Chapter 164 #3
“Due process doesn’t mean time served for the privileged,” Aurélie protested.
“It doesn’t mean ‘wait and see’ while someone else—someone who’s dangerous—goes back on track.
You can suspend provisionally pending investigation.
You can ensure access to evidence. Or you can keep saying ‘due process’ while drivers keep getting hurt. ”
Reinhardt exhaled slowly, the kind of controlled breath meant to lower the temperature in a room.
“Mademoiselle Dubois, we must be careful not to extrapolate one isolated incident into a pattern. Every driver faces tension in this sport. Tempers rise. Misunderstandings occur. We cannot set a precedent for suspension every time there is… contact.” His voice softened on the last word, as if framing assault like a racing term would make it easier to swallow.
As if that would make this all okay.
My hands curled into fists under the table, but I kept myself in check. For now.
“And other drivers, male or female, have also raised concerns and waited their turn through proper channels.”
Aurélie sighed, the sound quiet but deliberate, and leaned back in her chair.
“Contact?” she repeated, almost gently, though the word landed like a slap in the quiet room.
“I know what wheel-to-wheel contact feels like. I know what a collision feels like. This wasn’t that.
This was hands on my body where they didn’t belong.
This was a man deciding he could use his strength to corner me and then brag about it.
You call that contact?” She let the silence linger, her eyes never leaving his.
“Monsieur Reinhardt… you’re a father. Imagine your daughter describing that to you, and someone brushing it off as a misunderstanding. Would you still call it contact then?”
The tension around the table was palpable, and Reinhardt’s composure cracked for a second when guilt flashed across his features. I knew he was imagining it, his daughter, that the inside world of F1 knew, was his entire life.
“You are right, Aurélie,” Reinhardt said, and my eyes flew to my hairline at the admission.
Everyone in the room took in a collective breath as we awaited his explanation.
“Assault is never acceptable, nor should we turn a blind eye to it. I apologize if my…” his gravelly voice trailed off as he slowly leaned forward on his forearms, eyes only leaving hers to flick to me, “perceived dismissal comes off as brash. My first inclination as the president of the FIA is to protect the brand and the sport as a whole.”
Aurélie just cocked an eyebrow at him. “I appreciate that, but I’d like to know what course of action will be taken to hold Adrian Morel accountable for his inappropriate, violating behavior.
” She appeared as confident as can be, but as she squeezed my hand tighter, I knew she was feeling anything but.
Her free hand gestured to her face. “He left marks. I thought he was going to dislocate my shoulders. And whether you like the word or not, we’ll call it what it is: molestation.
He molested me, and if there isn’t a formal investigation done, despite the damning evidence I’ve already provided, this will go public and I will press charges.
And then the ‘brand’, as you put it, will be tarnished.
Imagine that: you’re employing a sexual predator without reprimand, and allowing him to be around fans.
Children and women all over the world, not to mention the female employees of Orion GP and within the paddock itself. ”
Jesus. Watching her like this made my chest ache and swell at the same time.
I never wanted to get on her bad side, not because she was ruthless, but because she was right.
Righteous, actually, and so goddamn brilliant.
Proud didn’t even cover it; I felt gutted by awe, lit with fury, torn apart by love.
Part of me wanted to stand on the table and scream that if they didn’t protect her, I’d strangle them all myself.
The other part wanted to drop to my knees and kiss the hand that had just eviscerated the president of the FIA with nothing but the truth.
To witness a goddess in action was truly a sight to behold. She was utter perfection, pure radiance, and nothing but the love of my life.
Aurélie seized the pause, her voice steady but laced with steel.
“And while we’re on the subject, let’s not pretend this is only about procedures.
If I were a man, my complaints would’ve been investigated.
If I were a man, the stewards would’ve believed my evidence instead of calling me emotional.
The negligence that nearly killed me, that nearly killed Callum, happened because I was dismissed as a woman first, a driver second.
That negligence opened the door for assault, for tampering, for humiliation.
And if I don’t say that here, in this room, it will keep happening. ”
She didn’t stop there. “You want to talk about progress?” Her gaze swept the table.
“Look at the F1 Academy—good publicity, yes, but it isn’t enough.
You put us in a sandbox and call it inclusion, but once those women graduate, you slam the door.
I’ve had girls come to me, all the way down to the karting leagues, asking how to survive when sponsors won’t touch them, when team bosses laugh them out of the room, when harassment is treated as banter.
I fight for them because no one here does. That’s why I’m here. Not just for me.”
The silence that followed was deafening, and I couldn’t stay quiet anymore.
“She’s right,” I said, my voice carrying even though I didn’t raise it.
“You’ve ignored her because it was easier.
But ignoring her nearly killed her, and nearly killed me.
You want us to separate the personal from the professional like they aren’t bound together by blood and risk every time we step in a car.
But here’s the truth: she’s the bravest, most precise driver I’ve ever seen.
She’s exposing every flaw in your system not because she wants attention, but because she wants every single person on this grid to survive it.
She’s not going anywhere but straight to the top of this sport, both as a driver and as an advocate.
She will change it from the inside out, whether you like it or not.
So if you can’t respect her as a driver, then respect her as the mirror you’re too cowardly to face. ”
The room went still. Seconds stretched. Reinhardt’s eyes stayed on me, sharp, weighing, like he was deciding whether to strike or fold.
“And if I were you,” I continued, “I wouldn’t take her threats for legal action lightly.”
