"He leaked those photos to create chaos. To destabilize William, to distract me, to throw the team off-balance before Jeddah." I count off the objectives on my fingers. "He wants us reacting, not acting."
"So what's the counter-play?" Belforte asks, elbows propped on the table, now fully engaged.
"We hit him where it hurts. Publicly. In front of the people whose opinions he actually cares about."
"The other Team Principals?" Blake guesses.
"No." I shake my head. "His sponsors."
Belforte's eyes widen slightly. Then he laughs—a rich, genuine sound. "Oh, I get it. And I like it." He raises his glass in a mock toast, excitement radiating from him. "Hit the bastard in his wallet."
Blake's forehead creases. "I'm not sure I follow."
"Dominic loves his reputation as F1's puppet master," I explain. "But his sponsors don't pay him millions to play dirty politics. They pay him to win races and present a certain image. Well, he’s not winning races this season, so…"
"So you'll... what? Tell his sponsors he leaked private photos?" Blake sounds doubtful. "That's a serious accusation without proof."
"I don't need to accuse him of anything," I reply. "He’s going to tell me about it while we have a very cordial conversation with him about 'unfortunate media misunderstandings.' And let’s say… the sponsors happen to hear it in some way…"
Belforte's smile turns predatory. "Last time I checked, sponsors have strict morality clauses in their sponsorship contracts."
"Exactly." I tap my fingers on the polished table. "And he will have representatives attending the race weekend."
The plan unfolds in my mind like a race strategy—each move anticipated, each counter accounted for. I need to nip this problem at the source before it grows from mere annoyance to career-ending. For me. For William. For everything we've built.
"That's only part of it," I add. "I'm also going to talk with Chairman Reeves about what happened."
Blake sits up straighter. "The board? Are you sure that's wise? They're probably going ballistic right now with these rumors."
"That's precisely why I need to address it head-on," I reply. "I'm going to be honest with Reeves and ask for the board's support."
Belforte whistles low. "Takes balls of steel to face that firing squad directly." He raises his glass again. "I'm impressed."
"Even if they don’t like me much, the board respects transparency," I say, though I'm not entirely convinced of this myself. "If I try to hide or downplay this, it only gives the rumors more power."
Blake fidgets with his cuff. "And if they ask about the nature of your relationship with William?"
The question hangs in the air. Whatisthe nature of our relationship? Complex. Evolving. Beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
"Then I'll be honest without giving them details they don't need," I say carefully. "My personal life is my own, but I'll assure them that nothing compromises my professional judgment, or the team's operations."
Belforte nods approvingly. "The board can be a pain in the ass, but they're not stupid. They've seen the results. The team's performing better than it has in years. Last time I talked with Amelia Chen, she was saying she liked what you were doing. She’s usually a pain to deal with during board meetings, mind you."
"They're still a factor we need to consider," I remind him. "While you're our most important investor—"
"Most important!" Belforte preens, adjusting his collar with exaggerated pride. "Did you hear that, Blake? I'm the most important."
I roll my eyes, but I can't help smiling. For someone with his background, Belforte has an almost childlike need for affirmation sometimes.
"Yes, you're very important," I say dryly. "But the board still holds significant power. They can become a thorn in our side if they feel blindsided."
Belforte leans forward, suddenly serious. "You know, Violet, you should really consider buying the team for yourself." He says this casually, as if suggesting I pick up milk on the way home. "Cut out the middlemen."
I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my ears. "I'm notthatrich, Silas."
"Yet," he adds with a wink. "Not that richyet."
I don't respond, but his words touch a dream I've barely allowed myself to acknowledge.To own Colton Racing outright.To rebuild what my father created into something wholly mine. To make the team self-sufficient, successful, culturally strong, and one hundred percent privately owned.By me. But that's a fantasy for another day, when we're not dealing with leaked photos and media frenzies.
