Page 97 of Spin Control

I smile. “You, too.”

“And congratulations.”

I lift an eyebrow, and he grins. “Elizabeth. I like her.”

“Ah. I knew you couldn’t mean me having more Drivers’ Championship points than you.”

He laughs. “For now.”

“Yeah. For now.”

“Not to rush this reunion,” Étienne says. “But some of us aren’t on summer break.” I let out a boo, Stas glowers at the prince, Elizabeth laughs, and Jane looks as if she’s wandered into a fairytale, all doe-eyed as she catalogs every moment. “Before I go, the five of us should fill each other in on everything that’s happened,” he says. “Close all the gaps.”

As if anyone here would object to that.

Stas starts, explaining how his uncle met Elio years ago during a business lunch. When Yevgeny eventually asked Elio for advice on how to help Stas attract more sponsors so he could compete in bigger karting tournaments, Elio roped him into laundering money in exchange for making Stas’s dream come true.

Years later, once Elio’s operation had grown and Stas’s talent was on a world stage, Elio decided Yevgeny’s money laundering services weren’t enough. Yevgeny tried to keep Stas out of it, but Elio swore his connections in F1 could ensure that Stas suffered a career-ending accident on the track—and that terrified Yevgeny. So Stas was brought into the operation, working as a go-between.

He would be instructed to say something specific to a race VIP, to attend a certain dinner party and collect a flash drive from a certain guest, to play blackjack until he lost every cent of the money that had been transferred to a Swiss bank account Elio opened in Stas’s name. He never knew what it was all for, exactly, but he had his suspicions.

And when he was told to collect a Bugatti from one of the most ruthless oligarchs in Russia and then gamble it away a few months later, he knew Elio had become a very dangerous man.

Stas hoped that facilitating a deal of that magnitude would be enough to get him and his uncle out. But Elio wanted even more. He maneuvered himself into the position of Martine team principal and then ordered Stas to leave Orion. When he refused, Elio threatened to kill his family. So that’s why Stas left the best team in F1 to drive for a team in the mid-field.

But he also hatched a plan.

He threw his weight around, ensuring I could stay in the sport, and he kept Elio close. He earned his trust. And when Elio finally told Stas that the Bugatti was a down payment for the development of a biochemical weapon, he and Yevgeny started giving all the information they had to MI6 in exchange for immunity. MI6 got Interpol involved, and when there was an opportunity to bust one of Elio’s operations as it moved through London, Stas agreed to being arrested. They knew Elio was insulated enough that the evidence wouldn’t keep him in custody—but it would be enough to spook him, get him out of the sport, and launch an official investigation.

From there, Étienne jumps in, explaining how a Druvian businessman discovered Liu Zhenghao’s company was manufacturing Reverie when he was in China for work and overheard two dock workers joking about how the kickbacks they receive for helping traffic “21st century opium” would make them rich. The man thought it was odd that they were both wearing Martine Racing hats. Once Druvia’s intelligence network had that information, it didn’t take long for them to discover Liu Zhenghao was linked to Elio.

After Elizabeth, Jane, and I add our portions of the story, I say, “So that’s it. All our questions are answered.”

“Not all of them,” Elizabeth grumbles. “Who sent Alice the footage of you and Stas talking to Liu Zhenghao? Was it Yevgeny?”

Stas shakes his head. “No. Interpol already knew about that and my uncle would not have gone to a journalist directly. It must have been someone else.”

Elizabeth gasps. “The favor email.” She’s immediately on her phone—which was recovered from one of Elio’s goons—and is typing furiously. “Oh my God!”

“What?” I ask.

“I’m such an idiot. Do you know what Freddie’s dad does for a living?” I shake my head, but Étienne and Stas exchange a look. “He owns the Novi Network.”

“Okay?” It’s shockingly common for F1 drivers to come from families with extreme wealth. Being the heir to a cable news conglomerate is par for the course.

“Fred wanted his son to stay in F1,” Elizabeth says. “Assuming Stas would eventually come back, his best bet was to get rid of you. He must have gotten wind of the link between the Bugatti and Liu Zhenghao, so he sent the video of you and Stas speaking with him to a journalist who was openly investigating the story to incriminate you. I have no doubt that he started the rumors about your seat.”

I let that sink in for a moment, and then shake my head. “What a conniving loser.”

Everyone laughs, the break in tension a nice change of pace. It’s breezy and comfortable as we chat for a while longer, but I’m not at all upset when Étienne has to get back to Druvia, or when Jane yawns and says the jet lag is catching up to her.

Stas looks between me and Elizabeth, then smiles softly. “I should give you two some privacy.”

“We’ll catch up soon,” I say, and he nods, just once, before turning and leaving the suite.

“Sleep?” Elizabeth asks. It’s only then that my exhaustion hits full force.

“You always have exactly the right plan.”