Tom orders himself a whiskey. He had imagined the evening differently. He had been surprised by her reaction to seeing him again. After all these years and the general weirdness of their acquaintance, they had suddenly been very familiar with each other, and it had been effortless. She had felt so good when he had held her. He had almost begun to hope.

  But she was in trouble, he would love to help her, and if he had been harsh, then because she deserved it. He had told her the truth about Mori, and she must stop acting like a child. He felt torn between his loyalties to him and to her, but she was acting stupid, and she knew better than that. Alas, he had picked the wrong moment, or the wrong words.

  He wonders whether Wallace Burns had had this situation in mind when he had said that she would break hearts and cause chaos.

  Early the next morning Tom is sitting in Moris trailer in the paddock, reading his new contract. Mori does not show any emotions, as usual. Tom’s job title would be executive team manager. He would be Mori’s right hand, have full executive capacity, and answer only to Mori himself. This is unheard of. He looks at Mori doubtfully.

  “I have decided that I want to work less, and I trust you”, he says.

  “I’m honoured, sir. Truly honoured by your trust.”

  The pay would be regal. His account manager would weep for joy. He cannot turn this down, not for the pay, but also because he knows that he would be good at the job. He is just about to put his pen to the paper when there is a sharp knock at the door.

  “Yes”, Mori says.

  A young Japanese man in a tailored suit – a lawyer rather than someone from the racing team itself – enters, bows, and starts speaking in Japanese. After two sentences, Mori asks him to speak English.

  The man starts again, glancing at Tom. “The Germans are cancelling their contract with Claymore. As of today. They are paying to get out. Claymore have to send back every engine by this evening.”

  Mori leans back, looking at Tom, asking him with a gesture to speak.

  “The engines are sub-par, but Claymore cannot go on without them”, Tom says. “Looks like the rats are deserting the sinking ship.”

  Mori shakes his head. “No. The rats are making the ship sink.”

  They sit in silence for a minute. Tom imagines what must be going on in the Claymore garage. This is the end, and everybody was going to blame it on Faith. If the Germans paid to get out of the contract, she might be able to pay off her employees, but this is a death blow. There is no way he can help her now, and he cannot even go over and comfort her after what happened last night.

  If he was to sign the contract in front of him, he would not see her again. They would never be friends again.

  “Tom?”

  He wonders how often Mori has said his name already. “Oh yes, I’m sorry. I was just thinking…”

  He picks up the pen again, but Mori takes the papers away. “No. This can wait. I have another suggestion to make.”

  Faith is standing in the garage. The doors are down. Everyone is looking at her. Nicholas had surprised her at the hotel with the mail of the company whose engines they were using. She had realised immediately what it means. This is it. No engines, no racing, no business, no team.

  She has been shocked, but shock does not inhibit her capacity for clear thinking. She has thought about what she was going to say on the drive to the track.

  She had called a meeting and told, in clear words and without showing any feelings, what had happened. She had assured her people that she was going to pay them off. Then she had asked them to pack up the engines and get the rest of the equipment ready for departure as well.

  What she has not seen coming is the emotional reaction of the men. There are actual tears in the eyes of men twice her age. Her drivers want her to negotiate with the Germans. Strathairn is sitting like a statue on a box, and after the first moments of silence, everybody starts to discuss how Claymore could possibly be saved.

  She is moved by this. She had not realised that the men are seeing this as a family matter, almost. A mechanic approaches her, saying that it is not her fault. “It’s just mean, ma’am. Fucking Germans with their shitty engines.”

  She almost cries herself. Still, she insists that the men start packing up. Then she sits down next to Strathairn, suddenly exhausted. The old man does not say anything. They watch the chaos in silence.

  After a while Nicholas comes in, holding his tablet, looking excited. “We’ve just got an email that you want to look at, ma’am”, he says.

  We, she thinks. Even Nicholas has started to say we. Then she reads, looks at Nicholas, reads again and hands the tablet to Strathairn. He reads and says, “Your decision, ma’am.”

  She takes the tablet and reads once more. Daijiro Mori writes, “Dear Miss Casadoro, we have just been informed about the decision of your supplier to withdraw from their contract. We would like to make you an offer. Mori Motors are in possession of engines from last season, three of them assembled, several others in parts. We offer them to you, to use in the current season, should your engineers deem them fitting for your cars. The financial details remain to be negotiated, but since the engines are used material, we will find a solution that satisfies both parties. Mori Motors also offer you unlimited supply of spare parts. The engines are ready to be shipped from Suzuka to Sepang. We also assure you complete independence regarding all other business decisions. The only condition we have is that Claymore Racing takes Mr Tom Healey under contract as Executive Team Manager, for the duration of the current season, to ensure a smooth transition. This offer can be accepted until 12 o’clock noon today. Regards, D. Mori.”

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  “Will the engines work for us?”, she asks Strathairn.

  “Mori uses Akane engines. They are small. We’ll need to adjust our chassis. In Sepang, it would be all handcrafted, but doable. He knows that, Ma’am.”

  She does not reply.

  “Why does he do this, ma’am?”, the engineer asks.

  “Mori? Yes, why? I don’t know.” Claymore would be under no obligation, he has written.

  “Tom would be good to have on the team.”

  “Tom and I are not friends.”

