Page 122 of Close Contact
Dominic sighed, the lines around his mouth deepening. “This isn’t the time to make enemies, Callum,” he said, but his tone lacked its usual bite. Maybe he understood better than he let on.
“I’m not thinking about politics right now, Dom,” I snapped, cutting him off.
Dominic’s frown deepened, his arms crossing tighter as he stepped closer to the screen. “We have to think carefully about how we approach this, Callum. If you barge into the FIA room waving footage around?—”
“Stop for a second. They’re going to rip her apart if we don’t act.” My voice softened, but the anger was still there, bubbling beneath the surface. “She’s not going to be their scapegoat for Morel’s recklessness. Not this time. And we don’t have much time before they restart the race.”
For a moment, Dominic hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. “Alright,” Dominic said after a beat, his voice quieter. “Let’s hope they’re willing to listen.”
I could already see their faces, the sneers, the dismissive tones. But they couldn’t ignore this. Not when I had the proof right here.
The buzzof fluorescent lights clawed at my skull, each flicker like a punch behind the eyes. Pain throbbed under my ribs, but I didn’t slow down. The tension in the room hit me before I’d even stepped inside—Henric’s voice raised, the kind of desperate, angry pitch you use when you’re losing an argument.
I shoved the door open without ceremony. Dominic shadowed me like a silent missile. The door hit the wall, the sound echoing off the walls and slicing clean through the conversation. Heads turned. Officials froze. I caught the flicker of annoyance in their eyes before they masked it with practiced neutrality.
Henric spun. “Fraser?” His voice was half shock, half irritation. I wasn’t here for him.
My ribs screamed as I stepped forward. Every breath felt like broken glass. Dominic’s hand hovered near my elbow, but I brushed him off.
I had to do this standing on my own two feet. I needed to feel like I was man enough to fight both Aurélie’s and my battles and remind myself that Ididsurvive and that I was somehow still walking.
“What is the meaning of this?” one of the officials demanded, her tone sharp enough to cut steel. Her name escaped me, but her reputation didn’t. Stern. Unyielding. Exactly the kind of person who’d bury Aurélie under a mountain of penalties if given the chance. Surprising given the systemic sexism that was so apparent in this sport.
I slammed the tablet I’d brought onto the table, the screen already queued to the exact frame I needed. “Play it,” I said, my voice rough and low.
“Mr. Fraser,” one of the men interjected, his voice laced with impatience. “We’ve already reviewed the incident. There’s no need to?—”
I cut him off with a sharp gesture, ignoring the pain it sparked. “Then you weren’t looking hard enough.”
The officials exchanged glances, clearly irritated by the interruption, but one of them reached forward and tapped the screen.
The footage played, starting with the helicopter’s view of the crash. I forced myself to watch it again, even as my body physically recoiled and my hands curled into fists. The swerve. The spin. The impact. It all played out in brutal clarity. And then, there it was—the red flags, unmistakable in the corner of the screen.
“Pause it,” I ordered. My voice cracked slightly, and I bit back the frustration that flared at the weakness. I pointed at the frozen frame, my finger trembling slightly. My body hurt so fucking bad, and those pain meds had clearly not kicked in yet. “Right there. The red flags were waving before she got out of the car. She didn’t break protocol.”
“It’s not as simple as red flags, Mr. Fraser,” the woman argued, her tone clipped. “The rules are clear about leaving the car?—”
My laughter was bitter, sharp. “The rules? You’re worried about the rules when the footage shows Morel nearly killing me? There was no reason for him to push me wide. He’s a two-time world champion. He’s been in the sport for two decades. Heknowsbetter. This was premeditated, and you all know it.”
The room fell silent. One of the officials leaned closer to the screen, adjusting her glasses as if a better look would change what was clearly in front of her.
“This doesn’t prove anything,” another official said, his tone dismissive. “She still left her car during a live track.”
I snorted, the sound harsh and humorless. “A live track?” I gestured to the screen. “Do you see any cars passing her? Look—shewaitsuntil the last car passes her. The red flags stopped the race. The cars had slowed. If you’re so eager to penalize someone, why not start with Morel? He’s the reason we’re here in the first place.”
“Mr. Fraser,” the first official said, “you’re clearly emotional. Perhaps it would be best if?—”
“You’re damn right I’m emotional,” I snapped, cutting her off. Dominic shifted beside me, a silent reminder to keep my temper in check, but I ignored him. “I just survived a 48G impact because another driver decided to play dirty. And now you’re telling me you’re more concerned about penalizing Aurélie for trying to help than you are about holding Morel accountable for nearly killing me?” I had to lean against the table, my strength fading fast.
Henric stepped forward then, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Callum, let me handle this.”
“No,” I said firmly, my gaze locked on the officials. “You’ve been handling it, and look where that’s gotten us. They’re not listening.”
“You’re out of line,” one of the men growled, his face darkening.
“And you’re out of excuses,” I shot back. My chest heaved with the effort of keeping my voice steady. “You have the footage. You have the proof. What more do you need? An engraved invitation to do your damn jobs, which is tokeep us safe?”
Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. The officials exchanged glances, their carefully composed masks cracking under the evidence and my words.
