Page 57 of Red Flagged
Mercer?
He flipped open the folder, sliding several sheets across the bar. I stared at them without absorbing a single word.
“Maverick Mercer. Billionaire investor from New York. His wife works for InterPol. She’s offered to open an independent investigation to corroborate the pattern. Morel’s racing history, personal conduct, prior infractions swept under the rug. It’s part of their screening of Orion GP before they complete their investment into the rebrand and new ownership. If there’s even a fraction of what we suspect, he’ll never drive again.”
Callum’s voice was tight. “They’re investing in Orion GP?”
“Yes. Beckett Lachlan—” Reinhardt glanced at Callum. “You two know each other?”
Callum nodded slowly. “Old friend.”
“Good,” Reinhardt said. “He’s taking over majority control. If Mercer and his wife can build the legal scaffolding, and Beckett terminates Morel’s contract, which is currently airtight…” He looked around the bar. “Then we’re halfway there.”
I reached for the documents. My hands didn’t shake.
Because I was already gone, half a plane of glass away from my body, watching all of this from behind my own eyes. Disassociating to preserve myself.
“And the other half?” I asked.
Reinhardt met my gaze. “You take this to the GPDA meeting. All of it. Your report. Ivy’s statement. These files.” He tapped the stack. “Frame it as a strategic proposal. A push for safety standards, ethical oversight, a code of conduct enforcement protocol. You’ll sound like revolutionaries with clipboards. But trust me, that’s what terrifies them the most.”
We wrapped up the meeting, and then Reinhardt pulled on his jacket, wished us luck, and left. The door clicked shut behind him, and no one moved. For a long, suspended moment, the air just… hung there.
Then I turned away.
“I’m—” My voice broke before the lie could form. “Excuse me.”
No one stopped me when I slipped into the room, my feet carrying me into the bathroom. The latch gave easily under my trembling hand, the bathroom door closing behind me with a sound that felt final.
The quiet was deafening.
I gripped the edges of the sink until my knuckles blanched. My reflection stared back—the dress, the makeup, the careful glamour of composure—all of it trembling on a fault line.
For one breath.
Two.
And then it cracked.
I dropped my head, my hair creating a curtain around me, as if it could shield me from the world. My shoulders shook once as I fought the tears. Refused to let them win. Ivy had spent all that time layering powder and shadow; I wouldn’t let emotion ruin the only armor I had left.
Don’t.
Don’t you dare cry, Aurélie. You’ve done enough crying for one lifetime.
I blinked hard, forcing the water back down where it belonged. The counter blurred anyway.
And suddenly, I was a teenager again. Standing in my brother’s shadow while the world adored his smile. The burden. The spare twin.The one no one wanted.The backup plan everyone forgot existed until they needed something from her.
I’d built an empire out of the promise that I’d never be that girl again. Never the one left behind. Never the one who didn’t matter. Not after what Santino had done, what my family had said to me.
And now here I was, back where I started—loving a man who hadn’t even thought to tell me he might be leaving me behind too.
The shame came next. It was heavy and familiar, the kind that hollowed you from the inside out.
My throat constricted.
No. Not now. Not after everything. Don’t ruin your makeup. Don’t ruin the mask.
