Page 6 of Racing for Redemption
I grit my teeth as I push through the double doors into the main engineering bay in the factory section of our headquarters. The usual hum of activity dies down, replaced by an uncomfortable silence. I scan the room, my gaze sharp.
“Status report,” I demand, my voice crisp and cold.
Johnson, our lead engineer, steps forward. He hesitates, fidgeting with his tablet. “Ms. Colton, we’re still having issues with the—”
“Show me,” I cut him off, gesturing to the nearest workstation.
As he pulls up the schematics, a familiar tightness grips my chest. The pressure is crushing, but I can’t let it show. Not here. Not now. I’m going to break at any moment. I hate this—feeling powerless.
It seems no matter which direction I go, there is only negativity or bad things awaiting me. Things slip through my fingers. Opportunities are missed.
I lean in, studying the design flaws. My mind races, searching for solutions we haven’t tried. “Have we considered adjusting the rear wing angle? I heard Kevin mention that before he… ghosted us.”
Johnson blinks, surprised. “Oh, did he? We… haven’t explored that option yet.”
“Then do it,” I order, straightening up. “I want simulations run by tomorrow morning. We need to be proactive in improving the car for next season, not waiting until it crashes or self-destructs piece by piece.”
As I turn to leave, my reflection looks back at me on a nearby monitor. My face is a mask of cool professionalism, but my eyes…God, my eyes look tired. When was the last time I slept well? A good eight hours, had some “me” time, or relaxed? Thatseems like a distant dream. Since I took over at Colton Racing, it has been relentless.
Meetings.
Traveling to the races.
Parties to appease sponsors.
Groveling.
Dealing with the press.
There are no kind words to describe how I look right now. I’m a husk with dark eye bags and a fancy suit, facing all the pressure of managing a Formula 1 team while playing all the backroom games, dealing with investors, and a board that has found a hobby in pestering me… Giving up would be too easy, even though it soundsquiteappealing. But hell if I can’t and won’t give up. I’m too stubborn to go through that.
I push the thoughts away. There’s no time for weakness and doubt.
In the corridor, I nearly collide with Blake. He steadies me, concern etched on his face as he gently squeezes my arms. “Violet, you’ve been going non-stop since before the board meeting. Maybe you should—”
“I’m fine,” I snap, harsher than I intended. He flinches, and I immediately regret it. I force a polite smile. “Thank you for caring, Blake. But we have work to do.” He keeps up as we walk to my office. “Simply put, the board hates my guts. They haven’t said it outright, but they want me out. I proposed a crazy deal. Next season. Eighth place, or I’m out.”
Blake widens his eyes. “Eighth? That’s…”
“Ambitious? Impossible? A pipe dream?” I finish for him, my voice sharp. “Pick your poison, Blake. It doesn’t matter. It’s what we have to do. The strategy here was to give them a sense of power and control in the negotiation to ensure I bid more time for myself. Now, I just need to be crazy and achieve this goal. At least I’m holding on to this team for a while longer.”
He nods, understanding both the gravity and urgency of the situation. “So, what’s our next move?”
I glance at my watch. “We have a meeting with potential sponsors in an hour. After that, compile a list of every available driver for next season. And I meanevery driver, Blake. From F2 champions who never got a chance to be in F1, to IndyCar, DTM, LeMans, and even retired veterans. We can’t afford to be picky. We need someone. Anyone at the moment with enough Super License points and willing to drive for us, ready to breathe new life into this team.”
As we walk towards my office, my phone buzzes. I ignore it, putting it on silent, knowing it’s probably another meme or scathing article about our team’s downfall.Note to self, turning off all notifications related to Colton Racing.It is damaging me more than anything else.
“Oh, and Blake?” I add, pausing at my door. “I don’t want a single stone left unturned.”
Chapter 2
Broken into Fractions
William
Heart pounding. Hands sweating. Anticipation rising. I close my eyes. Headphones on.
This is it. Abu Dhabi. Final race of the F2 season. My moment. I can snatch it all. What I’ve worked all season to get. What I deserve the most.
