aventurer avec un café

Z, 28. I like to think I'm cool, but I spend too much time laughing at things that probably aren't funny.

[fullofbugs84uy894ujui9]

reminder that this blog, while not politically focused, supports BLM. bootlickers and racists aren’t welcome here, and never will be.

[josilverdragon]

"The horrors persist but so do libraries, books, iced coffee, sunsets, trees, the word 'fuck', the moon and the sea."

[tennisribbons]

On this international women’s day I want to thank all the wonderful female athletes for staying in an environment that’s often so hostile towards women. Thank you for continuing with your sport when so many young girls stop once they start puberty. Thank you for becoming inspirations for other young girls and giving them someone to look up to, to make them believe in their dreams. Thank you for fighting and staying strong despite all the pushbacks from misogynistic media, constant sexism and overt criticism. Thank you for staying ambitious and celebrating your achievements even if people are belittling them. Thank you to the women of colour for staying strong despite facing twice as many obstacles. Thank you to the queer women for being brave enough to live your truth in an environment that’s strewn with homophobia. Thank you to the non-binary athletes for competing despite being forced into gender binaries and getting hate thrown their way every single day. I love you all, thank you for bringing me so much joy and escape and for letting me be a part of your journey <3

[cressidagrey]

System Failure - Chapter 54: Baku

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Dr. Anastasia "Ana" Wolff (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen to Mercedes? The paddock is buzzing. The media’s in meltdown.

Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff, Mercedes’ notoriously brilliant, emotionally unavailable lead systems engineer and Toto Wolff’s eldest daughter, is not handling it well.  Because Max isn’t just a potential signing, he’s the man she’s been sleeping with in secret for nearly a decade.

And if the rumours are true, and Max Verstappen really is joining Mercedes, then Ana’s carefully compartmentalised world is about to explode.

Warnings and Notes: This chapter contains major character injury, graphic portrayal of injuries and graphic portrayal of a crash in Formula 1. However, I do not write anything other than Happy Endings, so I am not going to kill off any of my major characters. So the cliffhanger isn’t a cliffhanger, because he’ll survive. I swear. Let me know if I missed something else, and I'll add it!

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Twitter Thread: Wait, What?

@/F1BreakingLive: DAILY MAIL REPORTING GEORGE RUSSELL ARRESTED IN CONNECTION WITH VERSTAPPEN CRASH I’m sorry??? WHAT???

@/pitlanechaos: I thought the Heathrow giraffe incident was peak F1 news this week apparently not

@/sector3analysis: If this is even 10% accurate we are witnessing the biggest scandal in modern motorsport history.

@/blueflags_only: We went from “racing incident” to “criminal investigation” in 72 hours

@/slowstopgo: I literally watched that crash live. I thought I watched a terrible accident. Not a crime.

@/max33fan: The mechanics were one thing. A DRIVER???

@/motorsportlawyer: If proven: this is attempted homicide territory, not sporting misconduct.

@/f1memesdaily: I can’t process the fact a plush giraffe at Heathrow was only the beginning of the story.

@/techgirlracing: Wait George Russell assaulted Ana Wolff earlier this year AND NOW HE ALSO TRIED TO KILL MAX VERSTAPPEN???

@/gridgossip: Reminder: • GEORGE RUSSELL kissed ANA WOLFF without consent • security footage existed • lost his Mercedes seat and now THIS???

@/monacopaddock: Imagine being Toto Wolff right now. His engineer daughter assaulted earlier this year and now his future driver nearly killed

@/f1historythread: People don’t realise how small the paddock is. They all know each other personally. This isn’t abstract to them.

@/f1dad42: Every driver’s parent just aged 20 years reading this.

@/f1statistics: Max already signed Mercedes 2026 earlier this year That makes this even darker

@/f1updates_live: BREAKING: British media reporting George Russell arrested in connection with Verstappen crash investigation. I genuinely cannot process this sport anymore.

@/SectorOneAnalysis: This went from “strange accident” → “rogue mechanics” → “CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION INVOLVING A DRIVER.” There is no precedent for this in modern Formula 1.

@/leclercsmile: I need a timeline because WHAT DO YOU MEAN payments to mechanics???

@/gridgossip: So the man who already assaulted Ana Wolff is now linked to sabotaging a rival’s car??? He should never be allowed near a racetrack again.

@/motorsportlawyer: Reminder: arrest ≠ conviction. But also: police don’t arrest a Formula 1 driver lightly. The evidentiary threshold here would be significant.

@/lando4wdc: I keep thinking about how the drivers refused to keep racing after the crash. They knew something was wrong before we did.

@/tracklimitmemes: F1 2025 season summary: Started as silly season Ended as true crime documentary

@/heathrowwitness: I SAW THE MECHANICS GET ARRESTED AND I THOUGHT THAT WAS THE CRAZIEST PART IT WAS NOT

@/gridwatch:The same George Russell who lost his seat after the Ana Wolff incident is now being investigated over sabotage??? This is beyond insane.

@/monacocorners:Hold on — Max signed for Mercedes 2026 earlier this year George lost the Mercedes seat and NOW THIS???

@/racecontrolplsYou’re telling me a DRIVER may have paid people to tamper with another driver’s car At 300 km/h I actually feel nauseous

@/esportsobserverEverything about Baku suddenly makes sense and that is TERRIFYING.

@/f1medicalMax surviving that impact is honestly a miracle.

@/softtyresonlyThe fact that other teams’ mechanics cut him out of the car and NOT his own team is haunting me now.

@/gridgossip:I genuinely cannot imagine what Max is going through mentally right now.

@/gridintel: ok wait let me get this straight

• George = former Mercedes driver • Ana Wolff = Toto Wolff’s daughter + Mercedes engineer •  Max signs for Mercedes 2026 •  George assaults Ana • George loses seat • Max nearly dies

I really, REALLY hope this is coincidence.

@/sector2chaos: the more timelines people make the worse this looks

@/f1conspiracycorner: I’m not saying motive but the timeline is terrifying

@/paddockmemory: He publicly tried to spin the Ana incident in the press as a misunderstanding. Now police are investigating him over a crash involving the guy replacing him. This is horrifying escalation.

@/brakebias: The moment Max signed Mercedes, George’s future was basically gone.

@/gridwatcher: Imagine being Toto and realizing the guy you mentored for a decade assaulted your daughter and also may have tried to kill your future driver

@/apexdetective: We don’t know they’re dating.

But we DO know: Max + Ana have been seen together a lot this season.

@/latebraker: The entire Mercedes-Wolff-Verstappen-Russell triangle is darker than anyone imagined.

@/tracklimitmemes: This sport used to be about tyre strategy now I need a whiteboard and red string

@/pitwallhistorian: If the motive theory ends up being the Mercedes seat… this will be studied in sports law for decades.

@/verstappenfanclub: Max didn’t even publicly attack Russell. He just… drove and signed a contract.

@/just_a_mechanic: As someone who works in motorsport — the idea of intentionally touching a safety-critical component makes my stomach turn.

@/paddockrumours: People speculating about Ana and Max relationship now too — internet please calm down and let the investigation happen.

@/internetpls: the FIA wanted this to be “erratic driving” and now we have police, contracts and potential criminal motive wild

@/lastlapemotions: No matter what, the scariest part is simple: He got in the car thinking it was safe.

***

Group Chat: The Old Wolves

(Members: Jenson Button, Sebastian Vettel, Nico Rosberg, David Coulthard, Mark Webber, Fernando Alonso) 

Nico Rosberg: I just read the article.

