Chapter 188 Callum #2
I didn’t answer right away. My fingers curled tighter around the glass as I thought about all of this.
It wasn’t just business. It was morality and memory, loyalty and legacy.
Making waves to help change happen in all the right places.
And I had to be okay with the fact that going into business with a man like Mercer wasn’t clean.
But maybe that was the point. You didn’t bleach blood with more blood.
You dug down to the bone and started fresh.
And maybe, just maybe, I respected the hell out of him for it. For owning it and for protecting what was his. After all… isn’t that what I was doing for Aurélie? For our friends? For the better of a sport that saved me?
“Because of my name?” I asked finally, once I had come to terms with it all.
Maverick nodded once. “Because of what it stands for. Lachlan tells me he’s been chasing you for months, and now that you're here, I can finally see the shape of this thing. It’s not just viable. It’s future-proof. People trust you, even when they don't trust the sport.”
Beckett picked up where he left off. “We’re projecting returns of €50 to €80 million per season once the rebrand stabilizes.
More if we start placing consistently. But this isn’t just about profit; it’s about permanence.
You’ve been the face of this sport for a decade, Fraser.
And like it or not, that means you’re part of its future too. ”
He paused meaningfully, giving me a look that said he knew exactly where this hit.
“Especially as the fight against systemic sexism—” he broke off, nodding slowly, clearly referencing Aurélie without naming her—“and the demand for equity in this sport ramps up, we need to be ahead of the curve. Progressive, purposeful, and strategic. This team needs to look like the future, not the past.”
Maverick added, “That’s another reason we’re here early.
In the States, F1’s still growing. And that’s great for expansion, but it also means the cracks are easier to see from the outside.
Especially in the staffing. And…” he pinned me with a hard look as he shifted to sit forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, “frankly, in the culture surrounding some of the drivers.”
There it was. The quiet indictment.
“You being involved—on the inside—gives us a hell of a lot more peace of mind.”
I took a sip of the scotch, letting it sit on my tongue for a moment before swallowing. I let the numbers roll around in my head. That was real money. The kind that built something that lasted. The kind that said: I didn’t just race. I built a fucking empire.
“The second?” I urged after a few moments.
“Partial ownership,” Beckett said. “Ten percent stake. €50 million buy-in. You’re in the room, but no final say. Influence, but not power.”
“And sponsorship’s not worth talking about,” Maverick added. “That’d make you a glorified mascot. You’re not a mascot.”
“No,” I said flatly. “I’m not.” I leaned back, the scotch warm in my throat.
There was a time not too long ago when I wouldn’t have hesitated. I would've signed the deal before Beckett finished the pitch.
I loved racing. I still did. The rush of lights-out, the scream of the engine, the way the world narrowed to milliseconds and muscle memory. I loved the grid and the ruthless competition and the roar of the crowd. The split-second decisions that made you a god or a ghost.
I wasn’t ready to let that go. But then I thought of her.
Aurélie. I thought of how her voice went soft when she whispered my name.
How her eyes darkened when she was tired or teasing or holding herself together by a thread.
How her hand had trembled when she walked out that hotel suite door, and how I’d let her go anyway.
I thought of the way she made me feel, how hard I’d fallen in love with her, and how this sport needed to be as safe for her as it had been for me. She deserved that, and she deserved a fair shot at her own title.
My heart squeezed. I hadn’t heard from her since yesterday, when she got to her new house.
But nothing beyond that. I’d expected a text.
A call. Something. Anything, especially after she’d called while she was driving, saying she needed to talk to me about something. But my phone had been silent all day.
Maybe she was just tired and busy. Maybe she was catching up with her siblings.
Still, my hand itched to pick up my phone and call her myself. I didn’t. Instead, I turned back to the men across from me. Two billionaires. One legacy. A choice.
“You want control,” Beckett said.
“I want to build something that outlasts me,” I said quietly.
“That’s what this is,” Maverick replied. “We’re not here to play it safe. We’re here to flip the system.”
“And what about Morel?”
Beckett shrugged. “We’ve already gutted his influence. Sophie’s got Interpol pressure on the back end. If you’re in, the dominoes fall faster. People still trust you. They want to believe in someone who gives a damn.”
“And you think that’s me?”
“I think you care more than you let on,” Maverick said. “And people follow men like that.”
I drained the rest of the scotch. They were right. I wasn’t just doing this for me. I was doing this for the future I wanted. For the people I cared about. For the woman who’d wormed her way into my heart and filled a void I didn’t know I had, then demanded I learn how to live without armor.
The silence in my pocket burned.
“Send the contracts,” I said. “I’ll have my legal team review them. And, of course, Aurélie, if you don’t mind.”
Beckett and Maverick stared at me for a beat. Then Beckett gave a low chuckle, lifted his glass, and said, “She really does have you by the balls, doesn’t she?”
Maverick barked out a laugh, deep and unbothered. “Same, brother. And yet, you’d burn the world for her, wouldn’t you?”
I didn’t deny it. Just met their stares and deadpanned, “Glad someone finally noticed.”
He hummed. “I spent most of my life refusing to be owned by anything. Turns out, I didn’t mind if it was Sophie.”
Chuckling, I responded with, “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“Enough with this lovefest.” Beckett stood to refill his glass. “We’ll need a decision soon, Fraser. The rebrand clock’s ticking.”
“You’ll have one,” I promised.
They shifted back into business talk. Timelines, launch campaigns, potential dates for unveiling the new name. I nodded when I needed to, asked the right questions, took a second scotch when it was offered.
But my head wasn’t fully in it anymore. It was on a certain woman in the French countryside not too far from me, trying to turn a house into a home.
As the meeting stretched on, I felt that subtle tug again in my gut. The one that always meant something was wrong. I ignored it, even though my instincts were screaming at me to pay attention to her absence.
Because she always answered. Until now.