Page 4 of Racing for Redemption
“COLTON RACING: FROM CHAMPIONS TO CHUMPS – IS THIS THE END OF AN ERA?”
I skim the article, each word like a knife twisting in my gut.
Deeper.
And deeper.
Slowly twisting.
Making me aware of every single mistake.
Every single freak accident.
Every single thing I couldn’t control.
Phrases like “unprecedented rise and fall” and “monumental managerial incompetence” jump out at me, feeding my impostor syndrome yet again.
“They’re calling us the plague of the paddock,” I say, my voice hollow. “A cautionary tale for aspiring teams.”
Blake tries to take the tablet, but I wave him off. The junior marketer silently excuses himself, noticing the tension on my face.
I need to see this, to feel the full weight of my failure. This should be fuel to thrive, but deep down, it is destroying me. Eating me. Breaking me.
Making me doubt my skills. My worth. My purpose.
“Remember when drivers used to beg for a seat with us back when Dad was around?” I ask, a mirthless laugh escaping my lips. “Now we can’t even keep the ones we have. How ironic is that?”
I stand abruptly, needing to move, to do something. If I stop, I’ll go crazy. “We have a couple of races left, Blake. Four chances to salvage something from this disaster of a season.”
We need to do everything. Because if we don’t turn this around, there might not be a Colton Racing to save next year. And I won’t be around, that’s for sure.
The boardroom looms before me. I straighten my violet-accented blazer, my mask of professionalism and neutrality on and ready for war, taking a deep breath before opening the door.
Silence falls as I enter. Eight pairs of eyes, cold and calculating, track my every move. I stride to the head of the table, my heels clicking like a countdown against the polished floor.
My countdown to being sacked.
This is it. All or nothing. I need to put everything on the line, be bold and show them I’m fully committed to this rebuild. To bring this team back to the top.
This is the gamble of my life, and if I fail… these are my last minutes inside this building.Dad, I’m not failing you.
“Gentlemen,” I say, my voice steady despite the knot in my stomach. “Shall we begin?”
Chairman Reeves—a silver-haired shark in an expensive tailor-made suit, and member of the board since my father’s time—leans forward. “Ms. Colton, I think we all know why we’re here.”
I nod, bracing myself. “I’m aware of our current position—”
“Current position?” Reeves interrupts, his voice sharp. “You mean thecompletecollapseof a once-great racing dynasty in the blink of an eye?”
The words sting, but I refuse to flinch. “We’ve faced setbacks, yes, but—”
“Setbacks?” Another board member scoffs. “Kevin abandoning ship close to the end of the season, sponsors fleeingen masse, and a pay driver who can’t finish a single race? That’s not a setback, Ms. Colton. That’s a catastrophe. Bad management.”
Clenching my jaw, I grip the edge of the table, my knuckles white. “I understand your frustration. But I have a plan to—”
“A plan?” Reeves cuts in again. “Like your plan to replace Kevin? How many rejections have you received so far? Ten? Twenty? Who in the paddock hasn’t rejected us?”
Heat floods my cheeks. Every “no” from potential drivers echoes in my mind, a bitter reminder that our team is not ‘hot stuff’ at the moment. No. We’re the furthest thing from that.
