Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
Bex
“H ow surreal is your life?” Amanda Bertram asks as I lead her through the sleek, modern corridors of the Titans Racing headquarters in Guildford. I dressed for the interview today since they’re taking photos to go with the article being written about me in Echelon magazine. My heels click against the polished stone floor as I give her an impromptu tour.
I’d normally be wearing something far more comfortable—suitable for long hours gazing at monitors, but I never mind dressing up. I chose a sleek cranberry wool dress with a plaid scarf around my neck, took time curling my long blond hair and actually put on makeup. It’s apparently a drastic difference because people I’ve been working with since I was hired have done double takes when they see me.
“I think I’ll be saying pinch me for the next few years,” I admit with a laugh.
The main building of the Guildford headquarters is much like the Pittsburgh building. Actually, like most FI headquarters in that they’re immaculately designed with precision and an eye for modern details, just as everything else is in the world of Formula International. The walls are a bright white but the outer-most walls are comprised of floor-to-ceiling windows and open-space cubicles within. It’s a far cry from the worn-in chaos of the FI2 teams, who don’t have the money to put into fancy buildings.
The one thing that is universal though is the steady hum of purpose in the air as we all work toward greatness. I love that vibe almost as much as I love the thrill of race day.
“Here we are,” I say, stopping at the door to my office. It’s not traditional by any means. There’s no executive desk, no fancy leather chair to sink into. Rather, I work at a long bench built into the wall with five monitors spread before me. More large screens line the walls, showing telemetry data, race schedules, weather forecasts and tire wear estimates. The center of the room is dominated by a large round table where the team comes together to hash out race strategies, track conditions and countless other variables. Ergonomic chairs designed to keep pressure off our backs as we hunker over keyboards sit empty for the moment.
I gesture toward the screens. “This is where it all happens. Data is our most valuable tool, and we use it in real time to adjust our strategy mid-race. We track everything—tire degradation, fuel load, competitors’ pit stops, the weather… it’s all here.”
Amanda’s in her mid-thirties and she admitted to me when we met not long ago that she knows nothing about racing. However, she was specifically assigned this interview so she could convey to the women who read their magazine a little about the sport in understandable, approachable terms. She looks boggled as she takes it all in. “It’s hard to even process. This looks like the nerve center of a big brain.”
I grin at the description and think of my father calling me The Brain. “In a way, it is. The strategy engineers are responsible for the big picture—the race strategy—based on the data we get. We take all these component pieces and coordinate with the designers, engineers, drivers and the rest of the team to ensure we make the right decisions at the right time.”
I move toward one of the screens, swiping through race data. “These numbers right here helped us analyze the tire degradation during the Bahrain race last week. We use that information in relation to the weather, other teams’ pit stops, and length of race to make real-time decisions.”
She nods, impressed but clearly not really understanding, so she moves to the real crux of this article. “And you’re the first woman to hold this role in FI history?”
There’s no describing the flush of pride welling in me. I remember the tears in my dad’s eyes when I told him I’d been offered the job. I glance at the framed photo of me in my first season with Bauer Performance Racing hanging on the wall. I’d thought that was the pinnacle of my career, working for an FI2 team—the lower-tiered race organization that operated under Bauer FI Racing in Vienna. Sometimes I doubt the reality of me standing here in this pristine space, knowing how far I’ve come.
“Yes, I am. And to be honest, it’s still a bit surreal. Part of me can’t believe I’m here.” I turn back to her, motioning to one of the chairs so we can settle in for the rest of the interview. “But it’s been a journey.”
She sits across from me at the table, her recorder poised, ready to capture every word. “Let’s talk about that journey then. You didn’t just wake up one day and become a race strategy engineer.”
The journey wasn’t an easy one, and it certainly wasn’t linear. But it was inevitable. “I grew up in racing. My dad was chief of the pit crew at Union Jack Motorsports. I was raised in the pit garages, surrounded by cars, drivers and mechanics. My dad was always there—working long hours, making sure everything ran smoothly. I spent my childhood at tracks all over the world, watching the sport up close.”