Jenson Button: Please tell me that tabloid made it up.

David Coulthard: They didn’t.

Mark Webber: … No.

Fernando Alonso: It matches what the paddock is hearing.

Sebastian Vettel: No.

Sebastian Vettel: No no no no no.

Jenson Button: Seb…

Sebastian Vettel: I refuse to believe a driver would do that.

Nico Rosberg: Police don’t arrest a Formula 1 driver without evidence.

Sebastian Vettel: No. I refuse that reality. Drivers fight each other on track, yes. But this?

Jenson Button: We’ve had rivalries. Proper ones. Lewis/Nico, you two nearly killed each other in Barcelona once but that was still racing.

Nico Rosberg:We crashed into each other. We did not sabotage each others car.

David Coulthard: Exactly. There is a line in motorsport that has existed since the beginning: we compete against each other, not against each other’s safety.

Mark Webber: We fought each other at 300 km/h for years. We shoved each other off tracks, we argued, we hated each other sometimes.

 I’ve been angry at teammates. Furious at teams. Furious at drivers. Never — not once — did it occur to me to harm a car.

We trusted each other.

David Coulthard: Exactly. Racing incidents are one thing. Even reckless ones. This is something else entirely.

Fernando Alonso: This is not competition anymore.

Jenson Button: I keep thinking about Suzuka 2014. About Jules.

Jenson Button: We all promised ourselves we’d never see something like that again.

Nico Rosberg: We spend our entire careers accepting risk. What we never accept is intent.

Sebastian Vettel: I shared a grid with kids coming up through karting. You learn very early: you can fight as hard as you want, but you never endanger someone deliberately.

Sebastian Vettel: That is the one rule.

Mark Webber: The only real one.

David Coulthard: If this is proven, it’s attempted murder with a steering wheel involved.

Fernando Alonso: And the worst part?

Fernando Alonso: He trusted them.

Jenson Button: Max always trusted his team. You could see it in how he drove.

Nico Rosberg: A driver straps in believing the car beneath him is honest.

Sebastian Vettel: Because without that belief you physically cannot drive the car properly.

Mark Webber: You’d hesitate. And hesitation at 300 km/h kills you anyway.

David Coulthard: Which means he went into that race blind.

Sebastian Vettel: He was betrayed inside the cockpit.

Jenson Button: God… imagine learning that in a hospital bed.

Fernando Alonso: He didn’t deserve that.

Nico Rosberg: No one does. 

***

Slack Channel: #brackley-nerds

Private Channel. ~30 members. 

lucy.comms:please tell me nobody else has opened the Daily Mail yet

tom.sim:i opened it

tom.sim:i regret opening it

kayleigh.powerunit:i thought the mechanics was the scandal

sam.transmission:same we were at “rogue idiots” we are now at driver paid them

ellie.electronics:… George tried to kill a colleague

zahra.aero:not just a colleague a guy at 300 km/h in a carbon fibre coffin

ian.security:Legal just told us to not publicly comment anywhere. So I will privately comment here: what the hell

lorelai.pa:I keep rereading the article and my brain refuses to process it a driver paying mechanics to sabotage another driver’s car sounds like a netflix show not real life

sima.calibration:it becomes real life when telemetry shows structural failure exactly where they tampered

benjy.data:^ this

jess.hr:I can’t stop thinking about Ana

maddie.sim:same

jules.elec:after earlier this year??? after he assaulted her???

fatima.pr:and now he tries to kill her boyfriend

(channel goes silent for ~15 seconds)

yas.enginecontrol:…yeah ok we are all thinking it right

lucy.comms:yeah

sam.transmission:yep

tom.sim:there is no way they are not together

rachel.aero:so question nobody wants to ask:

did George know?

james.brakes:that’s what scares me

sara.branding:because if he knew… then this was personal

ian.security:or did he “only” do it because Max took his seat

liam.eng-lead:that seat was always in danger

flo.eng:always

benjy.data:performance metrics don’t lie Kimi was already trending higher ceiling potential

sima.calibration:and management knew it

tom.sim:George was never being replaced because of politics he was being replaced because Max Verstappen exists

zahra.aero: no offense but… max is a generational driver you take him 100 times out of 100

jules.elec: that is not even a debate

benjy.data: statistically it’s not close max’s racecraft and tyre management alone are on another level

kayleigh.powerunit: also he literally drives around problems engineers DREAM of drivers like that

jules.elec:every team principal on earth would drop a contract for him

leo.mechanic:including ours

lucy.comms:especially ours

matt.merchandise:I keep going back to the assault thing he kissed Ana to try to secure his seat

jess.hr:yes

sam.transmission:he thought dating the boss’s daughter = job security

rachel.aero:and suddenly Max is the guy who “took everything”

sima.calibration:so possibilities:

seat revenge

jealousy

both

elliott.systems:and none of them sane

elliott.systems:I just want to state for the record:

we will never let a car leave this factory unsafe for him

leo.mechanic:not a bolt not a washer not a sensor

james.brakes:I will personally check every fastener twice

sam.transmission:three times

sara.branding:he’s our driver next year

liam.eng-lead:and this never happens here

leo.mechanic:not on my watch

lucy.comms:also — purely technical opinion

lucy.comms:Max is miles better than George

benjy.data:objectively yes

sima.calibration:not even comparable in feedback quality

elliott.systems:I am simultaneously terrified and excited to build a car for someone with that level of sensitivity

tom.sim:Ana + Max working together on car behaviour

tom.sim:god help the rest of the grid

ellie.electronics: ana is going to rebuild the entire systems architecture around him isn’t she

elliott.systems: she already has

maddie.sim: …you sound afraid

elliott.systems: i am

elliott.systems: she is terrifying when motivated

kayleigh.powerunit:I just hope he trusts a team again

leo.mechanic:we’ll earn it

elliott.systems:we will

(channel quiets for a moment)

maddie.sim:also… someone please make sure Ana sleeps at some point

lucy.comms:that may be the hardest engineering challenge of all

´´***

Group Chat: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!

(Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Max Verstappen, Yuki Tsunoda, Liam Lawson, Isack Hadjar, Oliver Bearman, Esteban Ocon, Gabriel Bortoleto, Nico Hulkenberg, Kimi Antonelli, Valtteri Bottas, Pierre Gasly, Franco Colapinto, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Alex Albon, Carlos Sainz, Lance Stroll, Fernando Alonso)

Lando Norris: please tell me nobody else just read that article

Pierre Gasly: I did.

Esteban Ocon: Yes.

Valtteri Bottas: Unfortunately yes.

Oscar Piastri: Same.

Oliver Bearman: that’s fake right like actually fake

Gabriel Bortoleto: it can’t be real

Nico Hülkenberg: Police sources quoted. That’s not a normal tabloid rumour.

Franco Colapinto: no no no no no

Lance Stroll: they literally said arrest warrant

Carlos Sainz: I just spoke to my father. It is real.

(typing indicators appear and disappear repeatedly)

Alex Albon: No.

Alex Albon: No.

Alex Albon: No this is bullshit.

Alex Albon: I lived with him. I KNOW him.

Charles Leclerc: Alex…

Alex Albon: He was at my house every day during lockdown. We trained together. We cooked together. We talked about racing every single night.

Alex Albon: You’re telling me that guy tried to kill someone???

Lewis Hamilton: Nobody here thinks you knew.

Alex Albon: I would have noticed. I would have SEEN something.

Pierre Gasly: Sometimes you don’t.

