Sunlight. The ocean. Absolute tranquility.
The yacht rocked gently on the azure surface of the Mediterranean, like a cradle soothing an infant. Stretching out to the horizon, the world was painted in a breathtaking spectrum of blue—from the pale, crystal-clear shallows to the deep, impenetrable sapphire depths. The water was so pristine you could clearly see the rocks, the coral reefs, and the schools of fish lazily swimming far below the surface.
Golden rays of sunlight spilled down lazily, shimmering on the ripples and wrapping the figure sunbathing on the deck in a warm, delicate embrace.
Closing his eyes, Kai listened to the gentle sound of the sea breeze carrying the waves to lightly slap against his eardrums. Everything grew quiet. All chaotic thoughts melted away into the void.
Nothing else mattered.
"...Kai, are you absolutely sure you don't want my help with that pasta? I know I'm useless when it comes to actual cooking, but you know I'm Italian. I know a thing or two about what pasta is supposed to taste like."
Lorenzo's incessant chattering drifted over from behind him. His words practically dripped with the inherent arrogance of an Italian defending his national cuisine. You didn't even need to turn around to picture his chin tilted haughtily upward.
Laying on the deck, drifting somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, Kai groggily cracked his eyes open. "I'm well aware that Italy has amazing food. You don't need to constantly remind me."
It was a blatant, deadpan complaint.
Lorenzo raised his voice defensively. "It's a documented fact! Why are you repeating a fact with that weird, sarcastic tone?"
"..." Kai ignored him completely. "I'm cooking it Chinese style. You've eaten Italian pasta your whole life; you're used to it. You should expand your horizons and try something different."
Lorenzo's voice floated back, laced with skepticism. "I'm not going to like it. I'm telling you right now, I'm not going to like it. Don't feel insulted, it's not a personal attack on you, I just know my own palate. I will absolutely hate it. But out of respect for our friendship, I am willing to try it exactly once."
Despite his grand proclamation of open-mindedness, Lorenzo continued to mutter under his breath. "Pasta... obviously it has to be Italian style. Nothing else even comes close..."
While Lorenzo was still grumbling, a loud splash echoed from the side of the boat. Lorenzo looked out over the railing just in time to see a plume of white water blooming on the surface—
Kai had executed a clean dive straight into the deep water. It was cool, refreshing, and instantly revitalizing.
He broke the surface, the warm sunlight immediately kissing his skin. He couldn't help but close his eyes, floating lazily and feeling the gentle pull of the ocean currents.
Without realizing it, he felt entirely at one with the world.
Vacation mode was officially engaged.
Today, Kai had tagged along with Lorenzo, borrowing a yacht belonging to the Brembo family, and sailed out from the port of Monaco to enjoy a thoroughly lazy, unstructured afternoon.
He was temporarily forgetting his troubles, leaving work on the shore, and completely emptying his mind.
The sound of the moving water patted his ears gently and quietly. Listening closely, he could almost hear the fish blowing bubbles, and the birds singing high above in the sky.
Gradually, the swells began to grow larger, wave after wave gently pushing his body away from the yacht.
Kai didn't paddle or resist. He surrendered control, letting the waves carry him, feeling the rhythmic pulse of the ocean currents against his skin and fingertips like a heartbeat.
A little while later, a voice called out from an angle ahead. "Hey, young man, how's the water temperature today? Feeling good?"
Kai opened his eyes and treaded water, looking up into the sunlight. Another yacht had drifted into view. "The temperature is perfect. I don't envy the people who flew all the way to Iceland to sit in hot springs right now."
"Haha, I don't envy them either. Looks like I should probably jump in for a swim myself soon." It was a woman's voice. She had short hair, and her tone was gentle yet possessed a distinct, resilient edge. "Do you want to come aboard and rest for a bit? Grab some water and sugar? Just a warning, the kids are here, so it might be a little loud."
"Looking at it another way, they're at an age full of vibrant life. We don't have that kind of boundless energy anymore," Kai joked back, eliciting a hearty laugh from the woman.
Kai didn't decline. He swam over to the neighboring yacht and climbed the ladder. The short-haired woman immediately handed him a black towel. "You don't mind the color, do you?"
A smile touched Kai's lips. "I don't require everything I use to be red. I'm not quite that arrogant."
They exchanged a knowing smile.
Just then, the woman looked up and saw the other yacht a short distance away. Lorenzo was standing on the deck, beaming and waving enthusiastically.
The woman waved back at Lorenzo before leading Kai onto the deck. The first thing Kai saw was two children sprinting around, seemingly playing tag. A man wearing board shorts and a Hawaiian shirt was lying on a lounger, reading a newspaper, clearly unable to put work away even while on vacation.