“So it’s in your DNA,” Amanda muses.
“I don’t know there’s any other way to consider it,” I agree with a chuckle, remembering with so much fondness those early days. “I was a sponge. I asked questions. A lot of them. I wanted to know how everything worked—the strategies, the tech, the team dynamics. Dad was always patient with me. I think he saw something in me early on, and he encouraged me to follow my curiosity.”
“I imagine there weren’t a lot of other little girls in the garages. And it’s still a male-dominated sport. What made you think you belonged?”
Excellent question. While all my friends were off playing with dolls and painting their nails, I was turning socket wrenches. I shrug, not feeling like I lost out on anything. “I’m lucky that my father never put up barriers for me. On the contrary, he made me believe there were no barriers in this sport.”
“But I’ll bet there were plenty of barriers,” she guesses.
“Being a woman in this field, you have to prove yourself more than most. There are still people who don’t think I belong, but I’ve learned to tune them out. My dad taught me that the work speaks for itself.”
Away from the mind-bending data analysis that is central to my job, this information is clearly captivating to Amanda. As we talk, I can see her excitement at the possibility of sharing my story with all the little girls out there. “And your education? Exactly how does one become a race strategy engineer?”
“It’s definitely a niche job,” I reply, thinking about just how hard it is to break into this world, male or female. “There are probably no more than thirty to fifty strategy jobs at any one time across all of Formula International and its subseries teams. But you asked about my education.” I fill her in on those details and she scribbles notes. “I didn’t want to just be another ‘enthusiast’ in the sport. I wanted to understand the technical side. The engineering, the aerodynamics, the strategy. Everything. But it was the strategy I was drawn to.”
“Let me guess,” Amanda says with a smirk. “I’m betting you’re a hell of a chess player.”
Grinning, I admit, “Backgammon’s more my game, but I’m not too bad at chess.”
“What did you do after graduation?”
I lean forward, clasping my hands on the table. “I joined Bauer Performance Racing in Vienna, which is owned by Bauer FI Racing. At first, it was just a junior role, helping out with data analysis and pit strategy for their FI2 team. But I was driven. I kept pushing for more responsibility, and eventually, they brought me on as the strategy engineer for the team. I was only twenty-four at the time, but I didn’t back down. I wanted to prove that I could handle the pressure, that I could think on my feet, and that I could outsmart the competition.”
I pause, remembering the countless hours working under the fluorescent lights, mapping out race strategies, split-second decisions that could make or break the entire race. I worked twice as hard and twice as many hours as anyone else, just so no one could ever find fault with me. “The FI2 team taught me a lot about adapting on the fly, managing risk and keeping calm under pressure. That’s when I first realized I could do this at a higher level. So, when the opportunity with Titans Racing came up, I didn’t hesitate.”
The reporter leans in. “Titans Racing is huge. A new ownership, a new direction. How did it feel to come into a team like this?”
Funny, my feelings upon first accepting this job are radically different now that Nash Sinclair is one of the drivers, but I keep that to myself. “It’s been a whirlwind, honestly. Brienne Norcross is an incredible woman, and when they offered me the position here, I knew it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She’s been a game changer for the team. She’s brought in new technology, new processes, and she’s not afraid to shake things up. It’s been a challenging but exciting ride so far.”
Amanda jots down more notes, looking up at me. “I can imagine. But being the first woman to take on such a role must come with its challenges, right?”
I let out a small laugh, vowing not to go all feminist, even though that’s the bulk of Echelon ’s readers. “Of course. You’re constantly proving yourself. People question you more, second-guess you more. I’ve had my fair share of doubters, both in the industry and outside of it. But honestly, that’s what drives me. If I can break through those barriers and prove my worth, then I’ve done my job.” Amanda hangs on every word. I lean back in my chair and smile genuinely. “At the end of the day, it’s not about gender. It’s about who can make the best decisions, who can manage the pressure, who can outthink the competition. And that’s the most important thing in motorsports. We’re here to win, plain and simple.”
