CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Asher
On Monday, I sat at the oval glass table in the conference room at headquarters with Ale and Sean, the lawyer Ale had found.
Lack of sleep left my eyes dry and itchy, and sweat dampened my white shirt.
Ethan was doing better, which should’ve calmed me, but anxiety still pressed heavy against my chest.
At a quarter to ten, the door opened. Two men walked in. The shorter one—Ethan’s agent—greeted us and sat across from Ale. The other, a lanky man with a bald head, gray suit, and black-rimmed glasses, nodded once before lowering into the chair beside him.
“My name is Mark Jones,” he said. “I represent Mr. Ethan Brooks.”
I glanced at Ale. His concerned gaze met mine, and all I wanted was for this to be over.
After the introductions, Mark placed a thin black folder on the table.
“Mr. Brooks endured a brutal beating, resulting in both physical injuries and profound emotional distress. Taking into account the financial burdens from medical expenses, it is our position Mr. Williams owes compensation for the extensive damages he caused.” He slid the folder toward Sean.
“Our settlement offer outlines compensation for both tangible and intangible losses suffered by Mr. Brooks.”
Money. That’s what Ethan wanted. The asshole had egged me on, and now I’d have to pay. Dread churned in my stomach as Sean opened the folder, skimmed the pages, and handed them to me. I set the contract flat so Ale could read too.
As my eyes swept the document, dread flared into rage. My hands shook, and I bit my tongue to keep from telling Mark to go fuck himself—even though the six zeroes staring back at me weren’t his fault. Neither was the line stating that if I refused to pay, Ethan would go to the media.
“This is a fucking joke,” Ale muttered.
The amount Ethan demanded was more than I’d earned with Forward Racing. Paying him would wipe me out. Not paying him would destroy my reputation. My father’s legacy. My career.
Nausea clawed up my throat. If Ethan had asked me to leave the team, it would’ve been better than this. “I need time to review this,” I said.
Mark nodded. “Understandable. But we believe it’s in everyone’s interests to settle amicably without escalating to court. Our offer expires end of day tomorrow.”
I gathered the pages. “My lawyer will be in touch.”
“All right.” Mark pushed his chair back and stood. Ethan’s agent rose with him.
As soon as they said goodbye and left, Ale unleashed a stream of Spanish curses. “This is abuse. You don’t even make that much yet.”
I glared at the page wrecking my life. “I don’t have a choice.”
Russell didn’t believe me. All he cared about was his bottom line. Kaia was just an accessory, and I was still racing. Still making him money. Why would he lift a finger to help? Nobody heard Ethan and me—it was my word against his.
Ale exhaled hard. “We need a guarantee he’ll stay quiet. An NDA. And indemnity. I don’t trust him.”
“I can draft it,” Sean said. “Just tell me what to include.”
My shoulders sagged under the weight of it all. Ale and Sean discussed the NDA while I stared ahead, numb. It was my life. My money. I should’ve said something, but I couldn’t bring myself to open my mouth.
“I’ll email it this afternoon and copy you both,” Sean said, rising.
Ale shook his hand. “Thank you.”
I muttered a goodbye, and Sean left.
Ale touched my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
He looked at me with pity. I hated feeling so weak. So powerless.
“Of course I’m not fucking okay,” I snapped. “Would you be? That asshole’s about to take everything I’ve earned and more. I’ll have to race for years just to make that kind of money—and still see his fucking face every day because we’re teammates.”
Ale sighed, leaning against the table with his arms crossed. “I know, mi nino.”
“Sorry.” I dragged both hands through my hair.
“I could tell Ethan to go fuck himself, but if he runs his mouth, the fight will hit the media. Imagine if he drags Kaia into it—outs our relationship or lies about her. She’s eighteen.
He could. And if one day I’m good enough to race for a RevGlobe GP team, a scandal like this could kill my chances of signing. ”
Not to mention the sponsors. My career had barely started. I couldn’t blow it—or let Dad down more than I already had. But I also couldn’t give Ethan what he wanted.
“I hate this,” Ale said. “I’ll try to find another solution anyway.”
I shook my head. “Please don’t. Believe me, it’ll be easier to shut him up. I’ll pay—but not that much. If I do, I’ll never dig out from under it.”
“You won’t pay that amount,” Ale said firmly. “We’ll negotiate. I’ve seen this more times than I’d like to admit. They’re just trying to squeeze you for everything they can.”
Ale had warned me against signing with Forward Racing, but I’d been convinced they were my ticket to a better future.
For the first time, I wondered if I should’ve listened.