Nicolas exhaled slowly. A flicker of professional embarrassment crossed his features, but he refused to let the emotion linger. He quickly steadied himself, his analytical mind snapping back to reality.
"You are right. It was a massive financial distraction."
"The biggest contract in the paddock for 2018 belongs to Seb. Sixty million dollars a year."
Kai let out a low whistle. "No wonder Maurizio defends him so fiercely. I would do the same. His rivals are barely making a fraction of that. If Ferrari does not squeeze every ounce of value out of Vettel, it is a catastrophic return on investment."
Nicolas could not help but smile.
"The second largest contract is Lewis, sitting at thirty million base. But that excludes performance bonuses. If you factor those in, Lewis and Seb are in the exact same financial tier. Mercedes is currently negotiating Lewis's renewal. Barring a massive shock, he will comfortably surpass Seb to become the highest-paid driver on the grid next season."
In the paddock, base salary, performance bonuses, and personal sponsorships were entirely separate beasts. Factoring in commercial endorsements, Hamilton was already the undisputed king of motorsport revenue.
"The third highest paid driver," Nicolas continued, "is your friend."
Kai paused, searching his memory. "Daniel?"
Nicolas nodded. "Not this year, but next. He just signed a deal with Renault worth seventeen million dollars annually. Renault showed absolute dedication to get him. On top of that, Daniel is represented by CAA, the biggest talent agency on the planet. His off-track endorsements and commercial activities rival Seb's."
"At least he is finally getting what he is worth," Kai noted, echoing the exact sentiment Daniel's manager had expressed.
Nicolas raised an eyebrow, unaware of Kai's private conversation with the Australian driver. Kai waved a hand dismissively, declining to elaborate. "I am just looking at the massive wealth gap on the grid. You have Seb and Lewis in an untouchable tier, and then the numbers drop off a cliff."
"Exactly," Nicolas agreed. "Because the real money stays with the constructors. There are only two other drivers who have broken the ten million dollar threshold. Care to guess?"
"Fernando and Kimi?" Kai immediately offered the two veteran World Champions.
Nicolas smiled but remained silent.
Kai tilted his head, calculating the grid. "Wait. Kimi is moving to Sauber, so his salary is taking a massive hit. That means..." A spark of realization hit him. "Max?"
Nicolas laughed out loud. "Ten points to Gryffindor. Ten million dollars base. And if he continues his trajectory, Red Bull will likely bump that number up again."
Kai shook his head in mild disbelief. "So Red Bull handed Max a massive payday last summer, making him one of the four highest earners in the sport. No wonder Daniel felt undervalued. What is Daniel making at Red Bull this year?"
"Six million," Nicolas replied without hesitation.
The math was brutal. In 2018, only four drivers cleared the ten million dollar mark: Vettel, Hamilton, Alonso, and Verstappen.
The contrast was staggering. Kai and Charles Leclerc were both earning a base rookie salary of five hundred thousand dollars. Yet, they were the fortunate ones. The Ferrari Driver Academy was exceptionally well-funded. Pierre Gasly was only making four hundred thousand in his first full season, and pay-drivers like Sergey Sirotkin were technically earning even less in base salary.
This context illuminated the sheer gravity of Ferrari's offer to Kai.
Ten million dollars. It would instantly launch a second-year driver into the absolute pinnacle of the motorsport financial pyramid.
Nicolas leaned forward, a sharp glint returning to his eyes. "The base salary is not what surprised me today. John Elkann is simply matching Red Bull's valuation of Max. But look at where Max was when he signed that extension. He had two Grand Prix victories. Your bargaining position right now is entirely different."
Kai raised an eyebrow. "So they should be matching Daniel?"
Nicolas smiled silently.
Kai chuckled low in his throat. "Lewis? Sebastian?"
"Kai," Nicolas said softly, shaking his head. "We are using existing paddock benchmarks. In my view, those metrics no longer apply to you."