Amanda stares at me in awe. “You’ve certainly made an impact on me today. What’s next for you and for Titans Racing?”
I glance around the room—my space—taking in the state-of-the-art technology, the images of race victories from past seasons. It’s a reminder of what’s at stake. My gaze slides back to her. “We’re just getting started. The team’s been through a lot of changes, and there’s a lot of work ahead. But we’re on the right track. Jeddah will be a challenge, but I know we have the right team in place to keep pushing forward.”
I don’t bother mentioning that we’re using our backup driver for this race or that the team principal was fired two days ago and everyone is spinning a bit. I certainly don’t mention Nash joining the team or his upcoming debut in Melbourne.
And she doesn’t ask, because she doesn’t care. The story is about a woman in a male-dominated sport, and I’m happy with sticking to those facts.
I smile, feeling the weight of the future pressing against my shoulders in a very delicious way. “And as for me, I’m here to do one thing—win.”
Amanda grins, impressed by my confidence. “I think you’re going to do just that, Bexley. Thanks for the interview. It’s been a pleasure. I’ve got a photographer on standby in the lobby if we can get some pictures down there with the cars.”
I’m slightly disappointed by that, figuring she’d want me in my element, among my computers, charts and spreadsheets. But I get it… the cars are beautiful and there are five of them under spotlights in the lobby. “Of course. Let’s get that done so I can get to work.”
?
After the interview and photographs, I stop by the cafeteria to grab a cup of tea and a scone, having skipped breakfast since it took me longer than normal to get ready this morning. I’m a few minutes early for our final race strategy meeting before we all leave for Jeddah tomorrow, so I can spare the time. Bernie and Matthieu were in the simulator yesterday and I took that data, studied it, and cross-worked scenarios with weather and expected track conditions.
The room is already full when I step inside: Hendrik, Matthieu, Bernie, and a few members of the strategy team are gathered around the table with laptops open. I’m not surprised to see Nash here as well. Although he won’t be stepping in as an official driver until the Melbourne race, he’s been involved in the preparations for Jeddah when he’s not been doing his own training. He doesn’t even glance at me, which is completely fine. We’ve passed by each other in the halls several times in the last few days, but we haven’t even looked at each other.
That won’t be a luxury we enjoy much longer though. Eventually, we’ll have to interact and I’m not looking forward to it.
Bernie is leaning back in his chair, a half-smile playing at his lips as he drums his fingertips on his thighs. Matthieu is beside him, focused on a digital note pad in front of him. He’s a better driver than Bernie and he knows he’s the star of this race. He also knows this is his only time to be the star as Nash has been given the number one position. I only know the details of that contract deal because, as the chief strategy engineer, I’ll be factoring that into our race decisions.
All heads turn to me, the only female in the room. I take a deep breath and make my way to the end of the table where Hendrik sits. As the chief engineer, he oversees performance and development of the cars, managing several engineering departments, including mechanical, aerodynamics, electronics and the like.
Race strategy is my department, but he is my boss, so I’m not surprised to find him here. Although I’d sent him my recommendations in a report late last night, I’m new to the team and would expect his oversight.
Hendrik nods in greeting but no one else even acknowledges me.
Except Nash. His expression is pinned on me as I take my seat but so dead and expressionless, it’s a bit hurtful.
This is our last meeting before the race. We leave tomorrow, so this is where I’ll spell out the entire strategy and we’ll all work to tweak it together. The drivers will know exactly what will happen and where, barring any upheavals by other cars and teams. I hate that my palms are slightly sweaty as I cast my laptop screen to a large TV on the wall for everyone to see.
“All right, let’s get started,” I say, maneuvering to a spreadsheet that shows the final simulation data. “I’ve reviewed everything from last night’s sims, and based on the projected track conditions and temperature, we’ve got two viable strategies. I’ve broken them down according to the drivers’ strengths and the likely impact of tire degradation. After brainstorming with the entire strategy team, here’s my recommendation.”
