Page 125 of Racing for Redemption
“Sit. Eat. I promise this isn’t an interrogation.” I push the plate toward him. “Our chef beats anything in the paddock, even Scuderia Nova’s. One of the few advantages of being a smaller team—we actually remember our people need to eat tasty food.”
He laughs; a genuine sound that momentarily strips away the professional veneer. He takes a sandwich, eyes widening after the first bite.
“Told you,” I say, settling into my chair.
“So,” he mumbles around a mouthful, then swallows. “Sorry. So, how’s your weekend shaping up?”
Smart move. Deflecting attention. Gathering information before revealing anything about himself.
“After Monaco? We can only go up.” I shrug. “William’s been in simulator hell all week. Nicholas is…” I pause, careful with my words. “Nicholas is doing his best.”
“Foster’s got real pace,” EJ says. “Everyone in the junior categories talks about him. Says he should’ve been in a top team years ago.”
“Everyone’s right.” I take a sip of water. “How are you finding F3? Big jump from F4?”
He nods, relaxing incrementally. “The cars feel like they’re trying to kill you in a completely different way. More power, less forgiveness.” His eyes light up. “But man, when you get it right? When everything clicks, and you hit every apex perfectly? It’s…” He trails off, looking for words.
“Like dancing with a tiger,” I finish. “Terrifying, but exhilarating.”
“Exactly!” He leans forward. “Did you race? I mean, before—”
“Before I became the suit trying to save my father’s team?” I curl my lips into a half-smile. “Regional Kart Champion in the UK scene. Never made it further. Different era, different challenges.”
“That’s still impressive.”
I wave the compliment away. “We’re not here to talk about my dusty trophies. I’ve been watching you, Ethan. Not just today. Your race in Bahrain. Qualifying in Jeddah. You’ve got something rare.”
He sets down his sandwich, face suddenly serious. “What’s that?”
“You don’t just drive fast. You drive smart. Most rookies try to outbrake everyone into Turn 1. You’re setting up passes three corners ahead.” I lean forward. “Intelligence behind the wheel can’t be taught. Raw speed, plus strategic thinking—that’s the golden combination in F1.”
He stares at me, sandwich forgotten. “Ms. Colton—Violet—why exactly am I here?”
No point drawing it out. “Because I’m planning Colton Racing’s future, and I want you to be part of it.”
His shocked expression is genuine. I push forward.
“We’re finalizing a major sponsorship deal for next season. More resources, more development—and a refresh of our driver lineup.” My voice is even. “William stays. He’s our foundation.But Nicholas…” I spread my hands. “His contract ends this year, and we’re looking toward the future.”
“Me?” The word comes out almost inaudible.
“You.” I nod. “Not immediately for the race seat. That would be irresponsible. What I’m proposing is bringing you on as our reserve driver for the remainder of this season, while you continue in F3. You’d work with our simulator team, attend briefings, get to know the engineering staff. Learn how an F1 outfit operates from the inside. Most importantly, you’d earn super license points during free practice sessions.”
His breathing quickens. I sense the calculations happening behind his eyes.
“By season’s end, assuming your F3 performance continues on trajectory, and you consistently participate in free practice sessions in F1, you’d have enough points to qualify for an F1 license. We’ll finance the price of your license. And we’ll have a seat waiting for you.”
“That’s…” He shakes his head. “That’s a lot to process.”
“I know.” I give him time, taking another sip of water.
“Why me? There are drivers with more experience. Guys who’ve been in F2 for years.”
“Experience isn’t everything. Some drivers peak early in junior formulas. Others…” I gesture toward him. “Others have growth trajectories that suggest they’ll excel at the highest level way before others. Your technical feedback is exceptional—I checked with your current team boss. You’re adaptable, coachable, and hungry.”
He runs a hand through his tousled hair. “And William? He’d be okay with this?”
“William’s a professional. More than that, he’s brilliant with technical setup. You could learn more from him in six months than from five years in junior categories.” I smile. “Besides, having fresh talent on the team would push him even harder. Competition brings out his best.”