Alex Albon: No Pierre. Not this. Not THIS.

Lando Norris: mate…

Alex Albon: He asked me how Max sets up the car once. Just normal paddock talk. We all do that.

Alex Albon: I answered.

(chat goes silent for a few seconds)

Oscar Piastri: Alex. That’s not on you.

Lewis Hamilton: Absolutely not on you.

Fernando Alonso: Stop that line of thinking immediately.

Alex Albon: I keep replaying conversations. I’m trying to see where I missed it.

Carlos Sainz: You didn’t miss anything. Because none of us even consider a driver capable of this.

Charles Leclerc: We fight on track. We don’t sabotage each other’s cars.

Valtteri Bottas: That is a line nobody imagines being crossed.

Yuki Tsunoda: I AM STILL AT RED BULL

Yuki Tsunoda: WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO

Liam Lawson: Yuki…

Yuki Tsunoda: MY MECHANICS ARE FINE RIGHT?? LIKE SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME MY CAR IS SAFE

Pierre Gasly: It will be checked now more than any car in history.

Yuki Tsunoda: I DONT WANT “MORE CHECKED” I WANT “IMPOSSIBLE”

Isack Hadjar: …yeah

Oliver Bearman: I would not sleep honestly

Esteban Ocon: The FIA will lock the garages down now.

Yuki Tsunoda: GOOD

Yuki Tsunoda: I am not joking I am literally inspecting my car myself tomorrow

Lando Norris: please don’t start unbolting things yuki

Yuki Tsunoda: I WILL LEARN ENGINEERING TONIGHT

Lewis Hamilton: This changes things for drivers psychologically.

Fernando Alonso: Yes.

Lewis Hamilton: You trust rivals to race hard, not to harm.

Charles Leclerc: I keep thinking about every close battle I’ve ever had.

Carlos Sainz: Same.

Nico Hülkenberg: We all push limits because we assume the other driver wants to go home alive too.

Yuki Tsunoda: I am actually scared now

Liam Lawson: You’re safe mate.

Yuki Tsunoda: ARE WE?

(Nobody answers for a few seconds.)

Valtteri Bottas: The sport has rules. This isn’t sport anymore.

Lewis Hamilton: No driver should ever have to question the car beneath him.

Oliver Bearman: I grew up wanting to be here

Oliver Bearman: this is not what I thought it was

Pierre Gasly: Same.

Alex Albon: I keep replaying all our conversations

Alex Albon: I keep thinking I missed something

Fernando Alonso: You didn’t.

Fernando Alonso: Sometimes there is nothing to see until it is too late.

***

Group Chat: “WHO IS MAX VERSTAPPEN DATING”

 (Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz, Daniel Ricciardo, Alex Albon)

Daniel Ricciardo: I JUST READ IT

Daniel Ricciardo: PLEASE TELL ME THAT IS TABLOID NONSENSE

Carlos Sainz: It’s not just tabloids anymore.

Oscar Piastri: Police confirmed an arrest.

Daniel Ricciardo: … …no

Daniel Ricciardo: nope nope nope nope

Daniel Ricciardo: we’ve all hated teammates at some point but you don’t TRY TO KILL THEM

Lando Norris: Dan

Daniel Ricciardo: I shared driver briefings with that guy

Daniel Ricciardo: we all sat in the same room

Daniel Ricciardo: we literally complain about catering together and now I’m reading this???

Alex Albon: I can’t breathe properly

Lando Norris: alex

Alex Albon: I lived with him

Alex Albon: like actually lived with him shared apartments late night workouts we were broke together in F2

Alex Albon: I introduced him to half my friends

Alex Albon: I keep thinking this is a nightmare and I’ll wake up and he’ll be texting me about golf

Carlos Sainz: I’m really sorry, mate.

Alex Albon: you guys remember earlier this year

Oscar Piastri: …yes

Daniel Ricciardo: the ana situation?

Lando Norris: yeah

Alex Albon: he genuinely believed dating her would secure his seat and then he kissed her

Oscar Piastri: He didn’t “kiss” her.

Oscar Piastri: He forced it.

Carlos Sainz: The footage…

Alex Albon: yeah

Alex Albon: and after that he lost the seat

Daniel Ricciardo: rightly

Lando Norris: she broke his wrist defending herself

Oscar Piastri: Yes.

(typing pauses for a moment)

Carlos Sainz: …do you think

Daniel Ricciardo: I already know what you’re going to ask

Carlos Sainz: do you think George knew

Lando Norris: knew what

Carlos Sainz: about Max and Ana

Oscar Piastri: We don’t know that for certain.

Daniel Ricciardo: mate

Daniel Ricciardo: he already lost the Mercedes seat because of her

Daniel Ricciardo: and then Max — MAX — ends up with Mercedes and possibly with her???

Lando Norris: dan don’t

Daniel Ricciardo: I’m saying it

Daniel Ricciardo: If he found out Max was dating her, took his future seat, and he already blamed Max for everything…

Daniel Ricciardo: that’s motive

Oscar Piastri: We are not investigators.

Carlos Sainz: No. But it fits too well.

Alex Albon: I feel sick

Lando Norris: same

Daniel Ricciardo: Max nearly died

Carlos Sainz: and he trusted his mechanics more than anyone

Oscar Piastri: That’s the part I can’t get past.

Lando Norris: he’s not okay

Lando Norris: he’s alive but I’ve never seen him that quiet

Alex Albon: I don’t know how we come back from this as a sport

Oscar Piastri: We probably don’t come back the same.

***

 Baku City Hospital, Baku, Azerbaijan -  24 September 2025 

Toto learned about it while standing in the hospital stairwell.

He had discovered, over the last seventy-two hours, that stairwells were the only place where nobody asked him anything — no nurses, no journalists, no team members hovering with quiet concern. Just concrete walls, harsh fluorescent lights, and the faint echo of footsteps from floors he didn’t have to manage.

His phone vibrated.

Bradley Lord.

Toto answered immediately.

“Bradley.”

There was no preamble on the other end. No comms polish. No carefully neutral tone.

“Toto,” Bradley said, breathless. “You need to tell me what the hell is going on. I just got a call from Legal. George Russell’s been arrested.”

Toto closed his eyes.

“For Max,” Bradley added quickly, horrified. “They’re saying it’s connected to Max’s crash. I— I don’t even understand how—I thought we were dealing with— I don’t know — negligence, maybe rogue mechanics, internal sabotage at Red Bull. But George—?”

Toto leaned his head back against the wall.

Bradley kept going, words coming faster now. “British authorities. Heathrow coordination with the police. The Daily Mail already has a tip — they’re trying to slow it but it won’t hold. They’re saying it’s connected to Max’s crash and I—” He stopped. “Toto, I don’t understand. This has to be wrong.”

Toto closed his eyes briefly.

It wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t. 

Toto had known that George had met one of the mechanics. Had known that thanks to the private investigator he paid to kept tabs originally on Irina, then on George… But he hadn’t… 

There had still been a part of Toto that had hoped that there was some kind of innocent reason for this. That George Russell, a driver that had been a Mercedes Academy driver for a decade, hadn’t decided to try and murder a fellow driver for taking his seat. 

On the other end of the line, Bradley exhaled slowly, the sound of someone recalibrating reality in real time.

“This is… attempted murder,” Bradley said. Not dramatic. Just stunned.

Toto didn’t correct him.

“Okay,” Bradley went on, professional instinct kicking in despite the shock. “Okay. We need a statement. Immediately.”

And Toto suddenly felt very tired.

