3. Elizabeth
Since I arrived in London on Tuesday, my schedule has been nonstop.
Every second of every day is filled with meetings, strategy sessions, chats with journalists, and crisis training workshops.
And that’s not even counting all the international travel.
I like being busy and I love the rush of a crisis, but this pace is nearly too much.
Not that I would ever let anyone know. My job is to get this team through this scandal. So if that means I need to survive on three hours of sleep and more coffee than is likely medically safe, then that’s what I’ll do.
I stand at the back of the room in Bahrain, waiting for the drivers to take the stage. David and I drilled Wes and Hyunjoon on how to answer the questions they’ll inevitably receive this weekend, and it turns out that Wes really is a PR dream.
Since looking him up and contemplating handing in my resignation letter the second the search results populated, I’ve learned that he’s the handsome, affable American in a sport where Americans aren’t all that common.
He has graced gossip sites, been a guest on late-night shows, and is a brand ambassador for a mix of luxury and household brands.
In addition, he’s a tabloid staple. There’s no lack of rumors about his playboy antics: partying on yachts with billionaires and frequenting high-roller casinos, not to mention the rampant rumors about his bedroom preferences.
If you believe the internet, the man is not just a bisexual icon, but a modern-day Apollo who has slept with every celebrity on the planet.
Then there’s the very small but extremely vocal minority that is adamant he’s in an open relationship with Stas Dubinsky.
Aside from the rumors, I’ve learned the facts about Wesley F.
Grant. He was born and raised just outside of Boston.
He started karting when he was five and made his Formula 1 debut with Orion Motorsports when he was 20, alongside Stas.
He won a lot of races with them—but he never won the Drivers’ Championship.
After eight years at Orion, he shocked the motorsports world when he left for Sterling, their biggest competitor.
That decision was a terrible one. Wes had a rough time at Sterling, never performing the way people expected.
After they canceled his contract early, he ended up at Bosch, a less successful “mid-field” team for the next two years, where everyone agrees he found as much success as he could in a car that was never going to win.
Then, he landed at Martine, where he was once again teammates with Stas and driving better than he had in years.
These days, he’s one of the older drivers in F1, but no one is in a hurry for him to retire.
After studying his interviews, it’s clear that he’s not just highly media trained, but genuinely at ease in front of cameras and journalists—even when they’re out for blood.
Though he says things that toe the edge of reckless and often uses the type of humor that’s easy to misconstrue, I’m not particularly concerned about him today.
Hyunjoon, on the other hand, I’m worried about. During our crisis training session, I role-played a ruthless journalist and he crumbled under the pressure.
On top of everything we’re already dealing with, Hyunjoon announced that he and his girlfriend, Min Sora, are publicly unveiling their relationship this weekend.
Since she’s a K-pop megastar, there will be all sorts of new eyes on not just him and the team, but the entire sport—so gossip about Martine Racing is going to hit an even higher fever pitch than expected.
But that’s tomorrow’s problem.
Today, we need both Wes and Hyunjoon to project confidence, stability, and focus. We need them to reassure people that Martine Racing has things under control.
“Excuse me,” a stunning Black woman with an American accent says. “You’re Elizabeth Jacobs, right?”
“That’s right.”
“I heard a rumor that Martine brought you in,” she says. “Smart of them.”
“Thank you,” I say cautiously. Strangers don’t usually know my name, let alone recognize me. “Are you also in public relations?”
She breathes a laugh. “No, I’m a presenter. My name is Chalondra Matthews. You probably don’t remember me, but I was dating Zeke when you worked with him.”
Ezekiel Bello was one of my earliest crisis clients: a basketball player who found himself canceled after he went on a podcast and disparaged a boy band with a very active fanbase.
He deserved the backlash, but I did my job anyway, complete with recommendations for rehabbing his image and educating himself. “Oh, wow.”
“Yeah,” Chalondra says. “I promise my taste in men has improved.”
I grin at her in solidarity. Unfortunately, Zeke did not learn his lesson. When his team called me a couple months later, I saw the writing on the wall and declined the work. I’m glad that Chalondra also got away from him and his toxic masculinity.