"You are an anomaly. You defied definition the moment you stepped into the paddock. If Ferrari wants to lock you down, they cannot use existing parameters to define your worth. Not Max, not Daniel, and not even Lewis or Seb."
"We are aiming for an entirely different stratosphere."
Kai was forging a path completely unseen in modern F1 history. Nicolas knew he needed to rewrite the playbook to match his client's trajectory.
Kai blinked, genuinely surprised. "Wow. That is definitely a perspective I had not considered."
Commercial strategy and brand positioning were completely outside Kai's wheelhouse, and he openly acknowledged his blind spots.
Nicolas's eyes crinkled with satisfaction. "That is why you pay me. Or rather, it is my privilege to handle it."
"Ferrari did not break the bank on the base salary offer, but I am certain Elkann intentionally left room for negotiation. However, true value isn't found in the base salary. That is just the visible tip of the iceberg."
"What genuinely caught my attention in that boardroom was their blueprint for brand integration."
"You might not fully grasp the sheer commercial gravity of the Ferrari brand. If they hardwire you into their global identity, making you the undisputed face of the Scuderia, the subsequent commercial revenue will be astronomical. They are offering you the exact treatment Michael Schumacher received. Surpassing Seb and Lewis in total earnings would merely be a matter of time."
Kai processed the information. "Like Michael Jordan partnering with Nike?"
It was a symbiotic relationship where one plus one equaled an empire, ultimately creating a historic monument in sports marketing.
Nicolas snapped his fingers. "Precisely."
It was the sheer scale of this commercial vision that had sent Nicolas's mind racing during the meeting, causing him to temporarily overlook the operational red flags.
"But you were right to be cautious," Nicolas conceded. "Elkann anticipated my reaction. He deliberately dropped a golden anchor to distract us from the hidden mechanical flaws in the contract. And he succeeded. I missed the trapdoors."
Kai's mind was already accelerating. "Right now, the management faction holds the upper hand. The engineering faction is composed of technical purists. When it comes to corporate warfare, they will always get outmaneuvered by the suits."
"But Elkann still felt the need to bait me and restrict my autonomy, effectively cutting off the engineers' ability to strike back. Does that mean the technical team actually possesses the leverage to stage a coup?"
Logically, the technical team should have been completely neutralized by now. From the engineers' perspective, Kai had already comprehensively outperformed Vettel. Interlagos was just the most public execution; the internal data had shifted heavily toward Kai ever since Hockenheim. But to the management faction, Vettel was still a highly marketable four-time World Champion. He was an asset they refused to discard.
A sudden thought struck Nicolas. He immediately thought of Sergio Marchionne. Had the late President left behind sleeper agents within the Scuderia?
Nicolas held his tongue, watching Kai intently. "Are you leaning toward the engineering faction?"
Kai did not answer directly. "Nicolas, I am a street racer. I barely finished high school. I have no elite connections and no capital backing. What do you think Sergio saw in me?"
Nicolas considered the question carefully. "A wild, untamed instinct that shatters tradition."
"Exactly," Kai said, fully aware of his own strengths and limitations. To survive the snake pit, he had to play to his unique advantages. "I cannot dismantle the management faction's power base. Not yet. Even if I drag this car to both World Championships this year, it will not be enough to override the corporate board."
Nico Rosberg's tenure at Mercedes was the perfect cautionary tale. He won the World Championship, retired immediately, and severed almost all operational ties with the team. Winning was only step one. Transitioning from a champion to an untouchable superstar capable of bending corporate capital to your will was a grueling, multi-year war.
"But I can shake the technical faction," Kai continued. "Because they operate purely on track data and lap times. Clearly, I only gain operational control if the engineers hold the power."
"Looking back, Laurent Mekies, Jock Clear, and Mattia Binotto... they were Sergio's first real gift to me."
