Page 1 of Racing for Redemption
Prologue
‘This is the comeback story of the decade.’
That’s what I want to hear. Life in Formula 1 is never that easy though, is it?
In the paddock, you can feel it—the high stakes, the pressure. The highs don’t last long, and the lows can drag on for months, even years.
Drama is part of the daily lives of those on the grid. It destroys teams, drivers and relationships, making rivalries become more than just trading sarcasm in front of the media.
Bickering among team principals seems to entertain fans of the circus that Formula 1 has become, yet they represent decades of rivalries, echoes of the past, and worries for the future.
But this passion of ours has a different side, too—a relentlessly fun, carefree side. Reserved for fans and enthusiasts who are oblivious to our behind-the-scenes politics, ultimatums, sponsors, events and all the bullshit that makes my brain feel like it’s melting since I took over Colton Racing this summer.
They know of the glamour. They know of the glory. But they rarely know of the drivers and teams who fell from grace—disgraced, ridiculed, and forgotten. A footnote in the history of the sport when they were once a headline.
Fans live for the intoxicating roar of engines coming to life. For twenty-three weekends, they tune in and flock to the F1 races, immersing themselves in the sound of revving in the distance, echoing in circuits around the world.
Through it all, they are the twenty best drivers in the world sitting in the cockpits of their powerful cars—daring destiny, facing danger day in, day out, while hunting for glory and fighting for every driver’s dream: the coveted Driver’s Championship.
As I walk around the garage, I spot fans in the stands, their faces alight with excitement. It is quite the scene.
They wear the colors of their chosen teams like badges of honor—hats, T-shirts, flags, handmade cardboard messages—all representing their allegiance. Families huddle together while friends exchange playful banter about their favorite drivers. Yes, there is a sense of rivalry, but there’s also a shared love for this sport that transcends boundaries and unites us all. I love that about us.
I remember when I was young, and Dad was here, letting me run around the garage being a cute little brat—bothering the mechanics, dreaming of becoming one of them. Good times. That innocence, that passion, that unbridled curiosity made me fall in love with the sport. It developed from a passion to a hobby. From a dream to a failure, and now, my duty.
“Violet, we have the media asking why we don’t have a second driver this week.” My assistant, Blake, keeps pace alongside meas I make a beeline to the media room, the confident click of my staccato heels echoing through the empty corridor.
“Good question. Has anyone tried to contact Kevin? How does a driver vanish? Does anyone in hospitality know where he went?” I clench my jaw and ball my hands into fists at my sides. This is getting out of hand.
Blake keeps up and checks his smartphone for any news or updates on Kevin’s whereabouts as we arrive at the room, stopping before opening the door to face the hungry media. “No, boss. This is unheard of. There’s nothing about him on the news nor social media. He’s a ghost.”
I hold the door handle and turn to him. “Well, either security in the paddock is lax, or Kevin somehow pulled off a vanishing act.” I turn the handle. “I don’t like this one bit.” Our best driver, abandoning us with five races left in the season. This is a betrayal of the highest level. It stings, and the implications are going to be far worse. I can feel it.
Blake adds, “There’s more, though. Three sponsors pulled out an hour ago.”
An empty void sits in my stomach. “Which ones?”
“Jameson Tools, Greenhill Tech and OilQ.”
The blood drains from my face. He must be fucking kidding me. These sponsors represent more than half our revenue stream. With Kevin gone and now this… I sense a migraine coming.
“Who’s left? Gritt Tires?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“Correct. Just them.”
“Figures.” Prior to joining the team, I worked at Gritt Tires, so this is the company with which we have the strongest ties. But there’s a limit to their tolerance of our poor performance before they pull out. I… I don’t really want to think about it. If they leave, we’re gone for good. They are our lifeline.
“We need to sue Kevin. Now,” I declare quietly, whirling to face Blake. “Breach of contract, frustration of sponsors’ expectations, damage to the team’s reputation—”
“Violet.” Blake’s tone is gentle but firm. I know what he’s going to say. I know it. But hell if this isn’t frustrating. “That could explode in our faces. Make us look desperate, vindictive, even petty.”
“Then what do you suggest? Take it on the chin and smile? This is a business, Blake. People invest big money in this team. We have a board of directors demanding results, then he goes and breaches the contract? We can’t just let him walk away scot-free while we’re left scrambling!”
Blake locks his eyes on mine, steady and reassuring. “We focus on what we can control. Finding a replacement driver for this weekend—better yet, for the remaining races, shoring up our remaining sponsorship, and damage control with the media.”
I nod slowly, some of the tension leaving my shoulders. This is why I need Blake. His level-headedness balances my passionate—though at times reckless—drive.
“We’ll do that. After I’m done with the interviews.” As soon as I enter the room, the media flash their cameras. Microphonesare shoved at me as if any of my words will sate their hunger for the latest juicy scandal on the grid.