“I need details,” Toto said.

“They’re saying the mechanics have statements. Financial transfers. Intentional tampering. They’re implying he paid them.” Bradley’s voice lowered. “George.” Bradley exhaled sharply. “Jesus Christ.”

For a moment the only sound in the stairwell was the hum of the lights.

“I thought this was a safety investigation,” Bradley continued. “A criminal investigation, yes — but internal sabotage, maybe gambling, maybe blackmail. But a driver? Toto, this is—” He stopped. “I genuinely don’t know how to process this.”

Toto did not answer immediately.

“Alright,” Bradley said, slipping into crisis-mode professionalism. “We need a statement immediately. The media will ask whether Mercedes had prior contact with George, whether this relates to Max’s contract for 2026, whether—”

“Write one,” Toto said.

Bradley paused. “And release?”

“No,” Toto said. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“I will review and approve personally. Nothing goes out without my sign-off.”

Bradley understood instantly. “You’re still at the hospital.”

“Yes.”

“…how is he?”

Toto looked up the stairwell, toward the floor where Max was sleeping.

“Alive,” he said quietly. “And today that is enough.”

Bradley’s voice softened. “Understood. I’ll prepare multiple versions. Legal will want language extremely careful — especially now.”

“Good,” Toto said. “And Bradley?”

“Yes?”

“Prepare for a very long weekend.”

He ended the call and remained in the stairwell for a moment.

Because now came the harder part.

He had to tell Sophie.

Jos.

Ana.

And worst of all — eventually — Max, who was already barely holding together under the weight of betrayal from the team he had built his life around.

Toto rubbed his face.

Max was being medically cleared to transfer to Nice in a few hours. The logistics were already moving: aircraft, medical clearance, receiving hospital, surgical specialists waiting. A clean step forward in recovery.

And now this.

He pushed himself upright and opened another contact.

Ola Källenius.

The phone rang only once.

“Toto.”

“Ola,” Toto said, voice controlled. “I assume you have not yet seen the news.”

“I have seen rumours,” Ola replied carefully. “I was about to call you.”

Toto took a breath.

“They are true,” he said. “George Russell has been arrested in connection with the Baku incident. The police believe he arranged the sabotage of Max’s car.”

Silence.

Longer than Bradley’s.

“…I see,” Ola finally said.

Toto stared at the concrete wall.

“So,” he said evenly, exhaustion threading through his composure, “I have a question.”

“Yes.”

“How exactly,” Toto asked, “are we going to handle our former driver attempting to murder our future driver?”

Ola did not answer immediately.

Because there was no corporate handbook for this.

“We handle it with absolute seriousness and absolute restraint,” he said. “No theatrics. No opportunism. We protect the team and we support the victim. Quietly but firmly.”

Toto nodded, even though the other man couldn’t see it.

“Yes.”

“And Toto,” Källenius added, “the priority is the human being. Not the brand. Make sure he knows that.”

Toto looked again toward the room.

“I will.”

He ended the call and stayed in the corridor a moment longer.

He had negotiated contracts worth hundreds of millions. Managed championships. Survived internal politics that would have broken less stubborn men.

This was harder.

Because in a few minutes he would walk into that room and watch a young driver realize that his rival had tried to take him out of that race. 

He had to tell a father and a mother that somebody tried to kill their son. 

He had to tell his daughter that the man that had assaulted her earlier that year had tried to hurt the man she loved.

There was no good way to say this.

Only a necessary one.

***

Wolff Residence, Monaco -  24 September 2025 

Susie heard it from Toto’s voice before she heard the words.

He hadn’t called often during the last few days anymore — not properly. Messages, yes. Logistics, yes. Short updates from hospital corridors, yes. But not this. Not the kind of call where he said nothing for two full seconds after she answered.

“Tell me,” she said immediately.

There was a sound on the other end — not quite a breath, not quite a laugh. The sound Toto made when reality tipped from awful into something worse.

“They’ve arrested him.”

Susie closed her eyes.

She didn’t ask who.

Because she already knew.

The Monaco apartment was quiet in the early morning light. The sea outside glittered in that soft, deceptive way it always did, as if the world were peaceful and orderly and predictable.

Her stomach dropped anyway.

“For what exactly?” she asked, her voice very steady — the voice she used in briefings, in boardrooms, in front of cameras.

“Conspiracy and solicitation,” Toto said. “The mechanics have statements. Financial transfers. The investigator was right — he met them before Baku. We just didn’t have proof.”

There it was.

Proof.

The word hit harder than she expected.

Because until this moment there had still been a small, stubborn part of her — the racer’s instinct — that hoped it was coincidence. Stupidity. Bad judgment. Anything except intent.

Susie leaned one hand against the kitchen counter.

“Max could have died,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“And Ana—” Her voice faltered for the first time. She steadied it again. “She sat next to his hospital bed praying that he wouldn’t.”

Toto didn’t interrupt.

Susie’s anger arrived slowly. Not explosive. Not loud.

Cold.

“I watched that boy grow up in this paddock,” she said. “I defended him when people called him difficult. I told people he just needed time.”

She swallowed.

“He assaulted my daughter.”

Her hand tightened on the counter.

“And now he tried to kill the man she loves.”

Silence hummed across the line.

“I am done being diplomatic, Toto,” she said softly. “Completely done.”

“I thought you might be.”

She ended the call a few minutes later, but didn’t move right away. She stood in the kitchen, the late sun warming the tiles, and let the fury settle into something controlled.

Because she still had one more thing to do.

A small pair of footsteps padded down the hallway.

“Mama?”

Jack stood in the doorway in socks and a wrinkled T-shirt, hair sticking up in the back. He held his tablet, the screen dark.

“Did Papa call?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said gently.

He hesitated. “Is Max okay?”

“He’s alive,” she said, kneeling so she was eye level with him. “He’s hurt, but he’s getting better.”

Jack nodded, but didn’t relax. He watched her face carefully, the way children do when they know there is more.

“There’s… more, isn’t there?”

Susie’s heart ached a little. He was too perceptive. Always had been.

She chose her words carefully.

“You remember earlier this year,” she said softly, “when someone did something very wrong to Ana.”

Jack’s expression changed instantly. His small hands clenched.

“George,” he said.

She nodded.

“The police believe he also did something very wrong that caused Max’s accident.”

Jack froze.

For a moment he didn’t understand — she saw the gap between the words and the reality. Then the connection snapped into place.

His eyes filled immediately.

“He hurt her,” Jack said, voice trembling. “And now he hurt Max too?”

Susie pulled him into a hug before the first tear fell.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “But he didn’t succeed. Max is still here.”

Jack pressed his face into her shoulder.

“That’s not fair,” he said, voice breaking. “Ana cried for days after he hurt her. And Max is in the hospital and —” His breath hitched. “Why would someone do that?”

Susie held him tighter.

“Sometimes,” she said carefully, “people make choices because of anger or jealousy or fear. And those choices can hurt others. That’s why there are rules. And police. And consequences.”

Jack pulled back, eyes wet but fierce.

“Is he going to jail?”

“Yes,” she said. “The adults who did this will have to answer for it.”

Jack wiped his face with his sleeve.

“He doesn’t get to come near her ever again,” he said, voice small but certain.

“No,” Susie promised. “He doesn’t.”

Jack hesitated.

“Max didn’t deserve that.”

“No,” she said softly. “He didn’t.”

He leaned into her again.

“I like Max,” Jack whispered. “He makes Ana smile.”

Susie felt her throat tighten.

