16
BARCELONA
ONE MONTH LATER
KLAUS
I’m not superstitious, but I confess to being sentimental. When Sofia and I were young and not yet involved—she was still just my boss’s shy daughter, with whom I couldn’t resist flirting—the first time she ever touched me was the day she dropped a little glass good luck token into my shirt pocket. I had a bike race later that day, and when she stepped up close to me and placed something in my pocket, whispering,For luck…I captured her hand against my chest, smiled down at her, and asked,Isn’t a kiss even better luck?
I didn’t get one that day, but I won the race anyway. The kiss I won months later.
I’ve carried the little blue-and-white mati “eye charm” ever since, in my briefcase. When Sofia was alive and I’d be having a particularly frustrating race week, she’d say,You’re downwind of the storm, my darling. That’s certainly been the case this week. It’s late on Monday, the day after the Spanish Grand Prix, and I’m still in myoffice at the paddock, checking my watch as I lose hope for either the desired result of this phone call with the race director, or making it to my date with Natalia on time.
The glass mati rests in the hand not pressing the phone to my face. My thumb skids restlessly over the smooth surface. I have no illusions that this will keep the relentless shitstorm at bay. Still, it’s comforting.
“Lorenzo,” I tell the race director, my voice level, “I’m merely asking you to consider the possibility that your data is flawed. Our telemetry didn’t show the same result, and we—”
“The stewards reviewed the evidence more than once,” he cuts in, “and the ruling stands. Jakob Hahn has been disqualified, Klaus, and it willstay that way. He exceeded the fuel flow limit on his opening lap. End of.”
I flick the mati toward my open briefcase like a bottlecap, watching it land and skate across a thick manila envelope in which yetanotherdisaster rests. The documents inside are copies of sensitive information that was the focus of an earlier remote meeting.
Sixteen people were in attendance: every team principal, the CEO of the FIA and two of its lawyers, a PR specialist in damage control, and heads of state from two countries, who exchanged barbs with careful obliqueness, never directly addressing each other.
I can’t think about that right now…
Jakob’s disqualification is comparatively “small change,” but still a serious matter. In a season where he’s struggling, he managed his best showing yesterday with fifth place. But being stripped of the 10 points he earned puts him in a position—after only six races—where the gap between his total and Cosmin’s becomesgreater than the acceptable 100-point difference outlined in the performance clause in his contract.
Cosmin is at 116 points, and the disqualification drops Jakob to a dismal 12. With so much else falling apart, the last thing I need is pressure both from the social media hordes and from within the team—Phaedra especially—on the question of subbing in our reserve driver Kalle, long before our agreed-upon reassessment deadline of summer break.
The decision has already been made that this is Jakob’s last season, after which he plans to work as a trainer at the academy. His wife, Inge, is overjoyed at this, but Jakob doesn’t share her view. He came to me weeks ago—before we concluded the deal to bring Sage Sikora to Emerald next year—and asked if the door might still be open to negotiation. It wasn’t a comfortable conversation.
You know the cause of your lack of mettle as well as I do, I told him.Please understand I’m not disparaging your new role as a father, but… since Noah was born, you’ve been driving as if he were strapped to the front wing.
At times like this, I miss Edward even more. His folksy sensibility could de-escalate even the most tense situations; he had the perfect combination of pragmatism and jocular warmth. Phaedra is settling in well as team owner, but the transition would have been smoother if there hadn’t immediately been a half-dozen catastrophes to manage this season.
It doesn’t help my state of mind that while embarking on a new attempt at closeness with Natalia, many of the metaphoric plates I’m spinning must be hidden from her. Despite my claim in Santorini that she could ask me anything, one issue in particular is dangerous enough to remain off-limits.
I’ve made a terrible error and am not sure how to fix it.
The vivid blue button of glass stares up at me from the shadows of my briefcase.
Nothing can protect me from the bad luck that’s coming, for I cast this evil eye upon myself the moment I lied to her…
Lorenzo’s words over the phone pull me back from my grim musings.
“I understand this puts you in a tricky place with your driver,” he says. “You have some hard choices to make. But surely you recognize that this cannot impact my decision.”
“Of course,” I say automatically.
“We’re friends, Klaus.” Lorenzo’s voice is lighter, with an edge of humor. “But my hands are tied. Maybe the DSQ is doing you a favor, eh? Jakob has one foot out of the car. I know Reece has to force-feed you the socials, but you can see which way the wind is blowing. It’s time to put Jake Hahn out ofeveryone’smisery.”
I rumble out a small courtesy laugh, conceding. “I think this is a mistake, but if I can’t convince you to—”
“Youcan’t,” he interjects amiably. “Enough on the matter, eh? After the GP, stay with us for a few days in Monaco. Ines would love to have you. You know you can’t resist her fideuà.”
“Hmm, I know it too well. Last summer I gained two kilos after a week of her cooking.” Behind me, there’s a tap at the door frame. I twist around and Cosmin lifts a hand in greeting. “We’ll talk next week, Renzo. Hasta luego—chao.”
Cosmin ambles in, and as he sinks into a chair, I glance again at my watch, hoping to let him know I don’t have much time to spare.