Finally, Reinhardt leaned back in his chair, steepled his hands, and gave a single, reluctant nod.
“Very well,” he said. “A formal investigation will be opened. After this race concludes, we will begin immediately. In the interim, Mademoiselle Dubois, you will be provided additional oversight with security personnel assigned in the paddock, full access to your car’s scrutineering files, and the option to have a GPDA delegate present at all technical meetings. That is my compromise.”
Aurélie exhaled, the faintest sound of relief breaking past her composure. She nodded once, controlled, but her hand tightened on mine under the table. I didn’t need words to know what it meant. Gratitude, resolve… and something that still burned like a live wire between us.
“Thank you,” she said. “For listening. That has literally been ninety percent of my battle, Monsieur Reinhardt.”
I stared at her like I was memorizing her. Every line of argument, every precise term. Genius, not as a headline, but as a weapon, as armor to protect everything she stood for. She wasn’t just surviving this room. She was teaching it.
While she spoke, a separate current flickered to life in the back of my brain, trying to give substance to a wild train of thought.
Orion GP. Ownership handover. New investors.
Rebrand in progress. Reputational hazard.
The kind of words that loomed larger than any penalty a steward could dish out.
If Alain—Auri’s attorney—packaged this evidence and sent it to the incoming owner’s lawyers and insurers with the intention to press charges, they’d torch their own driver to save the deal.
As for the FIA, they didn’t listen to morality. They listened to money. “Bringing the sport into disrepute” suddenly cut both ways—a clause of their own regulations that Aurélie had brought to light during her social media crusade.
My mind kept spinning. I knew the new owner.
He was an old friend of mine, a billionaire business mogul who’d leapt at the chance to own a Formula 1 team.
I’d spoken to him in passing several times about the ongoing acquisition negotiations of Orion GP the last couple of years.
This year, we’d discussed terms of sponsorship, potentially even ownership opportunities…
If I could influence a team from the inside, maybe I could help change the sport itself.
I could help Aurélie, and the other drivers, just by playing a role in who was on the grid.
Forcing out pay drivers, blocking predators like Morel, and make space for drivers who deserved it. Maybe more female drivers, too.
The FIA wanted to ignore Aurélie, but Orion’s lawyers—especially my friend’s shark of an attorney—wouldn’t. This was a lever. One we could pull.
Aurélie could start a lawsuit, and we could use the FIA’s lawyers as our megaphone.
“Mr. Fraser,” Reinhardt said, dragging me back to the surface, “you are cautioned not to let your… personal relationship interfere with your professional obligations. The sport expects objectivity.”
I met his gaze dead-on. “My obligations are to safety and integrity. Both were violated. My relationship hasn’t clouded that.
It’s why I saw it first.” I released Aurélie’s hand and clasped both of mine together on the table, leaning forward with the cocky assurance that I was known for.
“And in case you hadn’t noticed, my ‘professional obligations’ are being met in abundance.
Despite needing to take time off from injury, I still lead the World Driver Championship by more than sixty points.
My involvement with Miss Dubois has not impacted my performance. ”
His lips flattened. He didn’t like the reminder that love wasn’t a weakness.
He definitely didn’t like the implication that their failure was so obvious even a man blinded by devotion could see it.
And most of all, he didn’t like that Aurélie had just planted the seed that if they didn’t act, we’d take this fight somewhere they couldn’t control. Courtrooms. Headlines. Investors.
“And yet, the abandonment of your vehicle yesterday proves otherwise,” he responded smoothly.
“Should your relationship, and this goes for the both of you, interfere with your performance again, we will reconvene on next steps and consider enforcing regulations for interpersonal relationships between drivers.”
My eyes narrowed at him, the gears in my head turning once again as an idea started to form.
Reinhardt shifted back to Aurélie. “Your proposals will be noted. We will—”
“Implemented,” she corrected, voice soft, lethal. “Noted is how we got here.”
Henric cleared his throat, trying to reassert control. “Luminis will review internal processes—”
“With an independent audit,” she snapped.
“Not another internal review that lands in your inbox and disappears. I’m not dumb, Henric.
I know this will try to get swept under the rug to avoid a public scandal.
But my safety—my life—is more important than that.
” Then she turned back to Reinhardt and added, “If the FIA refuses to take steps toward protecting drivers, then drivers will have no choice but to protect themselves. Through every avenue available to them.”
A ripple moved through the room. Reinhardt’s brows dipped. One of the stewards coughed like the words had lodged in his throat. Even Dom leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing like he understood exactly what she’d just implied.
My pulse kicked. Was she hinting at it? Suing? Taking them to court for negligence, discrimination, harassment? I couldn’t tell. And maybe that was the point. Because either way, it worked. The stillness in the room said for the first time, they actually believed she might take action.
A muscle jumped in Reinhardt’s cheek. He understood leverage when he heard it.
But my mind was already five moves ahead, watching the money trail wake up and do the talking no one in this room wanted to hear.
Reinhardt smoothed a page. “We will proceed to the next item: your interaction with Mr. Morel after the qualifying session, Mr. Fraser—”
The storm outside rolled like distant artillery. Inside, every person in this room waited to see who blinked first. I felt Aurélie’s knee brush mine, and when our hands met once again under the table, we became the united front that no one in this sport could eradicate.
She had a crazy plan, and I had an idea to push it just a little bit further.
This is what happened when the track turned into a battlefield. When two drivers chose collision over surrender. When love refused to be a liability and stood up for what was right.
And we were just getting started.