“Yes,” she said. “He does.”

Jack sniffed. “Can we visit when he’s home?”

“We will,” she said, kissing his hair.

***

 Baku City Hospital, Baku, Azerbaijan -  24 September 2025

Jos had not slept.

Not properly. Not the kind of sleep that reset anything. Just shallow stretches of unconsciousness punctured by the same image, over and over again — carbon fibre folding, sparks, the sickening delay before the car stopped moving.

Breakfast was a plastic tray and lukewarm coffee.

He barely tasted it.

Max sat propped up in the bed, pale under the bruising, shoulder strapped tight, leg held in that awful metal frame that made Jos’s stomach twist every time he saw it. The monitors clicked steadily. Alive. Breathing.

Alive.

The word still didn’t feel real.

Two days ago he had watched the crash footage and felt his heart stop — not metaphorically, not emotionally. Physically. A cold certainty had gone through him: this is it. Every father in motorsport carried that fear somewhere deep inside. Jos had lived his life pretending he didn’t.

Now he couldn’t pretend anymore.

At the bedside, Ana was feeding Max yogurt with the same calm precision she seemed to do everything with.

“Small spoon,” she said.

Max grimaced. “I’m not five.”

“You currently have the coordination of a drunk giraffe,” she replied flatly.

Sophie let out a small laugh despite herself.

Max rolled his eyes but obediently opened his mouth.

Jos watched the interaction, jaw tight.

The girl unsettled him.

Not because she was loud or dramatic — the opposite. She moved through the room like she already understood every variable in it. No panic. No tears. No visible fear. She checked the monitors without looking like she was checking them. Adjusted pillows before nurses noticed they needed adjusting. Spoke to doctors in language Jos didn’t understand but they clearly respected.

He had been around engineers his whole life. This was different.

She hadn’t broken once.

Not when Max woke up confused. Not when he was in pain. Not when the sabotage had been explained.

Instead, she moved through the room like a system under load — compensating, rerouting, absorbing stress without visible failure.

The only time he had seen anything close to emotion was two days ago when she had snapped at him when he had accused her of not being angry enough. 

Her voice had gone cold enough that Jos, who had stared down team principals and stewards his entire career, had actually stopped talking.

And yet—

Max looked at her like she was gravity.

Jos noticed the way his son’s eyes tracked her movements unconsciously. The way his breathing steadied when she touched his wrist. The way he waited for her small nods before answering doctors.

Max loved her.

That part was unmistakable.

It worried him.

Because Jos understood intensity. He understood obsession. He had raised a driver built on both. But this girl… she didn’t love like people did. She loved like she was solving a problem she would never allow to fail.

The door opened.

Toto stepped inside.

Jos immediately knew something was wrong.

The man had been composed for seventy-two hours straight — controlled, focused, practical. Now there was a stillness to him Jos recognized instantly.

The stillness of someone about to deliver bad news.

Sophie noticed too. “Toto?”

Ana set the yogurt aside before he even spoke.

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

Max frowned. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Toto asked.

“The face,” Max said. “You only make that face when it’s bad.”

Toto closed the door behind him.

He didn’t sit.

“The police made another arrest this morning,” he said.

Jos felt his chest tighten.

“The mechanics?” Sophie asked.

“No,” Toto said.

He looked directly at Max.

“George Russell.”

The room went silent.

Max blinked. Once. Twice.

“George…?” he repeated, slow. Confused. Still drug-hazy.

Jos felt the blood drain from his face.

“For what,” Sophie asked sharply.

Toto did not look away.

“For arranging the sabotage of Max’s car in Baku.”

The words hit like a punch.

Jos exploded.

“What.”

The sound tore out of him — raw, violent, uncontrolled.

He took a step forward, fists clenched, vision tunnelling. “You’re telling me a driver— another driver— paid someone to break my son’s car?”

“Jos,” Sophie snapped, grabbing his arm, but she was shaking too. “Jos, listen.”

“No,” he barked. “No, I am listening. I just don’t believe it.”

Max sucked in a sharp breath.

“What?” he said. Not loud. Not yet. “That’s not— that’s not possible.”

Ana moved instantly.

Her hand slid to Max’s wrist. Firm. Grounding.

“Max,” she said quietly. “Breathe.”

His pulse was racing under her fingers.

“I—” Max swallowed. Hard. “He wouldn’t. He— we race. That’s—”

Jos turned on Toto, fury white-hot now. “If this is true—”

“It is,” Toto said evenly. “They have statements from the mechanics. Financial records. Evidence.”

Jos laughed.

It came out broken and ugly.

“I always knew he was arrogant,” Jos snarled. “But this? This is—”

“No,” Max said quietly.

Not denial.

Refusal.

“That’s— no. That’s stupid,” Max went on, voice rising. “George’s an asshole but he’s not— he wouldn’t—”

Toto didn’t interrupt.

“They believe he did it because of the seat,” Toto said gently. “Because you’re replacing him in 2026.”

Max’s breathing changed.

Jos recognized that sound immediately. He’d heard it after lost races, bad starts, mechanical failures. But never like this.

“That’s insane,” Max said, sharper now. “You’re telling me he tried to— what? Scare me? Break my car? You don’t— people don’t do that.”

Ana had gone completely still beside the bed.

Sophie’s hand covered her mouth.

Jos felt heat flood his body.

“Bastard,” he muttered.

Max’s head snapped toward him. “Stop.”

“He tried to kill you!” Jos barked.

And then Max broke.

Not loudly. Not violently.

Worse.

His hands started shaking. His eyes unfocused, like his brain was trying to reject the information entirely.

“I raced him,” Max said hoarsely. “I trusted him on track. I—” His voice cracked. “We’re drivers.”

The betrayal hit harder than the injuries.

Jos suddenly understood: Red Bull had hurt him. This destroyed him.

Because this wasn’t business.

This was personal.

Max tried to sit up too fast, pain shooting through him. The monitor spiked.

“Max,” Sophie said urgently.

“I raced him,” Max said, panic creeping in. “I could’ve— he—”

His breathing started to hitch.

Ana moved instantly.

One hand on his face. One on his wrist.

“Max,” she said quietly.

He didn’t hear her.

“I could have died,” he whispered, horrified not by the crash — but by who caused it.

“Yes,” she said calmly. “But you didn’t. Look at me.”

He couldn’t.

Her hand cupped his jaw and forced his gaze to hers.

“Nastya—”

“I’m here,” she said, steady. “You are alive. Stay with me.”

Jos watched in stunned silence as Max’s spiraling breathing slowed, guided entirely by her voice.

Not Sophie.

Not Toto.

Her.

The shaking eased.

Max’s forehead pressed weakly against her shoulder.

And for the first time since Jos had entered the hospital, he realized something that unsettled him even more than her composure:

She was the only thing holding his son together.

Sophie sat beside them, tears running freely now, fury simmering beneath them.

Jos clenched his fists so hard his knuckles whitened.

He had always been a man of action. Problems were solved directly. Aggressively. Immediately.

And right now there was a driver in police custody who had tried to take his son away from him.

He turned toward the window because if he looked at Toto he might say something that would become evidence.

But in that moment he made a promise to himself:

If the law didn’t handle it properly — he would.

***

Baku City Hospital, Baku, Azerbaijan -  24 September 2025 

The corridor outside the room was too bright.

Sophie had always hated hospital lighting. It erased warmth from everything — faces, voices, even hope — reducing people to outlines and shadows under fluorescent white. Right now it made Jos look harsher than she had seen him in years.