The scattered puzzle pieces were finally clicking into place. Marchionne's cryptic maneuvers were sharpening into focus. What seemed like an initial layer of technical support was actually a heavily fortified foundation for a hostile internal takeover.
"As long as I keep delivering victories on track, I can dictate terms to the technical team. If I can reform the insular, arrogant culture of the engineers in Maranello, that change will eventually filter upwards and rewrite Ferrari's entire corporate DNA."
"Once the culture shifts, the money, sponsorships, and absolute authority will naturally follow. That is how we permanently dismantle the old guard's management style."
"A complete rebirth."
Kai viewed himself as a stubborn weed tossed into a barren wasteland. Ignored by everyone, he quietly set roots, slowly and aggressively turning the toxic soil into a fertile meadow.
That was Sergio Marchionne's true terrifying genius.
Marchionne's sudden death had plunged Ferrari into chaos, preventing anyone from seeing the grand design. Only now, month by month, were the jagged fragments aligning to reveal the edge of his masterpiece.
It required unimaginable vision and courage. Marchionne had single-handedly dragged the Fiat Group from the brink of bankruptcy. If he had been granted five more years, returning Ferrari to the pinnacle of Formula One would not have been a mere dream. In truth, Marchionne didn't just want to return to the summit; he wanted to conquer an entirely new frontier.
He had no nostalgia for the past and refused to worship tradition. He believed in destruction as a catalyst for creation. His ambition had barely scratched the surface.
Kai thought back to his private meetings with the late President—before signing his contract, and later in the Milan hospital. Seemingly casual conversations were actually Marchionne quietly placing the agonizing weight of Ferrari's future squarely onto a rookie's shoulders.
It was a heavy, searing burden.
Kai exhaled, swallowing the bitter complexities. The fleeting moment of melancholy vanished, replaced by cold calculation.
"But if Elkann and his management cronies solidify their control, everything we built this year goes up in smoke. We go back to zero."
"If I keep winning, everyone smiles for the cameras. But the moment the car drops off the pace or I string together a few bad weekends, I will become the scapegoat. The executives will never admit a flaw in their system."
"They will treat me exactly how they are treating Seb right now."
It was a delicate, high-wire juggling act. The conflict wasn't a simple binary between management and engineering. There were countless micro-factions beneath the surface, each operating on their own selfish agendas.
Elkann needed to secure Kai, but he simultaneously needed to cage him. It wasn't a simple alliance.
Yet, at its core, it was a fundamental war over leverage. That was exactly why Mattia Binotto had extended an olive branch in the washroom. The engineers were preparing a counter-offensive.
Navigating this explosive web required extreme patience and absolute ruthlessness. One wrong step and the entire operation would burn to the ground.
Nicolas traced the condensation on his water glass, his mind spinning through a dozen different contingency plans. He looked up, expecting to see Kai stressed by the sheer magnitude of the political warfare. Instead, Kai was casually slouched into the sofa, looking entirely unbothered.
Nicolas could only smile. Kai's composure in the face of absolute chaos was unnatural.
"So," Nicolas asked, "what is your play?"
Kai raised an eyebrow. "Regarding Mattia?"
Nicolas shook his head. "No. Regarding Sergio. Do you still believe in his blueprint? Do you still believe in the future he mapped out for you at Ferrari?"
Nicolas was ready for war. This was his arena. Even going up against a titan like John Elkann, Nicolas backed himself. Kai had already violently forced the door open on the track; if Nicolas failed to capitalize on that leverage in the boardroom, he was unworthy of the Todt name.
If necessary, he would call in his father, Jean Todt. Nicolas was certain Marchionne had left behind more than just a few engineers.
But everything hinged on Kai's personal ambition. If Marchionne believed Kai was the vanguard of a new era, Nicolas was ready to march lockstep behind him.
"I believe in it," Kai answered without a fraction of hesitation.
The deeper Kai ventured into the sport, the more he revered the old man in the black sweater. Marchionne possessed terrifying intellect and relentless courage. He was a born pioneer.
