Chapter 114 Callum
callum
He walked into that room, broken and bleeding, just to protect me. That’s the kind of man the FIA almost let be silenced. –Aurelie
The buzz of fluorescent lights clawed at my skull, each flicker like a punch behind the eyes.
Pain throbbed under my ribs, but I didn’t slow down.
The tension in the room hit me before I’d even stepped inside—Henric’s voice raised, the kind of desperate, angry pitch you use when you’re losing an argument.
I shoved the door open without ceremony.
Dominic shadowed me like a silent missile.
The door hit the wall, the sound echoing off the walls and slicing clean through the conversation.
Heads turned. Officials froze. I caught the flicker of annoyance in their eyes before they masked it with practiced neutrality.
Henric spun. “Fraser?” His voice was half shock, half irritation. I wasn’t here for him.
My ribs screamed as I stepped forward. Every breath felt like broken glass. Dominic’s hand hovered near my elbow, but I brushed him off.
I had to do this standing on my own two feet. I needed to feel like I was man enough to fight both Aurélie’s and my battles and remind myself that I did survive and that I was somehow still walking.
“What is the meaning of this?” one of the officials demanded, her tone sharp enough to cut steel.
Her name escaped me, but her reputation didn’t.
Stern. Unyielding. Exactly the kind of person who’d bury Aurélie under a mountain of penalties if given the chance.
Surprising given the systemic sexism that was so apparent in this sport.
I slammed the tablet I’d brought onto the table, the screen already queued to the exact frame I needed. “Play it,” I said, my voice rough and low.
“Mr. Fraser,” one of the men interjected, his voice laced with impatience. “We’ve already reviewed the incident. There’s no need to—”
I cut him off with a sharp gesture, ignoring the pain it sparked. “Then you weren’t looking hard enough.”
The officials exchanged glances, clearly irritated by the interruption, but one of them reached forward and tapped the screen.
The footage played, starting with the helicopter’s view of the crash.
I forced myself to watch it again, even as my body physically recoiled and my hands curled into fists.
The swerve. The spin. The impact. It all played out in brutal clarity.
And then, there it was—the red flags, unmistakable in the corner of the screen.
“Pause it,” I ordered. My voice cracked slightly, and I bit back the frustration that flared at the weakness.
I pointed at the frozen frame, my finger trembling slightly.
My body hurt so fucking bad, and those pain meds had clearly not kicked in yet.
“Right there. The red flags were waving before she got out of the car. She didn’t break protocol. ”
“It’s not as simple as red flags, Mr. Fraser,” the woman argued, her tone clipped. “The rules are clear about leaving the car—”
My laughter was bitter, sharp. “The rules? You’re worried about the rules when the footage shows Morel nearly killing me?
There was no reason for him to push me wide.
He’s a two-time world champion. He’s been in the sport for two decades.
He knows better. This was premeditated, and you all know it. ”
The room fell silent. One of the officials leaned closer to the screen, adjusting her glasses as if a better look would change what was clearly in front of her.
“This doesn’t prove anything,” another official said, his tone dismissive. “She still left her car during a live track.”
I snorted, the sound harsh and humorless.
“A live track?” I gestured to the screen.
“Do you see any cars passing her? Look—she waits until the last car passes her. The red flags stopped the race. The cars had slowed. If you’re so eager to penalize someone, why not start with Morel?
He’s the reason we’re here in the first place. ”
“Mr. Fraser,” the first official said, “you’re clearly emotional. Perhaps it would be best if—”
“You’re damn right I’m emotional,” I snapped, cutting her off.
Dominic shifted beside me, a silent reminder to keep my temper in check, but I ignored him.
“I just survived a 48G impact because another driver decided to play dirty. And now you’re telling me you’re more concerned about penalizing Aurélie for trying to help than you are about holding Morel accountable for nearly killing me?
” I had to lean against the table, my strength fading fast.
Henric stepped forward then, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Callum, let me handle this.”
“No,” I said firmly, my gaze locked on the officials. “You’ve been handling it, and look where that’s gotten us. They’re not listening.”
“You’re out of line,” one of the men growled, his face darkening.
“And you’re out of excuses,” I shot back. My chest heaved with the effort of keeping my voice steady. “You have the footage. You have the proof. What more do you need? An engraved invitation to do your damn jobs, which is to keep us safe?”
Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. The officials exchanged glances, their carefully composed masks cracking under the evidence and my words.
“What, that’s not a good enough reason for you? Watch.” I grabbed the tablet back, fast-forwarding to her comms conversation with Henric. I let it play, clutching onto her stubbornness and anger for some semblance of strength and watching as their faces either dropped or blanched.
“I fucking told them this would happen, and they didn’t listen to me.”
I paused the video again, willing myself to not think about how she went to the FIA already and didn’t tell me until right before the race. “Did she bring this to your attention? Because I, for one, encouraged her to do this weeks ago.”
Again, I was met with silence. I slammed the tablet down on the table, and Dom grabbed my shoulder. I flinched away from him, my bruised flesh protesting.
“She brought us a recording of a conversation of some of the drivers right after Monaco,” the woman finally admitted, and one of the men rubbed his forehead in response. She pinned all of them with a dirty look. “Well, I’m not going to lie to him. He has proof.”
My heart dropped. So it was more than Morel in on it.
“I know, Silvia, but the kind of legal implications this could have—”
“Maybe you should be more concerned about the safety of the drivers that keep your paycheck steadily flowing,” I spat, my voice laced with venom. “Morel has been a problem since the beginning of the season. And it’s not only him, he’s just the most dangerous one.”
Dominic stepped forward, his tone cool and even. “We’re not here to debate semantics or waste time. The evidence is clear. The red flags were out before she exited the car.” He shot me a look, not unkind, that seemed to say, Let me take the reins for a moment.
“The playback does indicate that the red flags were active before Ms. Dubois exited her vehicle,” the woman said, sighing, though her tone suggested she’d rather swallow glass than concede the point.
The men glared at her once again.
“So she’s cleared to race?” Dominic asked, and I was grateful for his interjection. My energy was depleting quickly, and my head was starting to feel woozy.
The officials hesitated, the weight of their decision hanging in the air. Finally, the woman nodded. “Pending further review, she may continue the race.”
Relief flooded my chest, but it was short-lived. “And Morel?” I demanded. “What happens to him?”
“That will require a separate investigation,” another official said, his tone clipped. “For now, he’s cleared to continue, with an appropriate penalty applied.”
My fists clenched at my sides, but Dominic’s hand on my arm stopped me from pressing further. “Let it go, Callum,” he murmured. “We’ve done what we came here to do.” His eyes shifted to the officials. “Though you can be sure we’ll revisit Morel. And when we do, make sure you’re ready.”
I stared at the officials for a moment longer, letting my glare linger before turning on my heel. The pain in my ribs flared as I moved, but I welcomed it. It was a reminder of the crash, of the fight, of the promises I’d made to myself. The one I made to her—that I’d handle the FIA.
“Enjoy the paperwork,” I called over my shoulder. “And when Morel crosses the line again—and he will—I’ll make damn sure the world remembers you could’ve stopped him.”
As soon as the door shut, I sagged against the wall. Dom wrapped an arm around me, supporting me down the hallway.
“Done with your crusade?” he taunted.
“Yeah,” I panted.
“Hospital?”
“Yeah,” I repeated, no energy left to offer. I did what I promised.
Aurélie would race. And Morel? His day of reckoning was coming.