The sinking pit in my stomach calls me a liar.
“Ulrich has been cleared of wrongdoing.” Ilya grits his teeth in the after-race debrief. My head is stuck in a tailspin because Asher still hasn’t shown up—he’s being evaluated at the nearest hospital for injuries. I haven’t heard anything about him, and I doubt I’ll get a moment’s peace until I do. Until I can speak to him.
But Ilya’sobscenedeclaration cuts through the fog. I do something impulsive and break etiquette mid-debrief,because Ican’tkeep my mouth shut. Not when IknowUlrich intentionally crashed into Asher’s car.
“That’s impossible.”
Everyone’s eyes swing over to me. Ilya’s expression is hard, challenging. “It’s not impossible; it’s factual. The call has been made. Ulrich swerved when he hit a deep puddle, and that happened to be unfortunately timed—”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m telling you, that’snot the case. I’ve been over the data—”
“So have the marshals. You’re stepping dangerously far out of line,” Ilya warns.
Do I look like I give a shit about stepping out of line?Ulrichintentionallycrashed into Asher, a crash that could’ve gotten the man I lo—
The man Icare forkilled.
Declan chooses that moment to pipe up. “Since nothing can be proven, the call is final. All the evidence has been reviewed—”
“My algorithm’s findings haven’t,” I interrupt, risking my job—and being incinerated into a hole on the floor by Ilya’s glare.Fuck it. I hold up my tablet. “The Marshals haven’t seen what I’ve seen. There is conclusive evidence,numerical data evidence, that proves Ulrich’s malice and premeditation.”
Declan looks at Ilya. Ilya looks at Declan.
Nobody in the team will doubt that there’s something going on between me and Asher anymore, but I don’t care. I have to get Ulrich punished, and I shouldn’t have ever attempted to hide that I have a personal relationship with Asher. It hasn’t worked in either case.
“Show me,” Ilya demands.
I push off the wall and round the table where all lead personnel are seated, clicking over to the report my system compiled and setting it in front of Ilya. It’s in raw form, unintelligible to most people, but Ilya has the expertise to understand it.
It shows the vitals of Ulrich’s car in comparison to the exact measurements of water on the race track. It shows thatwhenhis front right tire hit the narrow edge of the puddle, he shouldn’t have been impacted. That his trajectory was safely pushingintothe puddle.
It proves that his swerve the moment that Asher pulled up with him was intentional and reckless.
“Dear god.” Ilya stares down at the screen. “Declan?”
Declan rounds the table and leans over Ilya, also scanning the program. “Fucking. Hell,” he mutters.
“Will it be enough?” I ask uncertainly. I can’tbewith Asher, but I can sure as hell do my best to get justice for him.
“If it’s not, we can file a formal complaint. Make some noise.” Ilya twists to stare at me, handing my tablet back. “Send this to me in full.”
“Done.”
“I thought you were trackingourteam, not others,” Declan says, brows furrowed.
“The core of my program is data analysis. Forecasting was layered over that. It can’t forecast accurately if it’s not tracking every single condition on the track and every other driver.”
“Congratulations, intern,” Elio pipes up. There’s a tired, almost worried smile on his lips. “Let’s see how much we can get Ulrich punished.”
I stay with Ilya and Declan long after the debrief, compiling a report and complaint to send to the FIA Stewards—the people who decide the level of Ulrich’s punishment. It takes longer than expected.
Every minute that passes is a minute I could be spending with Asher, and it kills me.
Ilya eventually takes pity on me. “Go,” he says. “We have what we need.” He pauses. “Asher’s been discharged from the hospital. He’s back in his hotel room, probably brooding.” Another, longer pause as he examines me. “Room 34A.”
I already know, but Ilya mentioning it is telling. He’s suspected something before, but now, he’s certain.
Since I’m not being fired on the spot, I suppose this is his way of telling me he’s okay with it. Or maybe my addled brain is making up excuses to offer me some modicum of comfort, and Ilya intends to fire me the next time we speak. Either way, I can’t find it in myself to care right now.