"Toto, there's no need to pretend. We saw right through you immediately," the short-haired woman teased with a bright smile. She turned to Kai and explained, "He's probably been rehearsing this scenario in his head for hours."
Kai was drying his hair with the towel. "Then we should definitely play along. You know, neither of us are actors; we're terrible at performing."
The woman nodded emphatically. "Truly awful acting."
They both burst out laughing—
The short-haired woman standing before him was Susie Wolff. And the man lying on the lounger was the CEO and Team Principal of Mercedes-Benz, Toto Wolff.
There are no secrets in the paddock.
The entire motorsport world knew that Ferrari's contract renewal negotiations with Kai were severely delayed, and that Mercedes and Red Bull were circling like hungry sharks.
Journalists. Netizens. Paparazzi. Sponsors. Paddock insiders. Countless eyes were closely monitoring their every single move.
Of course, phone calls and emails were always the most efficient means of communication. Wolff didn't need to meet Kai in person; he could have simply negotiated with Nicholas. But for a partnership of this magnitude, Wolff had insisted. They needed a face-to-face conversation. He wanted to personally demonstrate his sincerity, and he needed to gauge Kai's true attitude firsthand.
In this regard, Mercedes operated completely differently from Red Bull. The stark contrast in corporate culture and management styles was glaringly obvious.
So, the problem arose:
With the entire world watching, how do you hold a secret, undisturbed meeting without anyone finding out?
The answer: The middle of the Mediterranean Sea.
It was vast and endless, offering no place to hide. Any suspicious movement would be immediately visible on the horizon. Furthermore, not just anyone owned a luxury yacht.
And so, this scene unfolded. Like a clandestine rendezvous straight out of a James Bond film, the two most scrutinized and talked-about figures in the paddock had successfully evaded all surveillance to meet.
Everything was going exactly according to plan. This tiny detail perfectly highlighted Wolff's personality: he was a man who meticulously formulated plans and rigorously adhered to them.
Seeing his wife, Susie, already teaming up with Kai, Wolff couldn't keep up the act any longer. He took off his sunglasses and sat up. "I really need to study what kind of magic charm you possess. Even my own wife is taking your side. This is not good. I feel completely isolated and outnumbered right now."
Kai, still toweling off his hair, thought about it seriously. "My good looks?"
Susie laughed brightly beside them. "Correct answer."
Wolff looked utterly exasperated. "It seems my only way out of this predicament is to turn you into my teammate. That way, this terrible situation becomes a massive advantage. I would be absolutely delighted to see you become everyone else's disaster. The only question is, are you willing to give me that opportunity?"
Relaxed, intelligent, and humorous.
The Wolff sitting here was entirely different from the furious Mercedes Team Principal portrayed in the screaming headlines. The man who had seemingly lost his mind in rage on the pit wall showed not a single trace of anger now that he was facing Kai again. If Wolff wanted to, he could easily become anyone's best friend.
That included Maurizio Arrivabene and Christian Horner. Let alone Kai.
Kai spread his arms wide. "We have the entire afternoon."
A smile crinkled the corners of Wolff's eyes. "I hope I can keep up with the schedule."
...
Pacing back and forth, back and forth. Lorenzo marched relentlessly across the deck. Despite his best efforts to control himself, his mind kept wandering back to the situation on the neighboring yacht.
Soon, Lorenzo realized that the other yacht might be keeping a close eye on his movements as well. He couldn't afford to project his internal anxiety.
Forcing himself to stop pacing, Lorenzo tried to distract his brain by pondering a critical culinary dilemma: if he completely ruined the pasta, how was he going to salvage it?
When he finally looked over again, he saw the Wolffs had invited Kai to sit down for lunch. They were eating steak! Premium, top-tier cuts of beef!
Lorenzo: Heh. So much for the Chinese-style pasta. Looks like Kai was leaving him to fend for himself.
And it wasn't just steak. There was champagne, fresh cherries, and tiramisu. Kai spent the entire afternoon lounging on the Mercedes yacht, enjoying a beautifully relaxed, idyllic vacation day with the Wolff family.
He seemed to be having the time of his life, entirely forgetting to return.
It wasn't until Nicholas called that Lorenzo's chaotic, swirling thoughts were finally interrupted. Having finally found an outlet to vent his anxiety, Lorenzo dumped it all out in one breath.
"...Yes, he's still over there. I have no idea! He's not wearing a wire, and he didn't even take his phone with him. I have absolutely zero clue what they're talking about! What if Toto just starts the engines, drives away, and kidnaps him? What do we do?! Should I call the police? Wait, no, the Coast Guard?!"