I bring up the screen, showing the simulation data for both Bernie and Matthieu and go over the key points. I then pull up a comparison to the data from the last time the team raced in Jeddah, adjusting for upgrades to the cars made in the past year. A database spreadsheet contains numbers that would be incomprehensible for them to interpret, so I only show them the summary page with a projection of tire degradation based on known track conditions, weather and speed.
“For Bernie, I suggest a more conservative approach. The lower tire wear rate in the first half of the race will allow us to maintain pace without pushing too hard. We’ll maximize his stint on the harder compounds to avoid unnecessary risk.”
I click through to Matthieu’s data. “For Matthieu, on the other hand, the strategy should focus on pushing hard in the beginning. We can afford to risk a quicker stint on the softer compound for his faster lap times. If he’s able to capitalize on the first few laps and gain positions early, we’ll make up ground before the track temperatures drop and tire performance degrades.”
I pause, scanning the room. I feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me but shrug it off. I’ve had to present my data before and my track record—pun totally intended—has always produced favorable and often winning results.
“That’s the gist of it,” I say after finishing the last slide. “But as always, this is just the strategy engineer’s suggestions. I’ll need everyone’s feedback to finalize the plan.”
I take a breath and look up at the group. I sense the subtle shift in the room. Matthieu’s expression is one of mild disinterest. Bernie’s face, however, has already twisted into a scowl.
“Let me get this straight,” Bernie says, the arrogance dripping from his words. “You want me to basically play it safe while Matthieu gets to go full throttle? I’m a team driver here, not his warm-up lap.”
There’s a hint of resentment in his voice, and I don’t blame him. But this is the strategy that makes sense. I can see it in the data. I’ve had to weigh risks against reward, and there’s a reason Bernie’s been a backup driver and not called to fill a permanent slot in FI racing.
I know it’s the right decision.
“Yes, Bernie,” I reply evenly, keeping my tone calm. “Your approach has to be less aggressive to ensure we don’t risk losing tire life in the early laps. You need to maintain pace, avoid overdriving the car, and focus on consistency. We can’t afford to make mistakes and our goal for you is to get a top ten finish.”
Formula racing is both a team and an individual sport, and while the drivers compete for their own championship, I don’t work for them individually. I work for Titans Racing and we are striving as a company to win the Constructor’s Shield. That’s a point-based championship and you must finish in the top ten of the twenty drivers in the field to get points.
Bernie scoffs. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are we in a race or a test session?” He leans forward, his tone condescending. “I’m not going to let you ‘play it safe’ with me and I want to push as hard as we can.”
I glance at Hendrik, but his gaze is fixed on the screen in front of him, unreadable. He’s not jumping in, not yet.
“Bernie,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “The data shows that tire degradation is significantly higher when the temperatures drop at night. The race won’t be until eight p.m. The expected lower track temperatures will affect tire performance. Going too hard, too fast, will risk overheating or even blistering the compounds.”
“It’s fucking Saudi Arabia. We’re in the desert. How cold can a track get?”
I inhale a calming breath. “It’s not about the track being cold it’s about the track cooling when the sun goes down. It will affect the tires regardless if we’re in the desert.”
Matthieu, who’s been silent until now, shifts in his chair, a smug look spreading across his face. “I agree with Bernie. You’re asking him to drive like he’s racing in a simulator, Bexley. No real driver would follow that kind of strategy unless they’re just too scared to get the job done.”
I glance at Matthieu, resisting the urge to call him out for the arrogance that oozes from his pores. He’s not advocating for Bernie. He’s just making it clear that he’s the preferential driver. He’s more concerned with showing off than with what works in the race.
“Actually,” I say, looking directly at him, “the strategy is based on sound judgment. It’s not about fear, Matthieu. It’s about understanding the reality of the race. We’ve seen high tire wear on this track in the past, and the cooling temperatures will only exacerbate that. I’m managing risk, which is what I’m paid to do.”
“Risk?” Matthieu laughs, his voice harsh. “You think we’re here to play it safe? This is Formula International, not a Sunday drive. If you’re going to manage risk, you’re already a step behind and I have to wonder if you even know what you’re doing.” He then looks at Bernie and winks. “I’m thinking they were just trying to fill some quota of women in the organization since Norcross took it over.”
