My home office grants me a perfect view of the large garage behind the house.
And for the first time, that’s become a huge distraction.
As terrible as I feel about her admission, I, shamefully, can’t say I’m surprised.
I’ll be giving my son a call this afternoon, that’s for damn sure. That girl was clearly humiliated. She deserves so much more than how he allegedly treated her. And on top of that, he sent her over here this morning without giving me so much as a heads-up?
I’m a shit father, I know. But having to confront the reality that my son is a shit human being has stirred up a deep sense of self-loathing I don’t have time to unpack right now.
I’ve spent the last several years biding my time, giving Luca all the space he wants and says he needs as he establishes himself in the world of Formula 1. He resents me for my role in this sport, especially now that I’m team principal of a competitor. Our shared love of motorsport used to be the most vibrant part of our father-son connection.
We’ve never been on rockier terms than we are right now. Maybe that’s the reason he didn’t think to mention to me that he’s using the garage for storage.
Shaking my head, I force my attention away from the woman standing in my driveway and refocus on the meeting.
Our second round of testing wrapped up three weeks ago in Bahrain. This is one of our last virtual all-hands meetings of the year. Starting next week, I’ll be reunited with the full team at the Australian Grand Prix for the first time as team principal.
Pride swells inside me. Granata Racing has so much to look forward to. There’s so much talent in the ranks of this legacy team. This season is ripe with promise, the year ahead brimming with potential.
The job title may be new, but I’ve played a crucial role at Granata over the years. I make a point to get to know everyone from the designers and engineers at headquarters to the crews in the garage and the culinary staff. We may not have the best machine on the grid right now, but we’ve slowly pulled ourselves up to the front of the mid-grid pack. Last year we placed fifth in the Constructor’s Championship—our highest ranking since 1958.
That’s the other thing we have going for us.
Legacy.
Granata has existed since the sport’s inception in 1950. And it’s always had a strong reputation. Though it was dragged through the mud last fall when my predecessor, Bolton Reynold, was discoveredsexually harassing employees. After further investigation, it was determined he’d been doing it for years. Proof of his attempts to solicit inappropriate pictures and coerce subordinates into staying late at the office came to light in the most garish of ways.
Our team owner, Mitchum Russo, booted him without notice or severance. Good riddance. If anything, Bolton got off too easy. He deserved far more extreme consequences from Granata and from the Federation Internationale de l’Automobile, the governing body of Formula 1. It kills me knowing that I worked alongside Bolton for several years and had no idea he was wielding his power so inappropriately.
Leslie, my director of operations and right-hand, speaks next. “One final reminder before we wrap this up. All directors should submit their complete rosters to me by end of business tomorrow. Badges will be issued before you arrive in Australia. We need complete and final lists of all personnel so we can coordinate accommodations for the first leg of the season.” She backs away from the screen a few inches. “Anything to add, Ric?”
Clearing my throat, I sit up straighter and give the team my full focus.
“The start of a new year always carries a buzz of excitement with it. I feel it, you all feel it, and the fans feel it, too. But this isn’t just any season.”
I pause, taking in a deep breath and galvanizing myself.
This is it.
The goals I’ve worked toward for more than two decades are finally coming to fruition. As the team principal of Granata Racing, I have the opportunity to push and motivate and inspire and, most importantly,win.
“I’m a realist,” I say, though that isn’t news to anyone in this meeting. “I like numbers. I love statistically probable assurances and hard data.”
A few people laugh in acknowledgment. It’s no secret I don’t do hopes and dreams.
Which is why I’m confident that what I’m about to say will have a great impact.
“But it’s not the numbers that make a team great. It’s not only data that determines starting position on the grid and it doesn’t all come down to strategy. At the end of the day, the people are what make Granata special. You and your teams make up the heart and soul of this experience.” I pause, looking at each one of them. “We have a massiveopportunity ahead of us. A real shot of placing higher than we ever have.”
Each one of them is silent and focused completely on me. Good.
“Numbers matter. But numbers mean nothing without the human-driven heart and soul of this organization. Yes, we’ve endured morale-crushing blows over the last year. And there’s work to be done; trust that must be restored. But we’re still here. We’re still in it. We’re embarking on an ambitious, record-breaking season. I’m honored to work alongside you, and I want to take this opportunity to thank you in advance for all we’ll achieve together. I believe in us. We’re going to show the grid who we really are. As important as our legacy is, this team is so much more. So many brilliant accomplishments still lie ahead. We are Granata, and we’re here to stay.”
Murmurs of agreement come from the directors on the call.
“That’s it from me,” I say quickly, rather than letting the moment linger. “Please enjoy your friends and family over the next few days. Take advantage of your time at home. I look forward to seeing each of you in Australia.”
A chorus of farewells goes up, then the names listed on the side of the conference call drop off one by one.