He babbled on, completely unable to stop.
On the other end of the line, Nicholas also began to feel a spike of anxiety.
Initially, Nicholas had been perfectly calm, sitting back like a fisherman waiting for a bite. He trusted Kai entirely. No matter the scenario or the pressure, Kai could handle it. Nicholas had even been comfortably focusing on other work, completely unworried.
But now, the sun was dipping toward the west. The day was almost over. Kai and Wolff had been talking for at least three or four hours, possibly longer, and there had been absolute radio silence.
Nicholas wasn't sure if this was a good sign or a bad one. Did this mean the negotiations were going exceptionally smoothly? Was Kai on the verge of signing with Mercedes-Benz?
"The paparazzi." A voice drifted over from behind Lorenzo. "You should call the paparazzi and tip them off directly. When it comes to tracking people down, they're way more reliable than the French or Italian police. It wouldn't even take them an hour to pinpoint Toto's exact coordinates, and then they'd find me right alongside him."
The voice was lazy, teasing, and relaxed, carrying the unmistakable, faint slur of someone slightly tipsy.
Lorenzo whipped around to see Kai strolling into view. He was baffled as to how Kai had even gotten back. Had he swam?
Immediately following that, the roar of a jet ski engine echoed across the water. Wolff was waving goodbye, turning his craft around, and speeding off with practiced flair.
Lorenzo instantly snapped back into his smooth, sophisticated persona, offering a casual, elegant wave goodbye to Wolff, and to Susie, who was standing on the deck of the opposing yacht waiting to receive her husband.
After exchanging the necessary pleasantries, Lorenzo turned back around. He found Kai practically boneless, collapsed deeply into a lounge chair. Lorenzo was speechless. He grabbed a towel and tossed it, covering Kai completely. He grumbled in exasperation, "Who do you think you are, a ninja? You just appear out of nowhere?"
Kai didn't pull the blanket off. His muffled voice echoed from beneath the fabric. "I think I drank too much. I'm pretty sure Toto did it on purpose. He was trying to get me drunk so I'd sign away my life without knowing what I agreed to."
Lorenzo gasped in horror. "I can't believe Toto plays dirty like that! Resorting to those kinds of underhanded tactics!"
"Lorenzo, what's going on?" Nicholas's worried voice filtered through the phone. He was starting to regret letting Kai walk into the lion's den alone.
Lorenzo put the phone on speaker and tossed it onto the table. "Toto deliberately got him drunk. Kai is hammered right now."
A string of colorful curses erupted from Nicholas over the speaker.
Lorenzo sprinted to the kitchen, quickly mixed a glass of lemon water, and rushed back. Seeing Kai groggily sitting up, Lorenzo hurriedly shoved the glass into his hands.
Kai downed it in one long gulp. It was obvious he was genuinely parched.
"Toto is just the smokescreen. The person truly controlling the rhythm of that conversation was Susie," Kai said, his mind slowly coming back online.
The buzz was real. His body felt hot, his muscles heavy and relaxed. The Wolffs had definitely come fully prepared. But Kai had maintained his clarity throughout. He knew his alcohol tolerance was nowhere near Wolff's, so he had secretly been pacing himself the entire time. He wasn't even half-drunk; his brain was completely lucid and functioning normally.
That single sentence instantly silenced both Lorenzo and Nicholas. This was an unexpected twist.
Wolff's reputation preceded him; everyone in the paddock knew exactly how formidable he was. Because of that, they had momentarily forgotten a crucial fact: Susie Wolff hadn't established her own formidable presence within the cutthroat paddock by being a pushover.
Nicholas was the first to regain his composure. "Is that why you stayed over there for so long? Three, four hours?"
"Over five hours," Lorenzo interjected.
Kai hadn't realized it either. "Was it really that long? I honestly didn't notice the time passing. Susie was controlling the environment. She is an incredibly masterful host. Playing with the kids, casually chatting, afternoon tea, swimming, and cooking. To be honest, we didn't actually discuss the contract details for very long. It was woven throughout the afternoon, constantly interrupted by the kids."
"I think the entire setup was meticulously choreographed. They used the kids to create a warm, joyful atmosphere, deliberately breaking up the serious, heavy flow of the negotiation. It invisibly closed the distance between us and shattered any awkwardness. It also perfectly showcased the corporate culture of Mercedes-Benz—they emphasize the 'team,' projecting the warmth and unity of a family."
Nicholas hummed thoughtfully. "They were probably observing you very closely. They noticed how well you interacted with the kids in Monza. You're great with them."
