Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77816 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77816 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“Matthieu’s times are strong,” I say to Hendrik, not hiding the hint of vindication in my voice.
“For now,” he mutters, not looking at me.
But only five laps later, it starts to go sideways. The degradation on Matthieu’s tires starts to show. His lap times are creeping upward, and the telemetry confirms the wear on the soft tires. The undercut window is opening, and we need to act fast.
“Petr,” I say, leaning into the mic. “Box Matthieu this lap. We’re going for the undercut.”
Petr relays the message, and Matthieu acknowledges it curtly. He pits smoothly, the crew executing the stop with a change to medium tires in just over two seconds.
“Clean stop,” Petr confirms as Matthieu re-enters the race, now behind his closest competitors. “You’re in P14. Push hard on the out-lap.”
The undercut is a high-risk, high-reward strategy, and if Matthieu can execute a strong out-lap, he has a shot at jumping several cars when they decide to pit.
But almost immediately, the plan starts to unravel.
“Traffic ahead,” Petr reports, his tone tense. “You’ve got three cars on slower compounds.”
My stomach sinks. Matthieu is stuck behind a trio of midfield runners, unable to capitalize on his fresh tires. “Fucking ridiculous,” his voice crackles over the comms. “Why weren’t these cars taken into consideration?”
I glance at all the data. Did I make a mistake somewhere?
I watch as Matthieu finally makes it past the blockage but by the time the other cars enter into their first pit, he hasn’t gained any positions. In fact, he’s lost ground.
“Bex,” Hendrik says sharply, “I told you this was a mistake.”
I grit my teeth, refusing to respond. There’s still time for Matthieu to recover, but the frustration in his voice over the radio is palpable.
“These tires are already going off,” Matthieu snaps. “What’s the plan now?”
Petr relays the concern to me, and I scramble to come up with an adjustment. The gap to get back into the top ten—which is where you get points—is widening, and Matthieu’s lap times are dropping rapidly.
“We’ll have to extend this stint and hope for a safety car,” I say, knowing it’s a long shot. Hendrik gives me a look that says he knows it too.
That means everything is out of my control because there’s not enough race left to adjust to improve his time. We can only take advantage if someone else makes a mistake.
Meanwhile, Nash is running a textbook race. His tires are holding up well, and he’s maintaining P3 while gradually closing the gap to Carlos still in P2.
“Pace is strong, Nash,” Alex says over the radio. “Keep it steady. Box in two laps for hards.”
Nash pits as planned, the stop clean and efficient. He rejoins in P4 but quickly regains P3 as the cars ahead cycle through their stops. His race is calm, controlled and exactly what we need.
Matthieu’s, on the other hand, is a disaster. The gamble on the soft tires and the early pit stop has backfired spectacularly. By lap forty-five, he’s only gained P12, his pace a shadow of what it was in the opening laps.
“I’m sorry, Matthieu,” I say quietly into the comms, my heart sinking. “The strategy didn’t work.”
His response is icy. “And whose fucking fault is that?”
I don’t reply because I know the answer. It’s ultimately my fault because I’m the chief strategy engineer and it was my call.
When the checkered flag falls, Nash crosses the line in P3, securing a podium finish for Titans Racing. It’s the most glorious outcome imaginable, his first race back in formula and he secured a podium win. While I’m nearly bursting with pride in Nash and excitement for his future, I’m dreading the fallout with Matthieu.
♦
It’s a beautiful tradition when the top three finishers come into pit lane after the race concludes. They line up in number one, two and three positions and each driver’s crew of mechanics, engineers and tire guys come out for celebration. That usually occurs with the driver running toward them, leaping joyfully into their arms and getting backslaps.
I watch as Nash has that perfect moment of victory. Granted, he got third place, but it is still a massive win for him and for Titans Racing. It’s also proven to the world that he is back in full form and is going to be a strong contender this year for the Driver’s Championship.
Matthieu, on the other hand, flies out of his car, vibrating with menace. He takes off his helmet and slings it away before ripping off his protective balaclava and dropping it to the tarmac. He glances around, his own crew milling about with dejected expressions as they tend to his car.
When he sees me, I brace for the tsunami coming my way. He strides over to me, fists clenched, and towers over me threateningly.
“This is on you!” he yells, his voice echoing through the garage. “Your stupid strategy cost me the race!”