"Nicolas, I am not going to offer some cliché about how Sergio means everything to me. Yes, he gave me my career. But I believe in his vision because he saw a reality nobody else could comprehend. He believed in me more than I believed in myself. I genuinely want to see the future he designed."
"If possible, I want to execute his final orders and make that vision a reality."
Nicolas caught the underlying weight in Kai's voice. "You are already doing it, Kai. Without you, Ferrari would be nowhere right now. Both World Championships are still mathematically alive. You have not let him down."
Hockenheim. Monza. Singapore. Interlagos.
Race after race, Kai had burned himself to ash on the asphalt, single-handedly keeping the dying embers of Ferrari's season alive. He had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.
Kai let out a slow breath. "I keep my promises. That is my bottom line." It was true for Jiang Mo, and it was true for Sergio Marchionne.
Outwardly, Kai seemed as unpredictable and untethered as the wind. But internally, he operated on an unbreakable code of loyalty. That core conviction was his true anchor in the blinding vanity of the F1 paddock.
Then, Kai's tone shifted dramatically.
"The real question is whether John Elkann is willing to buy into that vision. If he does, how much power is he willing to sacrifice for it? Does he just want a shiny trophy to boost the quarterly earnings report? Or does he actually want to resurrect the ruthless soul of Ferrari and dominate the next decade?"
It was a cold, brutally objective assessment.
Nicolas blinked, taken aback. "Kai?"
Kai met Nicolas's gaze. His expression was completely relaxed, as if they were debating the weather in Monaco.
"My loyalty lies with Sergio. Not with Ferrari."
"Sergio is gone. I am staying to fulfill my promise and give the Scuderia a fighting chance. But if Elkann refuses to trust the process, or tries to shackle me, I am not a martyr. I will not sacrifice the prime years of my life bleeding for a corporate board that does not respect me."
"If it does not work out, I will walk. Without looking back."
"Whether that means signing with Mercedes, Red Bull, or leaving Formula One entirely to race something else... I am completely open to it. The unknown is exciting. Testing my limits in a different environment sounds incredibly fun."
Nicolas sat frozen. His jaw literally unhinged.
He thought he understood the depths of Kai's independence. He knew Kai had rejected the FDA, brushed off ART Grand Prix, and made Marchionne work tirelessly just to get a signature on a contract. Nicolas knew Kai could not be controlled.
Yet, hearing Kai calmly state he would abandon the most prestigious seat in global motorsport with zero hesitation still short-circuited his brain.
The terrifying part was that Kai wasn't bluffing. He was dead serious.
Kai looked at his manager's paralyzed expression and burst out laughing. "You didn't actually think I was going to trap myself in a red cage just to be their savior, did you? Nicolas, I am not a saint."
"Or rather... I am not an idiot."
Kai's eyes were his most deceptive weapon. Dark, deep, and remarkably clear, they projected an aura of complete, unvarnished honesty. When he spoke, he held eye contact with a humble yet unyielding focus, making it incredibly easy for people to project their own desires onto him. They fell into the trap of believing they understood his soul.
Nicolas had fallen for the exact same trick. Watching Kai bond with the Tifosi at Monza and bleed for the team in Singapore, Nicolas assumed Kai was permanently bound to the magic of Maranello.
Nicolas felt his heart slowly descend from his throat back into his chest. He managed a weak gasp. "You have to be joking."
"Haha." Kai laughed outright.
Nicolas pressed a hand to his chest, exhaling a massive breath. "God above. I almost believed you."
The corner of Kai's mouth quirked up. "I wasn't joking. I meant every word."
Nicolas's breath hitched again.
Kai's eyes danced with amusement. "Nicolas, I guarantee you John Elkann and his boardroom executives are making the exact same assumption you just made."
"They believe I am blindly loyal to the myth of Ferrari. They think my bond with Sergio, the fact that they gave me my shot, and the millions of dollars on the table mean they own me."
