened intently, his face stoic and unreadable, never cracking a smile or uttering a condescending word. Henric shifted like a man who didn’t know how to protect a human being. Dom kept his face hard, betraying nothing but concern for protocols.
Reinhardt looked at me. “Mr. Fraser, you abandoned your car during qualifying. Video shows you exited the vehicle and confronted another driver in the paddock. Explain yourself.”