He was pacing.

Not walking. Not waiting. Pacing — tight turns at each end of the short hallway, hands opening and closing like he needed something physical to break.

Toto stood near the wall, phone in his hand but forgotten, watching him the way someone watched a storm cell forming on radar.

Sophie leaned against the opposite wall, coffee untouched in her hands. She had taken exactly one sip and realized she would be sick if she tried another.

Inside that room, their son was trying to process the idea that another driver had tried to kill him.

Her son.

The word echoed in her chest, heavy and protective and furious all at once.

Jos stopped pacing.

“He planned it,” he said hoarsely, like the thought still couldn’t fit in his head. “He planned it.”

“Yes,” Toto said quietly.

Jos turned sharply. “You knew something.”

It wasn’t a question.

Toto didn’t answer immediately.

And that silence was enough.

Sophie straightened. “Toto.”

“I had suspicions,” he said carefully.

Jos’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “Suspicions? My son is in a hospital bed with metal holding his leg together and you suspected something?”

“We had no proof,” Toto said. “If I had accused a driver without evidence—”

“I don’t care about your legal process!” Jos snapped, voice rising down the corridor. “I care that somebody put my son into a wall at 300 kilometers an hour!”

Sophie’s hand tightened around the coffee cup. “Lower your voice.”

“No,” Jos said, turning to her now, eyes blazing. “No, Sophie, I will not lower my voice. He tried to kill Max.”

Her own temper finally snapped.

“And shouting in a hospital corridor fixes that?” she shot back.

He stared at her, stunned for a moment. “You’re not angry?”

Sophie took a step forward, fury cold and precise.

“I am beyond angry,” she said. “I am trying not to fall apart because our son is inside that room trying to understand why another human being decided his life was expendable.”

Jos’s jaw tightened. “He always had rivals.”

“This is not a rival!” she snapped. “This is a crime!”

The word hung between them.

For a second, neither spoke.

Then Jos ran a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “I swear to God if he ever gets near—”

“No,” Toto said.

Both of them turned toward him.

Toto’s voice wasn’t loud. But it cut cleanly through the corridor.

“You will not do anything,” he said.

Jos took a step toward him. “You think I’m just going to sit here?”

“Yes,” Toto said calmly. “Because right now your son needs a father, not a vigilante.”

Silence.

Jos’s hands curled into fists again. “You don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly,” Toto interrupted. “I have a daughter who was already hurt by that same man.”

The words landed hard.

Sophie’s chest tightened. Jos froze.

Toto continued, controlled but unmistakably emotional beneath it.

“And now I have to walk back into that room and make sure both of them believe the world is still safe enough to live in,” he said. “So listen to me very carefully: if you lose control, you make this worse for Max.”

Jos shook his head. “He tried to kill him.”

“Yes,” Toto said quietly. “And Max is alive. But he is barely holding together right now. What he saw in your face just now? That terrified him.”

Jos faltered.

Sophie saw it — the moment the anger met something heavier.

“He needs you steady,” Toto said. “He needs normal. He needs his parents, not war.”

Sophie set the coffee down on the windowsill, hands trembling now that she let herself feel it.

“He looked so confused,” she whispered. “He couldn’t understand it. Not the crash — the reason.”

Her voice broke.

“He still thinks drivers don’t cross that line.”

Jos’s anger flickered into something else — grief.

“I taught him racing is hard,” Jos said quietly. “Aggressive. You fight for space.”

“Yes,” Sophie said softly. “But you also taught him trust.”

Jos swallowed.

Toto stepped closer, voice gentler now.

“Right now, your son’s world is unstable,” he said. “His team betrayed him. Another driver betrayed him. His body failed him. The only things left that are certain are the people in that room.”

He paused.

“So be one of the certain things.”

The corridor went silent except for distant footsteps and the faint hum of hospital machines through the door.

Jos’s shoulders finally dropped a fraction.

Sophie moved beside him and took his hand — not gently, but firmly.

“We deal with this properly,” she said. “Through the law. Through the sport. Through protecting him.”

Jos stared at the floor for a long moment.

“…I don’t forgive this,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” Toto replied. “You just have to be his father right now.”

Jos nodded once.

And for the first time since the news, he stopped pacing.

***

Lambiase Residence, Milton Keynes, England  -  23 September 2025 

Gianpiero Lambiase found out the way modern catastrophes always arrived now — not through a phone call, not through a team channel, but through his sixteen-year-old daughter shouting down the stairs.

“Papa?”

He was in the kitchen, halfway through making coffee he had already forgotten to drink. The house was quiet in the early morning way that came after a night with very little sleep. 

Francesca stood at the top of the staircase, phone in her hand, her face pale.

“Papa,” she said again, slower. “You need to read this.”

He didn’t want to.

The instinct hit immediately. Deep, sharp, certain. He did not want more news.

But he took the phone anyway.

The Daily Mail headline stared back at him.

He read the first paragraph.

Then the second.

The kitchen went very, very quiet.

For a long moment he didn’t move at all.

Then he sat down.

Not gently. Just… down. As if his legs had simply stopped participating in the process.

Eloisa appeared in the doorway a second later, already alert — she had learned to read her husband’s silences long before she learned English idioms.

“Gianni?” she asked carefully.

He didn’t answer.

He was still staring at the screen.

His brain, an instrument normally built to process telemetry at 300 km/h and make decisions in milliseconds, was refusing to assemble this into something coherent.

Mechanics — he had understood.

 Anger. Betrayal. Criminal stupidity.

But this?

A driver.

Another driver.

The coffee mug in his hand shattered against the tile.

He hadn’t realized he was holding it that tightly.

Francesca flinched.

Eloisa crossed the room instantly. “Hey — hey — Gianni—”

“George Russell tried to kill him,” GP said.

Not shouted.

Not even loud.

Flat. Disbelieving. Worse than shouting.

He pushed the phone across the table toward her.

She read.

And her eyes widened.

“Oh my God.”

GP stood abruptly, chair scraping violently against the floor. He began pacing the kitchen in tight, sharp lines like a caged animal.

“No,” he muttered. “No, no, no, no.”

He dragged both hands over his head.

“This is not — this is not rivalry, this is not racing, this is—” He stopped, choking on the word. “Madness.”

Eloisa watched him carefully. Very carefully.

Because she had seen him angry before. She had seen him furious over strategy calls, stewards, race control decisions, lost wins.

This was different.

This was fear wearing the mask of rage.

“You need to breathe,” she said softly.

“I am breathing.”

He was not.

His chest was moving too fast, shoulders tight, jaw locked so hard a muscle jumped near his ear.

“I wasn’t on the radio,” GP said. 

She blinked. “No. Gianni —”

“I wasn’t on the radio. I wasn’t in that bloody garage. I wasn’t in the factory. If I had been, that would have never happened.”

His voice cracked.

That almost never happened.

“But because I am on fucking gardening leave, they could do this to him!”

The room fell silent.

Francesca hovered near the doorway, wide-eyed. Just watching.

“Papa,” she said quietly, “it’s not your fault.”

He shook his head violently.

“That is not the point,” he said. “The point is he trusted the people around him. The same way he trusts me.”

He braced both hands against the kitchen counter.

“I’ve been in motorsport twenty years,” he continued, voice low and shaking with contained fury. “We argue, we compete, we hate each other on Sunday and drink together on Monday. But we never — never — attack a driver outside the cockpit.”

Eloisa stepped closer.

“Gianni.”

His breathing hitched once.

“I told him every race,” he said quietly, “that my job was to get him home safe.”