The dry sarcasm finally broke the tension, drawing a reluctant chuckle from Nicolas.
"And, of course, they are counting on the Tifosi."
"Who could ever walk away from the Tifosi? Their passion is intoxicating. They offer unconditional worship. They are the greatest fans in the world."
"Elkann thinks he holds all the emotional leverage. He assumes I will compromise, lower my head, and suffer in silence for the 'good of the team.' They want to push my boundaries until I am just a highly-paid puppet, driving their cash cow."
"That is exactly how they broke Vettel. And now they are trying the same playbook on me."
"But."
Kai paused. His eyes hardened, devoid of any resentment or youthful petulance. It was just pure, unshakable self-assurance. The sheer gravity of his confidence forced Nicolas to sit upright and listen.
"If the executives refuse to respect Sergio's legacy, choosing to squander his final masterpiece for short-term corporate gains... why should I stick around to be their collateral damage?"
"I am willing to stay, but not for Elkann's paycheck. I am staying because the team in the garage and I are united in pushing the limits of speed. We are trying to build the empire Sergio designed."
"But the second they disrespect that vision, I am gone. No hesitation."
"Right now, I only have phenomenal memories. The last two years, from GP3 to F1, have been perfect. I respect Sergio, Maranello, and the Ferrari mechanics immensely. I would rather walk away now and keep those memories intact than stay and watch it devolve into a nightmare. There is no need for it to end in a bloody divorce."
He spoke with total clarity.
Nicolas was momentarily stunned.
He finally realized Kai hadn't changed at all. Arrivabene might have forgotten the cold, calculating rookie who demanded performance clauses before signing his first contract, but Nicolas hadn't. Despite the fame, the wins, and the adoration, Kai's core programming remained untouched.
Instead of panic, a profound sense of relief washed over Nicolas.
Once again, Nicolas marveled at the terrifyingly accurate talent evaluation of Sergio Marchionne and his own father, Jean Todt. They had identified a ruthless pragmatism in Kai that Nicolas was only just beginning to fully appreciate. That exact trait was what made Kai a generational talent.
Nicolas straightened his posture, his own predatory instincts roaring to life.
Kai's future in the paddock was limitless. Whether he wore red, silver, or blue, he was destined to dominate. The real question was which constructor would earn the privilege of riding his coattails.
From a management perspective, Kai's absolute detachment was a massive tactical advantage. Nicolas didn't need to beg Ferrari for scraps; he could weaponize the entire grid against them.
Naturally, Ferrari remained Plan A. Leaving the Scuderia carried massive risks. Look at Daniel Ricciardo: fleeing Red Bull for a midfield Renault secured the bag, but it effectively ended his championship hopes, drastically reducing his global exposure.
The "Big Three"—Mercedes, Ferrari, and Red Bull—dictated the sport. Ferrari still held a strong hand.
But Nicolas was not going to let Maranello dictate terms. By opening the board to outside players, they could rewrite the rules of engagement.
Nicolas exhaled a long, measured breath.
"From Sergio's perspective, it would be a tragedy if you left. But from a negotiator's standpoint, your mindset is a massive asset. Unlike Charles, whose entire existence revolves around driving for Ferrari, your detachment gives us ultimate leverage," Nicolas admitted with a wry smile.
Kai shook his head. "Sergio wouldn't view it as a tragedy. First, he would respect my logic. He would appreciate that I wasn't blinded by emotion, and he would wish me a highly successful career. And then, he would turn around, order his team to absolutely destroy me on track, and teach me exactly why you never make an enemy out of Sergio Marchionne."
"If necessary, he would ruin my career without blinking."
Nicolas paused, genuinely processing the hypothetical scenario, before bursting into applause and roaring with laughter. "Spot on. Strictly business, right? But then you two would still text privately, exchange Christmas gifts, and grab dinner after the race?"
Kai shrugged. "Only if he was paying."
