Chapter 42 Pressure Points #2
Every sentence I drafted sounded like betrayal. When I wrote “Hirsch’s refusal to replace his long-time strategist may prove costly,” my stomach twisted. I changed refusal to decision born of loyalty, then changed it back.
I could almost hear the gossip in the paddock: Pulaski’s gone soft. Lap dog with a press credential.
The phrase burned. Lap dog. That was what Thea and the others really meant when they questioned my professionalism.
Not that I couldn’t write, but that I’d been tamed.
I drafted a set of questions for Michael Hirsch and any of the other investors I could reach.
I added notes about each major decision Shep had made, and how they each worked out.
I reread my original story and the paragraph that cut deepest, the one where I quoted a rival engineer calling Shep “a sentimental liability.” Jonathan hated it. But it was true.
I forced my hands to stay on the keyboard. If I flinched here, I’d never trust my own byline again.
I included it in my outline, every uncomfortable word, and sent it to Thea for her review before I could think better of it.
A half-hour later, I got a response from Thea. Sounds good. Bologna is the closest airport to Maranello. Book yourself a flight and a rental car.
She left out the part about a hotel room open. Would I stay with Jonathan? Or would that be too awkward?
Wednesday Evening - The Ultimatum
Jonathan’s face on my laptop screen looked haggard when he called at 10 PM. Dark circles under his eyes, jaw tight with stress, the kind of exhaustion that came from fighting battles on multiple fronts.
“It’s gotten worse,” he said without preamble. “My father flew in from Germany this afternoon. Had a three-hour meeting with the team principal about ‘personnel decisions and strategic direction.’”
The team principal, who was responsible for all strategy, personnel, and race operations. The one person with the authority to fire Shep.
“What did they decide?”
“They gave me a choice. Fire Shep now and bring in Adrian Thompson from Mercedes. He’s available and has championship experience. Or keep Shep, but if we lose Monza due to strategic errors, both of us are done.”
“Done how?”
Jonathan’s voice grew quieter. “Shep gets terminated immediately. I lose priority. Strategy, upgrades, development. Everything shifts to Jose Luis in the other car.”
The brutality of it was breathtaking. “Your father would do that?”
“He’s already started conversations with other teams about redirecting his sponsorship investment.
Mercedes, Red Bull, even Ferrari, they’re all interested in his money if I’m not serious about winning.
” Jonathan ran both hands through his hair.
“Twelve years and twenty million dollars, Waldo. He’s not going to watch me throw it away for sentiment. ”
“And if you fire Shep?”
“Then I’m just another driver who cuts loose anyone who becomes inconvenient. Every engineer, every mechanic, every team member will know I’ll sacrifice them the moment it serves my interests.” His voice carried disgust. “I become everything I swore I’d never be.”
The impossible choice was written across his face, betray his principles or lose his championship dreams.
“What are you going to do?”
“Keep Shep. Win at Monza. Prove that loyalty and intelligence aren’t mutually exclusive.” Jonathan looked directly at the camera. “Because if I can’t win while staying true to the people who got me here, then maybe I don’t deserve to win at all.”
He could defend Shep like that. Clearly, boldly. And yet when it came to us, to what we were risking, he never said a word.
“There’s something else,” I said. I told him about my assignment from Thea. “Do you think they’ll talk to me? Your father and the other investors?”
Jonathan’s expression shifted from stress to something closer to resignation. “Jesus, Waldo. Apex wants you to write about this?”
“In-depth analysis of strategic decision-making under championship pressure. How personal relationships conflict with professional excellence.” I kept my voice steady. “Essentially, whether your loyalty to Shep is wisdom or career suicide.”
“And if you conclude it’s career suicide?”
“Then I write that. Because that’s my job.”
Jonathan was quiet for a long moment, staring at something in the distance. When he looked back, his expression was unreadable.
“My father will absolutely talk to you. He’s been looking for a platform to explain why keeping Shep is a mistake.
” Jonathan’s voice carried bitter humor.
“The team principal, the technical director, probably half the engineering staff, they’ll all give you quotes about championship-level strategic thinking versus midfield loyalty. ”
“Will that bother you? Reading criticism of your decision from your own team?”
“It’ll destroy me,” he said simply. “But you have to write it anyway, don’t you?”
The weight of it settled between us through the pixelated video connection. I was going to interview the people closest to Jonathan’s career and let them explain why his most principled stand was potentially his biggest mistake.
“There’s something perverse about this,” I said. “You’re risking your championship to stay loyal to someone who helped you get there. I’m risking our relationship to prove I can cover you objectively.”
“Maybe that’s exactly what both of us need to prove.” Jonathan’s smile was sad but genuine. “That we’re willing to sacrifice what’s comfortable for what’s right.”
“Even if what’s right destroys everything we’ve built?”
“Especially then.” He leaned closer to the camera. “Waldo, if your article helps people understand why I made this choice, even if they disagree with it, then maybe the criticism will be worth it. But if you pull your punches to protect my feelings, then we’re both compromised.”