The silence after that sentence hurt.

Eloisa placed a hand against his chest.

His heart was hammering.

“Sit down,” she said firmly.

“I’m fine.”

“You are not fine. You look like you are about to have a heart attack.”

He almost laughed — a sharp, humorless sound.

“Maybe appropriate,” he muttered.

She guided him into the chair anyway. He didn’t resist this time.

Francesca hesitated, then came forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind.

He froze for a second — then covered her hands with his own.

“Papa,” she said quietly, “Max is alive.”

His eyes closed.

“Yes,” he whispered.

But the rage didn’t leave.

It settled.

Colder now.

More focused.

“They hurt my driver,” he said softly.

Not Red Bull’s driver.

Not the team’s.

Mine.

And Eloisa, listening to the tone of his voice, finally understood why racing people spoke about paddocks like families.

Because Gianpiero Lambiase sounded exactly like a man whose family had been attacked.

She squeezed his shoulder.

“Then let the police do their job,” she said gently.

GP opened his eyes again, jaw tight.

“Oh, I will,” he said.

Eloisa squeezed his hand. “Max has Ana.”

GP nodded slowly.

“Yes,” he said. “Thank God for that girl.”

Then his eyes went back to the article, fury finally overtaking the guilt.

“This won’t end quietly,” he said.

His voice had regained its edge — the race engineer’s certainty.

“If anyone thinks they get to move past this with PR statements and apologies,” he said, cold as steel, “they have profoundly misunderstood how long I can hold a grudge.”

***

 Baku City Hospital, Baku, Azerbaijan -  24 September 2025 

The room was finally quiet.

Sophie had been convinced to get coffee. Jos had been physically steered into the corridor by Toto under the pretense of phone calls and logistics and anything else that removed a furious Dutch father from a situation he couldn’t fix with his hands.

The monitors hummed softly. Afternoon light filtered through the blinds in thin pale lines.

Max stared at the ceiling.

He hadn’t realized until now how loud his own thoughts were.

He could still hear Toto saying the name.

George.

It didn’t fit inside his head. Every time his mind reached it, it just… slid off, like his brain refused to connect the person he’d raced wheel-to-wheel with for years to the word sabotage.

He lay back against the pillows, exhausted in a way sleep didn’t fix. His shoulder throbbed, his leg ached deep in the bone, his head still felt full of cotton — but none of that was what hurt.

It was the thought he couldn’t make fit inside his head.

Every time he closed his eyes he didn’t see the wall. He saw a grid. Drivers standing around before briefings. Small talk. Jokes. Normal things.

You don’t expect someone you race against to try to kill you.

He turned his head.

Ana was still in the chair beside the bed, hands folded together in her lap. Too still. She had been quiet since Toto left — not her focused quiet, not her analytical quiet.

A different one.

“Ana,” he said softly.

She looked up immediately. Always immediately. “Yes?”

He studied her face.

No tears. No redness. Perfectly composed.

Max knew her too well for that to reassure him.

“You’ve been doing that thing again,” he said.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The shutting down thing.”

“I am not—”

“You are,” he said gently.

Her fingers tightened together.

For a moment she didn’t speak.

“Nastya,” he said quietly.

She flinched.

Not much. Just enough.

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately.

The words hit him like a slap.

“What?” He frowned. “For what?”

She didn’t look at him. Her gaze stayed fixed on the far wall, jaw tight, voice measured too carefully.

“For not telling you sooner,” she said. “For not anticipating this outcome. For—”

He cut her off.

“No.”

She finally looked at him then — really looked — eyes bright but dry, expression composed in a way that set every instinct in his body screaming.

“Nastya,” Max said, firmer now. “Stop.”

She swallowed.

“He kissed me,” she said.

The words were precise. Controlled. Clinical.

“He cornered me. I told him no. He didn’t listen.” Her fingers curled in on themselves. “I broke my wrist pushing him away. That incident directly preceded his suspension and release. I knew it would destabilize him.”

Max felt something cold and lethal settle in his chest.

“I knew,” she continued, voice steady, “that he blamed me. That George believed that being close to me would secure his seat. When he lost it… he blamed me. And now you were replacing him. And I knew he blamed you for replacing him. I should have connected those variables sooner. The sequence of events is not complicated to interpret. If I had reported differently, or said nothing, or—”

Max stared at her.

“You think—” His voice cracked. He stopped, took a breath. “You think this is your fault?”

She didn’t look up.

“I am a variable in the causal chain.”

Max let out a disbelieving breath.

“You’re insane,” he said flatly.

She frowned faintly. “That is not a constructive—”

“This is not your fault.”

Her expression didn’t change, but he could see the resistance — she had already built the internal logic chain and placed responsibility on herself. That was how her brain worked: causality, sequence, outcome.

“I am being logical.”

“No,” Max said, voice firm despite how weak he felt. “You are being ridiculous.”

She shook her head. “George lost his seat because of what happened with me. His behavior escalated. Therefore—”

“Nastya,” Max interrupted. “He tried to kill me.”

She flinched at the word.

“He made that choice,” Max said. “Not you. Not Mercedes. Not the contract. Him. George chose to do that,” he said. “Not you.”

She tried again. “The chain of events—”

“No.” His voice sharpened. “George decided to be a piece of shit. That’s the start and end of the chain.”

Her jaw tightened. “If I had—”

“You didn’t make him do anything,” Max said quietly. “Normal people don’t react to rejection by sabotaging a Formula 1 car.”

Her eyes shimmered, but she held herself rigid.

Max watched her — really watched her — and suddenly understood.

She wasn’t crying.

She was containing.

All the emotion she wasn’t letting herself feel was being turned inward, filed into logic, into causality, into responsibility. If she could make it a system failure, she could solve it.

So she was choosing to be the failure point.

He squeezed her fingers.

He shifted carefully, ignoring the protest from his shoulder so he could face her fully.

“He assaulted you,” he said. “That’s not a variable. That’s a crime.”

She opened her mouth.

“And then,” he went on, voice rising now, anger cutting clean through exhaustion, “he tried to smear you in the press. He outed your diagnosis. He humiliated you publicly. He ignored consent. He ignored consequences.”

Her eyes finally filled.

“And now,” Max said quietly, dangerously calm, “he paid people to sabotage my car.”

He leaned closer, forehead nearly touching hers.

“You didn’t make him do that,” he said. “He did.”

Ana shook her head faintly. “If I hadn’t—”

“If you hadn’t defended yourself?” Max snapped. “If you hadn’t said no?”

She went silent.

Max softened immediately, guilt flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quieter. “I didn’t mean— I just—”

He exhaled slowly.

“I didn’t think he’d sink this low,” he admitted. “But then again… he already showed us who he was.”

Ana’s composure finally cracked.

Not dramatically. Not loudly.

Just a single tear that escaped despite her best efforts to stop it.

Max reached for her hand without thinking.

She tried to pull back.

He held on.

“Hey,” he murmured. “You don’t get to carry this.”

Her voice trembled for the first time. “You almost died.”

“And you didn’t cause that,” he said immediately. “You didn’t pay the mechanics. You didn’t make sure that my car would fail.  This isn’t your fault.  ”

He squeezed her fingers, grounding her the way she had grounded him earlier.

“You protected yourself,” he said. “And I’m proud of you for that.”

Her breath hitched.

She finally leaned into him then, carefully, like she was afraid he’d disappear if she put too much weight on him.

Max rested his forehead against her hair.

