Page 131 of Overtake
“It happens.” Bowie’s one cool cucumber, which is why I like having him along for every ride.
Lynch takes P2 with a clean lap. And Nico crosses the line to claim pole, the bastard. Reece and Wyn are midfield, P7 and P9, respectively. Now Iknowsome shit has gone down, because Reece hasn’t qualied that badly all season.
“We’ll analyze the data later,” Dad says as I climb from the car in the garage. That’s standard procedure after a session. “See me in my office.”
Oh dear.
Cin joins us and takes my gear. “Cool-down first, Coy?”
“Fine. But no talking with the media.”
She and I exchange looks, then head to my driver’s room. The door to Reece’s is shut and I resist the urge to open it.Whatever’s happened, I’ll find out soon enough. Best to give him space.
After a shower and a change of clothes, Jacintha is helping me stretch when our phones explode with headline notifications:
F1 Technical Espionage Scandal Breaks
Former Media Consultant Arrested
Graham Pritchard’s Cooperation Leads to Arrest
“Holy shit,” we mutter simultaneously, because what else is there to say?
I sit up on the massage table just as Reece’s door slams open, hitting the corridor wall in the process. I’m off the table and into the hall quickly enough to see him disappear into Dad’s office. Maiken’s behind him, and you can bet I hightail it right after.
When I enter, Dad’s gripping Reece’s shoulder, and I’ve never seen my fellow driver look so utterly defeated.
“Coy, I don’t know. I just— I’ll be no fucking good for a race.”
Dad’s the calm eye of this storm. “You’ll race tomorrow, Reece. Better you’re in the car doing something than out of it chewing the shit out of a situation you had no hand in creating and no way to stop.”
“I’m not going to sleep tonight. My focus will be crap.”
Dad looks at Maiken. “Work him ragged, get him into bed at a decent hour, bring him to the track in the morning. Can you handle it?”
She nods. “Absolutely, Coy.”
“You don’t race, we take a DNF and you’ll be kicking yourself, Reece.” Dad’s using his Team Principal “I’m not fucking around” tone of voice, and it works.
Reece stares at him, a host of emotions chasing each other across his face. Then he sighs, scrubs his hand over his jaw, and nods. “Okay. Yeah. You’re right.”
Dad steps back. “I know I am. Now get out of here. Don’t talk to any reporters. Don’t watch any news coverage. Don’t respond to texts that aren’t from this team and about tomorrow’s race. Clear?”
“Yeah. Clear.”
I touch Reece’s arm as he leaves, then drop into the chair opposite Dad as he sits behind his desk. Cin sits beside me.
He tips his head back and lets out a slow breath. “What a fucking mess this is.”
“What the hell is going on, Dad?”
“Dixon Atteberry.”
I frown. “Dixon? You mean Graham’s guy?”
“Yes.” He rubs his forehead like he’s got a headache, then looks up at us. “Last night, Zara found a pattern of access and specific timing in those fan pages. She shared her data with Laurent Dubois this morning, and he identified the source of the data breach: Dixon Atteberry.” He runs a hand through his greying hair. “Graham was pulled back in for questioning and admitted to hiring Atteberry at the start of the season to manufacture dramatic content for his productions.”
“Manufacture?” Hardly shocking.