  Strathairn rises from the box, looking down on her. “Ma’am, maybe pride is not the best advisor. It is your decision. With Mori’s engines, we would be better off than ever before. This is a chance we might never get again.”

  She nods and looks at her watch. It is half past ten. She needs to get away and think.

  She crosses the pit lane. There is no traffic. She climbs the wall and runs across the track, signalling to the marshal on the other side to let her through the gate and onto the stand. She climbs up to the top and sits down.

  Her decision. It is up to her to turn Claymore into a serious contender – not for the championship, but in mid-field, where money is being made instead of burnt. Mori’s offer is tempting, but also off-putting because although he says there are no obligations she can feel the strings that are attached, for her personally. He is not currently buying her a planet, as Tom had said, but he is buying her.

  Having Tom on the team would be important if things were to take off. It is logical and sound. Running a team that is losing anyway is not hard. Running a competitive team is a different story. She would need him. And they would get along, she is sure, if they managed to keep their private matters out of it.

  She buries her face in her hands. Could it be that she does not want to save the team? Has she been so calm about it all because the cancelled contract makes for an easy escape? An escape is tempting, too, after the drama of the past weeks. She could sell everything off, go home, play the piano and sort herself out. Her decision.

  Down in the pit lane, every garage is busy except for hers. Behind the doors, they are dismantling the cars. Ambitions and careers are being dismantled, too. Not forever, not for everybody, but for many of the men. Her grandfather had placed the responsibility for these men into her hands. This morning, for the first time, she had seen them as a family. Is she going to let them down like this? It is not really a question.

  She walks up the final steps of the stand and chooses for her way back to the garage the tunnel.

  They are looking at her expectantly. She takes the tablet from Nicholas and writes her email. “Dear Mr Mori, we have received your offer with great surprise and gratitude. Our engineers are confident as to fitting your engines into our cars. We would therefore like to accept your offer. Mr Healey will be a welcome addition to our team, for as long as he is needed. You are very generous. Regards, F. Casadoro.”

  She clicks ‘send’ and they wait.

  The answer arrives within minutes. “Dear Miss Casadoro, our offer holds a condition you have not met to our satisfaction in your reply. Mr Healey must be Executive Team Manager until the end of the current season. Should this condition not be met, there will be no deal. Mr Healey and myself are awaiting your reply. Regards, D. Mori.”

  Faith curses out loud. Everyone is staring at her. Then her smartphone vibrates, it is a message from Tom. “Beggars can’t be choosers.” She curses some more. It is a quarter to twelve.

  “Alright, fine”, she says through gritted teeth. “I’ll go over and talk to them.”

  In front of the trailer there is a young Japanese man in a tailored suit. He announces her arrival without her having to say a word. In the semi-darkness of the trailer, Mori and Tom are seated at a surprisingly large table. Mori motions for her to sit down. He looks at his watch. “It is five minutes to twelve. I take your coming to see me as agreement with all conditions of the deal?”

  She nods. “Yes”, she adds, still through gritted teeth. She is avoiding the men’s eyes.

  “Good. I assume you would like to talk to Mr Healey before we finalise the deal?”

  Again she nods. She does not really care, but maybe this is a good idea.

  Mori leaves the trailer, and Faith and Tom stare at one another in silence. Faith tries to eliminate words like ‘blackmail’ and ‘strangulation’ from whatever she is going to say to him. Then she says, “I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. You were being unfair. But I was over the top. I want to apologise.”

  Tom takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too. No, I was not being fair. I did not see that you were upset. I was concerned with how serious this is.”

  “I know.”

  “It is serious, you can see that now, can’t you?” He gestures around the trailer, the mobile home of the most successful racing company in F1 history.

  “I can see it.” She sighs. Then she says, “Why does he insist that you work for us?”

  “Because he wants it to work out.”

  “But what about his plan? He needs you for himself.”

  “His priorities have changed. Right in front of my eyes, Faith, when he got the message of the Germans withdrawing. He does it for you.”

  “I get it.” She sighs again. “And do you want to work for us?”

  “I do. Claymore used to be my home, too.”

  Faith smiles. She remembers the young man she had flipped off on the coast before he had signed his first contract with her grandfather. “And what if I do not want to let you go at the end of the season?”

  Tom laughs out loud. “Then we will find a new solution. And start negotiating in earnest.”

  Faith believes every word he says.

  Tom knocks on the window and Mori and the young man enter.

  “You have come to an agreement? Excellent. My lawyers will set up the contracts. Your lawyers will have time to review them. You will set up a contract with Mr Healey. However, since time is money, we should finalise the deal now like this.”

  He holds out his hand. Faith hesitates only for a split second, but then she takes it.

  “Thank you so very much, Mr Mori. I am – we are very glad to be working with you.”

  He holds her hand and replies, “It is an honour, Miss Casadoro. I am looking forward to our collaboration.”

  Faith is still feeling dizzy when she rejoins her team. She calls them together and announces, “Pack everything up and send the engines back to Germany, or to hell, I don’t care. When we are done, you can go and enjoy yourselves until Monday in Sepang. All except George, Timmy, Ali, and Sully, that is. Tom and I are going to need you there from tomorrow through Monday to get our Akane-Mori engines running in our cars. Thank you, everybody.”