Page 56 of Red Flagged
My PR face was something I’d perfected. And now he was on the receiving end of it. They all were.
The plan was never just to win races. It was to survive them. And I guess now it was also to survive each other?
A plan devised without me. Behind my back. In silence.
Because apparently, my opinion didn’t matter anymore.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, stuffed it down deep, buried it beneath the heat and hurt and heartbreak. I smiled, because I knew the cameras would be back soon, and no one could know I was crumbling.
Not even the people I thought I trusted the most.
Reinhardt moved then, giving me something else to pay attention to. He reached into his briefcase again and set another folder on the counter in front of us.
“There’s another angle you’ll want to consider,” he said. “Especially if you’re serious about removing Morel. Not just from the team or the season, but from the sport entirely.”
Ivy’s voice was the first to cut through the fog. “Define serious.”
Reinhardt turned to me. “You told me what happened before qualifying,” he said quietly. “You showed me the security footage. The photos. Your bruises.”
Callum tensed beside me. I didn’t look at him. I didn’t evenwantto look at him. I was currently fighting a deep-seated agony that threatened to consume me.
“I knew the moment I saw your face,” Reinhardt continued, “and the marks on your wrists, that this was not only a breach of FIA conduct but a violation of your basic safety. But I had to stay neutral in that meeting, no matter how sick it made me.”
He took a breath, eyes scanning each of us. “Because if I’d so much as twitched the wrong way, the board would’ve accused me of bias. And that gives them legal ammunition. A loophole they’ll exploit to keep burying things like this.”
His words barely registered. They floated past me like sound underwater. Muffled, too slow, too distant. I focused on the polished edge of the marble countertop, on the sharp burn in my throat I refused to acknowledge.
“But don’t mistake neutrality for apathy,” he said, voice hardening. “What happened to you wasn’t just inappropriate. It was criminal. And if it’s part of a pattern?—”
“It is,” Ivy said, so quietly it made my head snap up.
Everyone turned.
She didn’t look at anyone, but her voice was taut. “He touched me earlier this season. In Barcelona.”
Marco froze. His entire body stilled like he was bracing to punch a wall, silently confirming what she was saying.
Reinhardt’s posture sharpened. “Tell me.”
“It wasn’t violent,” she said, voice hollow. “Just calculated. Hand on my waist. Way too low. Calling me some foreign pet name, pressing me to go out with him. Told me if I ever got tired of being behind the scenes, he’d make room for me on the pit wall.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “Said he liked women who knew how to keep quiet.”
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Callum swore under his breath.
Kimi muttered something in Finnish that sounded like a curse.
Marco reached for her hand, his shaking slightly. Her lip trembled, but she didn’t flinch.
But me? I was just reminded how quickly life could take away happiness.
Reinhardt nodded once. “That’s enough to build a harassment file. Between your account and Aurélie’s documented assault, we’re no longer talking about rumors or personality conflicts. We’re talking about a hostile work environment. A lawsuit waiting to happen. And a media scandal the FIA won’t survive if they keep protecting him.”
I leaned forward. Or maybe my body did. I wasn’t sure if I was still in it. Didn’t even want to be.
“So what do we do with that information?” The words came from my mouth, but I barely felt them leave my lips.
“That’s where Mercer comes in.”