“I was so impressed with how you handled his situation. I’ve followed your career since,” she says, handing me her card. “If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to reach out.”
“Thanks, Chalondra. I really appreciate it.”
“Us girls have to stick together.” She gives me a look that communicates precisely how sick of misogynists, bigots, and trolls she is. It’s one I know all too well. “I have to get to a prep meeting, but it was nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” I say. “Enjoy the weekend.”
“I’ll do my best,” she says with a smile. “See you around, Elizabeth.”
When the drivers walk in, there’s a palpable shift in the room’s energy.
My brow furrows when I see a wide smile on Wes’s face as he chats with the driver next to him. This is not the behavior we discussed. We agreed that he needed to be sharp and serious today rather than a himbo who provides comedic relief.
As the press conference gets under way, the reporters start with Hyunjoon.
He’s asked about making his F1 debut, and he comes across exactly as he is: earnest and a little overwhelmed, but focused.
When the journalists exhaust their questions for the rookie, it’s like someone flips a switch.
Suddenly, every reporter has their hand in the air—and it’s easy to guess who they all want to talk to.
The first few questions for Wes go well.
Though they’re harder hitting, Wes handles it all gracefully, reiterating that Martine Racing is united, that of course he’s looking forward to working with Albrecht, that though the circumstances are horrifying, he’s happy that Hyunjoon has the opportunity to drive.
One of the other drivers—a blond man with a mustache and a Scandinavian accent—quips, “Should the rest of us just go or do you have questions for us?” Wes turns to him and says, “I did warn you,” which makes the journalists laugh.
It’s a nice break in the tension, and from there, questions go to the others. Though I do my best to stay focused, my mind wanders as words like “downforce,” “pace,” and “delta” are thrown around.
“This question is for Wes Grant,” a journalist says, and I watch as Wes sits up straighter, his eyes trained on the man speaking, his jaw set—as if he already knows this question has been designed to piss him off.
“You and Stas have been close for years. Are we to believe that you truly did not know about his connection with organized crime?”
This is something we talked about. Wes’s long history with Stas is a huge red flag, and journalists are going to be combing through their friendship to determine if Wes is involved, too.
He’s sworn up and down that he had no idea, that Stas never confided in him or asked him for any odd favors.
We figure that if Stas is guilty, Wes has likely come in contact with some of these criminals over the years—and we are prepared if something comes out that ties him to this organization.
But we were hoping it’d be at least another week before questions like these came up.
Wes takes a deep breath. “You know, this is something I keep asking myself. Because you’re right, I have known Stas for a long time.
I’ve been going through my memories, trying to figure out if maybe there was something that might have tipped me off.
And you know what? There was a dinner a few years ago that I thought was weird.
Then, this other time, Stas and I were out in Dubai and he very literally gambled away a Bugatti Centodieci.
Seriously! But he said the car was a gift that he didn’t care about, and I believed him because…
I mean, y’all know Stas. He’s aloof like that.
I guess what I’m saying is that, with hindsight, maybe there were signs.
But at the time, even if there was something illegal happening right in front of me, I had no idea what was going on. ”
Rage so hot it could melt a precious F1 engine courses through my veins.
He was supposed to say, ‘No, I was not aware’.
That’s it. A brief, succinct sentence that gives the reporters nothing to work with.
Instead, he told two stories about times he might have very well been an accessory to big-deal crimes, but maybe it’s okay because he simply didn’t realize it!
Wes’s gaze meets mine across and I narrow my eyes. He has the audacity to grin.
When a sandy-haired Australian driver says, “Mate, now that you mention it, there was a night out with Stas that never sat right with me,” and then goes on to give his own example of some borderline shady shit the Russian driver pulled, Wes meets my gaze again and lifts his eyebrows.
As each of the drivers on stage relays their own story about Stas, I understand Wes’s play.
He prepped these guys for this and is giving the reporters what they want: wild stories about Stas Dubinsky.
Beyond that, he’s given himself—and basically every other driver and employee Stas has ever been out with—plausible deniability.
It isn’t a bad strategy.
But it isn’t what we discussed. It isn’t what I gave him permission to say. And it’s going to throw the media sentiment we anticipated way, way off.
It’s going to be a very long weekend.