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He clears his throat then starts speaking. “Thanks for coming, everybody. Over the years you and I have had our disagreements.” The room of reporters chuckles. “So, some of you will probably enjoy what I have to say today and some of you may not. But honestly, as long as the right person hears me today, that’s all that matters.”
“What is he doing?” Aria whispers.
“I have no idea,” I whisper back and keep my eyes transfixed on Lennox. He looks bright and strong and healthy, better than he looked the last time I saw him at my hotel room door. He’s so blindingly handsome, his brown hair perfectly messy in that way that looks deliberate.
His voice is deep and strong, there’s no hesitation. He has no script and looks the reporters in their eyes. “I started racing when I was five years old, competition is all I’ve ever known. But someone recently taught me that there are more important things in life. I’m here today to tell you that this weekend will be my last Formula 1 race. This morning I resigned from Celer…”
“No!” I scream, my vocal cords possessed, my body acting without thought. Every journalist in the room turns their head toward me at the front of the room.
Lennox scans the crowd until he finds me. “Mallory?”
“No!” I scream at him again, my body flushes with a surge of adrenaline. Every emotion I have encountered over these past weeks rises in me and they boil over as I scream, “You will not! You will not do this!”
Lennox leans back from the microphone and stares at me, totally confused by this inexplicable outburst. Every eye in the room is on me as I march to the podium ready to plow my way through any idiot who dares to try and stop me. A few long strides and I am astride the podium.
“I will not let you do this!” I yell at Lennox as if it’s just the two of us in this room.
“It’s ok,” he speaks at a normal volume, of which I am not capable of right now, and tries to take my hand but I don’t let him. He must think I’ve gone completely insane, a jilted ex-girlfriend gone mad. “Please, just trust me, it will all be ok,” he whispers.
“I do trust you, you stupid asshole!” A symphony of laughter breaks out in the audience. “You should have trusted me!” I point my finger at him.
He tries reaching for my hand again. “Ok, ok. Let’s just go somewhere and…”
“No! I’m not going anywhere! You’re going to listen!” I turn to the crowd, “All of you are going to listen!” There are dozens of cameras facing me, journalists pointing oversized microphones to the front of the room and leaning forward in their chairs.
Oh god, I am screaming in front of a room of media. I look unhinged.
No buckets of blood, Mallory.
This is not the speech I had prepared to give. I’m going to have to wing it. I glance at Lennox beside me in a power stance ready to take control, throw me over his shoulder, ready to handle whatever arises. I imitate his strength and square off my shoulders, raise my chin.
“This man,” I speak into the microphone and point to Lennox, “is not retiring from Formula 1. He misspoke and he’s very sorry.” The room collectively laughs again. From the corner of my eye, I see the tiniest of smirks start at the corner of Lennox’s mouth and he crosses his arms watching me, waiting to see what else I’m going to say.
“This man,” I continue, “is a World Drivers’ Champion. He holds nine FIA records. His talent is beyond reproach. But he is also a good man, an honest man who loves this sport. He has dedicated his life to racing. Because of his integrity and his passion for F1, out of concern for the safety of other drivers and track personnel, you will understand why Mr. Gibbes called this press session when he learned of the illegal and immoral activities happening on-track, and off, by his teammate, Digby DuPont.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Lennox whispers to me, his eyes growing round.
“Will the audio-visual team please play the Cooper Media video file now?”
Lennox rocks his head back in shock and looks around as the room lights dim and the video Max prepared starts playing on a drop-down screen. Max’s staff cleaned up the images so it’s crystal clear what’s happening and then he spliced several of Digby’s videos together to make one file that will sum up Digby’s offenses quite nicely.
As Digby comes onto screen, it’s him snorting coke off that woman’s stomach. She turns out to be a prostitute in video clip number eight, but we’ll get to that. In the back of the room, I catch the sight of Digby running out of the exit doors. I smile because he can run, but it’s too late for him.
Then we see Digby cutting up cocaine in the motorhome with the Celeritas logo on the wall right behind him. Reporters gasp and cameras flash. Moving on, we see Digby in his race suit and helmet doing a finger full of cocaine right before he gets into the car in Melbourne.
Alessi from Anora stands from his seat and shouts, “What the fuck? He’s doing coke in the car? That fucker hit me at that race! He could have killed me!”
The video continues as Digby appears to buy a brick of a ‘powdery white substance’ on his yacht in Monaco and rubs it all over his teeth and gums. Another driver in the audience stands to yell. Then we see Digby bragging about the prostitute he just bought who’s going down on him in his Hummer. The video goes on for several minutes with several clips as the audience gasps and journalists grow frantic.
As the videos play, I feel Lennox take my hand. I grip it hard as he stands beside me at the podium.
When the video ends the lights come back on and the room is in a frenzy. All the Celeritas staff is long gone, they scurried out like rats on their own sinking ship. Reporters start yelling questions out over one another and clamoring to get to the front of the room. There’s going to be a stampede.
Max comes to the podium and is smiling from ear to ear. “Want me to take over from here?”
In a daze, I nod and then everything is a flurry as Lennox pushes past the mob of people in the room, pulling me behind him as we escape through the side door.
Thirty One
