Page 123 of Close Contact
“What, that’s not a good enough reason for you? Watch.” I grabbed the tablet back, fast-forwarding to her comms conversation with Henric. I let it play, clutching onto her stubbornness and anger for some semblance of strength and watching as their faces either dropped or blanched.
“I fucking told them this would happen, and they didn’t listen to me.”
I paused the video again, willing myself to not think about how she went to the FIA already and didn’t tell me until right before the race. “Did she bring this to your attention? Because I, for one, encouraged her to do this weeks ago.”
Again, I was met with silence. I slammed the tablet down on the table, and Dom grabbed my shoulder. I flinched away from him, my bruised flesh protesting.
“She brought us a recording of a conversation of some of the drivers right after Monaco,” the woman finally admitted, and one of the men rubbed his forehead in response. She pinned all of them with a dirty look. “Well, I’m not going to lie to him. He has proof.”
My heart dropped. So itwasmore than Morel in on it.
“I know, Silvia, but the kind of legal implications this could have?—”
“Maybe you should be more concerned about the safety of the drivers that keep your paycheck steadily flowing,” I spat, my voice laced with venom. “Morel has been a problem since the beginning of the season. And it’s not only him, he’s just the most dangerous one.”
Dominic stepped forward, his tone cool and even. “We’re not here to debate semantics or waste time. The evidence is clear. The red flags were out before she exited the car.” He shot me a look, not unkind, that seemed to say,Let me take the reins for a moment.
“The playback does indicate that the red flags were active before Ms. Dubois exited her vehicle,” the woman said, sighing, though her tone suggested she’d rather swallow glass than concede the point.
The men glared at her once again.
“So she’s cleared to race?” Dominic asked, and I was grateful for his interjection. My energy was depleting quickly, and my head was starting to feel woozy.
The officials hesitated, the weight of their decision hanging in the air. Finally, the woman nodded. “Pending further review, she may continue the race.”
Relief flooded my chest, but it was short-lived. “And Morel?” I demanded. “What happens to him?”
“That will require a separate investigation,” another official said, his tone clipped. “For now, he’s cleared to continue, with an appropriate penalty applied.”
My fists clenched at my sides, but Dominic’s hand on my arm stopped me from pressing further. “Let it go, Callum,” he murmured. “We’ve done what we came here to do.” His eyes shifted to the officials. “Though you can be sure we’ll revisit Morel. And when we do, make sure you’re ready.”
I stared at the officials for a moment longer, letting my glare linger before turning on my heel. The pain in my ribs flared as I moved, but I welcomed it. It was a reminder of the crash, of the fight, of the promises I’d made to myself. The one I made to her—that I’d handle the FIA.
“Enjoy the paperwork,” I called over my shoulder. “And when Morel crosses the line again—and he will—I’ll make damn sure the world remembers you could’ve stopped him.”
As soon as the door shut, I sagged against the wall. Dom wrapped an arm around me, supporting me down the hallway.
“Done with your crusade?” he taunted.
“Yeah,” I panted.
“Hospital?”
“Yeah,” I repeated, no energy left to offer. I did what I promised.
Aurélie would race. And Morel? His day of reckoning was coming.
All the fuckingnoise of the grid felt louder than ever, every sound amplified by the storm of nerves rolling through me. My body was in constant motion—stretching, hydrating, bouncing lightly on my toes. Anything to keep from unraveling under the weight of what had happened.
I couldn’t think about the crash. I couldn’t think about Callum. Not now.
But it was impossible to ignore the image of him trapped in the car, completely unresponsive.
Henric appeared suddenly, his face drawn tight. He moved quickly, shoulders tense, and stopped just short of me. “You’re cleared to race,” he said, voice clipped.
I blinked, utterly stunned. Relief washed over me in waves, but it was immediately followed by suspicion. Henric had been arguing with the FIA for half an hour. That much I knew. But what had changed?
“How?” My voice cracked, betraying the tight leash I’d had on my emotions. “They were adamant?—”