“I love you,” he said simply. “And I don’t care how many equations you run — this isn’t on you.”

***

Text Messages: Gianpiero Lambiase & Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff

GP: I assume you’ve seen the news.

Ana: Yes.

GP: Is it true?

Ana: The police believe so. There is evidence. Financial records and statements.

GP: …Christ.

GP: How is he?

Ana: Stable. Pain controlled. Neuro checks good this morning. He is tired.

GP: That sounds like him after a triple header.

Ana: He tried to complain about hospital tea.

GP: Okay, that’s reassuring. Is he… talking?

Ana: Yes. Not much.

GP: About the crash?

Ana: No.

GP: And you?

Ana: I am fine.

GP: You’re not sleeping.

Ana: Incorrect. I slept 2 hours.

GP: That’s not sleep. That’s a software update.

Ana: I am operational.

GP: Ana.

GP: You don’t have to hold everything together alone.

Ana: I am not alone. He is here.

GP: I meant you.

Ana: He is being transferred to Nice this afternoon. Medical flight already arranged. Orthopaedic team prepared. I verified their surgical protocols and post-operative infection rates.

GP: You’re building a recovery program like it’s a race strategy.

Ana: Recovery is a system. Variables can be minimized.

GP: Feelings can’t.

GP: He’ll need you as a person too, not just as one of the best engineer I’ve ever met.

Ana: I know. I will handle it.

GP: I’ll come to Nice when he’s settled, if that’s okay. No work talk. No debriefs.

Ana: That would be acceptable.

***

Text Messages: Victoria Verstappen & Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff

Victoria: ANA

Victoria: ANA PLEASE TELL ME THAT ARTICLE IS WRONG

Ana: It is not wrong.

Victoria: I am going to kill him. I am actually going to commit a crime.

Ana: Please do not.

Victoria: HE TRIED TO KILL MY BROTHER

Victoria: AND AFTER EVERYTHING EARLIER THIS YEAR — AFTER WHAT HE DID TO YOU — I SWEAR TO GOD ANA

Ana: The police are handling it.

Victoria: NO THEY ARE HANDLING IT TOO SLOWLY

Victoria: Does Max know?

Ana: Yes. Toto told him this morning.

Victoria: How is he?

Ana: Physically stable. Emotionally… quiet.

Victoria: …oh no. That’s worse than angry.

Ana: Yes.

Victoria: Is he talking at all?

Ana: He answers when asked.

Victoria: I hate this. He loved that team. He really loved them.

Ana: I know.

Victoria: Where are you now?

Ana: Still in Baku hospital. He is being transferred this afternoon.

Victoria: Transferred where?

Ana: Nice. Specialized orthopaedic rehabilitation unit. Prepared to receive him.

Victoria: Good. Good. Closer to Monaco.

(typing bubble… stops… resumes)

Victoria: Right.

Victoria: I’m coming.

Ana: You do not need to.

Victoria: Incorrect.

Victoria: Tom can deal with the kids. They will survive two days without me. Max will not survive me not showing up.

Victoria: I will sit in a hallway chair. I will sleep on the floor. I will bribe nurses with coffee and stroopwafels.

Victoria: You cannot stop me.

Ana: I was not attempting to.

***

Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team — Official Statement

Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team is aware of media reports concerning the arrest of George Russell in connection with the incident at the Azerbaijan Grand Prix.

These allegations are extremely serious. They relate to matters that are now the subject of an active criminal investigation by the appropriate authorities. We will therefore refrain from speculation or commentary on legal proceedings while they are ongoing.

However, we wish to make the following points absolutely clear:

First and foremost, our thoughts are with Max Verstappen, his family, and those closest to him. We are relieved that Max is recovering following surgery and wish him strength and patience throughout his rehabilitation. 

Max is first and foremost a colleague within our sport and a person who suffered serious injuries. Motorsport is built on trust: trust in preparation, trust in equipment, and trust in the people who work around a driver. Without that trust, competition cannot exist. 

We condemn, in the strongest possible terms, any action that endangers the safety of a driver. 

We also wish to acknowledge and thank the marshals, medical staff, first responders, and mechanics from multiple teams who acted quickly and professionally at the circuit and at the hospital. Their actions made a decisive difference.

George Russell is no longer contracted to Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team. Decisions regarding his previous departure from the team were taken earlier this season and were unrelated to the events currently under investigation. Out of respect for due process, we will not provide further detail at this time.Should authorities require cooperation or information from us, we will provide it fully and transparently.

We note that speculation is inevitable in circumstances such as these. We ask media and the public to respect the legal process and the privacy of those affected, particularly as a driver continues to recover from serious injuries.

Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team will make no further comment until investigations have concluded.

Our priority remains clear: drivers’ safety, human dignity, and respect for due process come before all else.

— Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team

***

[tockthewatchdog]

i really think this tweet is onto something

[duckbunny]

don't infantilise yourself. you are not a child who needs an adult to make your decisions for you. you are a splendid and magnificent autocrat and you are consulting your trusted advisors. you are exercising great wisdom by inviting an expert to give their opinion before making your ruling. often the path of wisdom is to say "good morning, I'm trying to [perform task] and I have a question about [aspect], can you tell me who I should speak to for advice?" before you do it. sometimes the path of wisdom is to hire a plumber. there are times when you cannot do things for yourself but that doesn't mean you are not an adult. you don't need a grown-up. you need a specialist.

[ashlgcostumes]

“A child/student/young person asked me how to do X why does nobody get taught anything these days!!!” It’s you, buddy, you’re the teaching, this may legitimately never have come up before, why do people think education is exclusively some kind of abstract preemptive measure, most importantly done by other people so the rest of us only get the benefits and don’t have to do the work. Sometimes the person who is going to teach this is you. Fucking step up

[televisionenjoyer]

ok repeat after me: gluten free is not "diet culture". gluten free is not meant to "take the joy away from carbs". gluten free is a diet that allows people with an autoimmune disease to eat without inflicting further damage upon their bodies. we don't have to be condemned to eat the most disgusting and basic shit ever because we have celiacs. we deserve options too.

[chessna2]

American friends: If you are so convicted to donate to food banks during the ending of SNAP benefits, as someone who worked in nonprofit, please know it is much more impactful to donate MONEY than it is to donate food. Food banks can order items in bulk and get them tax free, and it gives them the flexibility to order what they need.

Check on your neighbors, help each other out 🙏🏻

[dogpuppy]

[ltwilliammowett]

How to put a Ship in a Bottle

Source

[callmestannismaybe]

[moishe-pipick]

[introvertsnation]

[homunculus-argument]

Nothing slapped my shit back into place like someone pointing out that the "genius gifted child with so much potential who got burnout and mental illness" is just the nerd equivalent to the jock "could have been a pro at sportsball if it wasn't for the injury".

[laceration-d0ll]

YOUR EMAIL FINDS ME ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE

[menlove-archive]

you ever have situations that make you want to take people by the shoulders and go "you are not 15 any longer. this behavior is no longer quirky and cute. it is exhausting for you and everyone else to act like a teenager you haven't been in a decade or longer. knock it the fuck off"

[menlove-archive]

lots of ppl making this about adults who have interests they find cringe but let me be clear this is about emotional immaturity. idgaf if you're 35 and like goku okay but can you have an adult conversation without making yourself the victim is the matter at hand here

[pucksandpower]

After 239 entered races.

After 15 seasons.

After close call after close call.

Nico Hülkenberg has finally done it.

The curse is broken.

Nico Hülkenberg is a Formula 1 podium finisher.