Nicolas's smile turned feral. "I finally understand why Sergio favored you. I've known him my entire life. He practically watched me grow up, but he never looked at me the way he looked at you. My father always said I lacked the killer instinct."
Nicolas spread his hands. "I suppose I am not a killer."
"Fortunately," Kai replied smoothly, "there are thousands of professions in the world. Assassin is only one of them."
Nicolas's grin widened. "Well, I have good news. Mercedes and Red Bull have been maintaining back-channel communications with me."
Catching Kai's slight look of surprise, Nicolas elaborated. "When Sergio passed away and the internal civil war stalled your renewal talks, I recognized the danger immediately. I started laying the groundwork for an exit strategy months ago."
"Kai, you belong at the front of the grid. Every Team Principal wants you in their car. I will not let Ferrari's corporate incompetence derail your trajectory."
Clearly, Nicolas Todt wasn't an idiot either.
Kai smirked. "And the bad news?"
Nicolas sighed. "It has been mostly posturing. We haven't engaged in hard numbers. You know how the silly season works. Teams never put all their eggs in one basket. They are secretly talking to other drivers just in case. We are entering the market late, so the board is volatile."
The paddock was an endless cycle of leverage, deception, and capital.
The chaos had truly begun back at Silverstone when Force India collapsed into administration, coinciding with Marchionne's hospitalization. For months, wild rumors had fueled a firestorm of speculation, dragging drivers and team bosses into a brutal game of musical chairs.
Mercedes and Red Bull weren't even trying to hide their agendas.
Toto Wolff was publicly flirting with George Russell, Kai, and his ultimate white whale, Max Verstappen. The implication was clear: Valtteri Bottas was on thin ice, and the second Mercedes seat likely wouldn't be confirmed until the winter break.
Over at Red Bull, Ricciardo's shocking defection to Renault had blown the second seat wide open. The Red Bull junior program was engaged in a bloodbath. While Pierre Gasly seemed like the logical heir, Christian Horner refused to confirm him, feeding the frenzy as drivers threw themselves at the Milton Keynes squad.
Nicolas had been managing these external connections like a master fisherman maintaining multiple lines. But the other teams were playing the exact same game.
The paddock was essentially a high-speed juggling act. Everyone was keeping half a dozen flaming torches in the air, waiting to see who dropped one first. Whoever capitalized on the mistake would secure a dynasty; whoever panicked would face total disaster.
Nicolas's mind was moving at warp speed. "Looking back, I wasted too much time playing nice with Ferrari."
He had genuinely believed an early renewal with Maranello was a foregone conclusion. Now, the window to secure a top-tier seat was rapidly closing as the season neared its end.
As Nicolas sank into deep tactical thought, Kai watched him, a slow smile spreading across his face. Kai deliberately broke the tension.
"There is no need to panic. Everyone knows how this game is played. We don't need to reinvent the wheel, we just need to hijack the momentum."
"First," Kai outlined, his voice calm and precise, "go have some highly visible dinners with key figures from other teams. Leak some fabricated rumors to the press to turn up the heat on Ferrari. When we finally sit back down with Elkann, we use that external pressure to demand operational autonomy—specifically, a guaranteed voice in car development, setup direction, and PR strategy."
"If we stay at Ferrari, we must infiltrate the engineering faction. We need to convince the management suits that we are a disruptive element sent to keep the engineers in line. Simultaneously, we convince the engineers that we are their frontline soldier in the war against management."
"We play them against each other, carve out our own operational sphere, and see if we can trigger whatever traps Sergio left behind."
"Second," Kai continued smoothly, "leak to the paddock that our talks with Maranello are deteriorating. Let the Tifosi and the Italian press panic, which forces the management faction onto the defensive. This will signal to Mercedes and Red Bull that the door is actually open. Even if they don't legitimately want to sign me, Toto and Christian will absolutely jump at the chance to destabilize Ferrari."