My blood boils but I don’t react. That’s what they want me to do, so I just stare at the two drivers.
Hendrik shifts in his seat, leaning forward and speaking to Bernie. “She has a point. Tire management will be crucial in these conditions and there’s a reason we employ engineers to look at this data.”
Bernie crosses his arms, still not convinced. “I don’t like it, Hendrik. I need to know you’re not setting me up to fail with this ‘safe’ strategy.”
That’s a somewhat serious accusation to make, as no one would ever set up their drivers to fail. Not to mention, this isn’t a unique plan. Many teams will be employing the same strategy. I have to assume because Bernie is young and hasn’t ever sat at this table with the expectation of running a race, he’s speaking from pure emotion right now.
I clear my throat, bringing Bernie’s attention back to me. “It’s not about setting you up to fail. It’s about getting the best result for the team, considering the circumstances. If you push too hard and lose tire life, you’re not going to get the result we need, and it’s crucial you get a top ten. We’ll make adjustments as the race progresses, but we need to start steady.”
“Whatever,” Bernie mutters petulantly, clearly not thrilled but not entirely resistant. “I’ll go with it for now.”
I turn to Matthieu. “You’ll be taking more risks in the beginning, but we’ll also adjust for tire wear. It’s not just about raw speed—it’s about strategy and making those moves at the right time.”
Matthieu gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, sure. As long as I’m not holding back while Bernie tiptoes around.”
“Fuck you,” Bernie growls, but I ignore it.
I hold Matthieu’s gaze. “We all have our jobs to do. If we execute the strategy properly, we can get wins for the team. That includes you.”
I glance at Nash, who’s been silent the entire time. His expression is hard to read, but I can see he’s interested in the conversation. While I didn’t expect him to come to my defense—because I don’t need defending, especially from him—I had expected him to give input since he’s raced in Jeddah a few times. But he remains pensive and aloof.
“I think this is settled for now,” Hendrik says after a long silence, clearly eager to move the conversation along. “We’ll keep refining the strategies, but the final decisions will be made at the track based on how things look once we have more data. Let’s get to work.”
The other engineers scurry to do the million things they need to do and Matthieu and Bernie bolt for the door. Nash lags behind, talking to one of the tire guys, and I prepare to head back to my office.
“Bexley… a word,” Hendrik says, halting me in my tracks.
I bestow a curious smile, eager to help. “What’s up?”
“I get you’re trying to find your way in FI, but a bit of advice.” He pauses, shoves his hands in his front pockets and rocks on the balls of his feet casually. “You need to tone down the way you talk to the drivers. It comes off a little…” He seems to be searching for the word, but I can tell he already has it in mind. “A little bitchy. Like it’s that time of the month or something.”
My jaw locks, simply to prevent it from dropping open. I should have expected this shit as I’ve had to put up with it from the time I started having an opinion on racing. If you go against the grain, or dare have an opinion contrary to someone else, you’re seen as overly emotional and without reason or logic. It infuriates me and I guess I expected the people in FI would be more evolved or something.
Apparently not.
While I don’t want to get into it with the chief engineer, as none of us have time for it, I can’t help but ask, “Maybe soften my voice a little?” I ask sweetly.
“Yes, that would help.”
“Smile more,” I add, as if struck by genius.
He starts to nod and then I can see he understands that I’m not making genuine suggestions at all. His tone goes icy. “Just stay in your lane, Toliver.”
“Always do,” I reply with a straight face. “It’s a basic tenet in racing.”
Hendrik stares at me a moment longer and then turns on his heel. I sigh and then from the corner of my eye see Nash moving to the door. When he reaches it, he turns back and says, “You shouldn’t let him talk to you that way.”
And I bristle, because he’s right, and I don’t want him to be right. “Your advice is not something I need.”
Nash shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
He exits the room and somehow, I feel worse about that tiny exchange with Nash than I do about the misogynistic comments from my boss.