"Once they inevitably reach out, you work your magic. See what kind of actual numbers and authority they are willing to offer. Do not limit it to Merc and Red Bull. Drag ambitious midfield teams like Force India, Renault, and McLaren into the rumor mill to create maximum noise."
"The more chaotic the grid becomes, the more leverage we hold."
It was a masterclass in double-agent psychological warfare.
Nicolas barked a laugh, shaking his head. "Thank God you didn't go into driver management, or I would be out of a job."
Jokes aside, Kai's ruthless strategic breakdown sparked an immediate revelation in Nicolas's mind.
They had been playing defense. They needed to go on the offensive. Refuse to play Elkann's or Wolff's political games, and force the grid to play theirs.
More importantly, they had assets they weren't utilizing. Kai wasn't the only one trapped in Ferrari's political web. Sebastian Vettel and Antonio Giovinazzi were also pawns on Elkann's board.
Instead of treating them as obstacles, they needed to weaponize them.
Ferrari was currently fighting a multi-front civil war: Management vs. Engineering. Italian Heritage vs. Proven Champions. Academy Youth vs. Veteran Pedigree.
The intersection of these conflicting ideologies created massive friction, but that friction generated blind spots they could exploit.
Currently, the Ferrari board was deadlocked trying to arrange three drivers (Vettel, Kai, Giovinazzi) into two seats. It was causing endless infighting.
What if Nicolas introduced a fourth variable into the equation? A wildcard that completely shattered Elkann's fragile internal balance?
It was a volatile theory, but the potential payoff was massive.
"I understand exactly what you are saying, and I have an idea," Nicolas said, his energy surging. He adjusted his posture, leaning forward with predatory intensity.
"Externally, we drag Mercedes, Red Bull, and the midfield into a bidding war. If they want chaos, we give them a hurricane."
"Internally... what if we casually drop a brand new competitor into the mix for that Ferrari seat? What do you think?"
Concepts were perfect in a vacuum, but executing them in the paddock was a different reality. Nicolas needed Kai's absolute sign-off before pulling the trigger. It was, after all, Kai's career on the line.
Kai blinked. "Of course. Elkann is trying to maintain a delicate balance so he can retain absolute control. Chaos is our best friend right now."
The ultimate endgame was forcing both the Management and Engineering factions to realize that Kai was the only element holding the team together. If every warring faction required Kai's presence to survive, Kai would become the undisputed king of Maranello, effectively conquering the team from within.
Achieving that "perfect ending" was incredibly dangerous. Playing both sides often resulted in getting crushed in the middle. But they undeniably needed a catalyst to break Elkann's tightening grip.
Nicolas felt a flash of frustration. For someone usually so perceptive, Kai had completely missed the massive hint he just dropped. He tried again. "Kai, I am not talking about throwing a random rookie to the wolves. I am talking about introducing a competitor that both you and I know very, very well."
Kai's brain was already overloaded with Machiavellian plots and corporate backstabbing. For a second, he genuinely blanked.
"Who? Antoine? Or someone else from the FDA? Is there another academy prospect besides Giovinazzi making noise?"
Nicolas chuckled helplessly. He honestly couldn't tell if Kai was genuinely oblivious or just messing with him.
Shaking his head, Nicolas opened his mouth to finally drop the name.
Before he could speak, the sound of a key turning in the apartment lock echoed through the hall. Nicolas instantly sat back, the strategic intensity vanishing from his face.
"Expecting company?"
Both Kai and Nicolas turned toward the entrance just as a thoroughly exhausted Charles Leclerc walked through the door, lugging his travel bags.
Leclerc froze. The heavy, calculating stares from Kai and Nicolas hit him like a physical force. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his survival instincts screaming. He instinctively took a half-step backward, glancing nervously around the living room, and then literally leaned back out into the hallway to check the apartment number.
"What is going on?" Charles asked, his voice laced with confusion. "Did I walk into the wrong apartment?"