The focus wasn't on the sterile terms of a contract; it was on cultivating an atmosphere and an emotional connection. Mercedes knew exactly how to play the emotional card, aiming directly for what they perceived as Kai's soft spot—
But Kai saw right through it. The children were secondary. What the Wolffs had truly recognized was the depth of his relationship with Sergio Marchionne—a bond that was part mentor, part friend, part father-figure. Wolff was attempting to replicate that exact dynamic. That was his primary objective.
Ultimately, the entire afternoon was an incredibly sophisticated theatrical performance. The Wolffs had even weaponized their own children to perfectly execute the illusion.
Lorenzo studied Kai's expression—clear, rational, and icy calm. "You didn't buy it?"
"Why not? They undeniably hit all the right notes, didn't they?"
Heh.
Kai let out a soft chuckle. "George Russell."
It was an entirely unexpected answer.
"If I hadn't seen what I've seen, I would have bought it. I have to admit, they played a masterful hand. But Toto forgot one crucial detail: I've been watching from the sidelines. I've seen exactly how he treats George. He makes George believe in him completely, cultivating absolute, blind loyalty. George is willing to lay down his life and sacrifice absolutely everything for Mercedes-Benz."
"George's father... is a complete bastard. George has never been treated properly by him. So Toto stepped in, acting exactly like a surrogate father. George constantly looks up to Toto. It borders on worship. He is desperate to earn Toto's validation and approval."
"But?" Lorenzo prompted.
Kai gave a slight shrug. "But right now, Toto is relentlessly pursuing me, desperately trying to sign me. That is the ultimate answer. Regarding the second seat at Mercedes, I'm willing to believe their rhetoric: I am their primary target. Valtteri is their backup plan. George is, at best, their third option. He might not even be that high on the list."
In the recently concluded season, Russell had fought with everything he had to secure the F2 Championship. It was a brutal, hard-fought title, worth its weight in gold.
Russell believed that championship would be his ultimate bargaining chip, the undeniable proof he needed to finally win Wolff over.
Yet today, Wolff had happily spent five hours deploying every trick in the book to win over Kai.
Therefore, just as Kai said: if he didn't personally know Russell, and if he hadn't been quietly observing the entire dynamic from the outside, he might have fallen for the act.
"He didn't do anything wrong. I'm certain that if Mr. Marchionne knew about this, he would agree with Toto's tactics and applaud him. I have no intention of judging him for it," Kai laughed softly.
Nicholas added, "You just aren't buying what he's selling."
It was exactly like watching a magic trick. Once you figure out the sleight of hand, no matter how spectacular the illusion is, it loses its power to amaze you.
"Ha. There's no need to be so serious about it," Kai chuckled. "This is business. We aren't sitting here negotiating based on feelings and emotions. Ultimately, this is a game. It's a transaction. In the end, it just comes down to who plays the game better."
Regarding this, Kai remained absolutely stone-cold and objective.
In Kai's eyes, Toto Wolff, Christian Horner, Maurizio Arrivabene, Zak Brown, and the rest of the team principals were fundamentally no different. They were all the exact same breed of animal.
Or at the very least, they were all striving to be.
Lorenzo continued studying Kai. "But you didn't expose the performance. You actually played along, perfectly fulfilling your role in their little play. Does that mean their offer actually tempted you?"
"If it hadn't, I would never have stayed for five hours. God, I don't have the patience to sit through a fake 'happy family' Thanksgiving dinner performance for thirty minutes, let alone five hours."
Kai nodded slowly. "They did indeed present an incredibly attractive and tempting offer."
"First of all, they have an exceptional race car. Wolff is absolutely confident that Mercedes-Benz will still possess the fastest car on the grid in 2019."
Nicholas cut in. "How confident? Because Ferrari has that exact same confidence, and so does Red Bull."
Kai hummed, thinking it over carefully. "One hundred percent."
"He wasn't just talking about raw speed. He was discussing the entire operational structure of the team. How the technical department actively solicits feedback from the drivers; how they communicate with the drivers; and crucially, how they seamlessly integrate the driver's feedback directly into the car's development. Even though they rely heavily on simulator data, Toto hasn't forgotten that the person actually driving the car is a human being."
"Wow," Lorenzo gasped. "It sounds like they did their homework thoroughly. I'm starting to suspect they have spies embedded in Maranello."
If they didn't, how could Wolff possibly know the exact root of Kai's friction with Ferrari, and exactly what Kai was demanding to fix it?
Nicholas, however, wasn't surprised in the slightest. "Standard operating procedure. Ferrari has spies embedded in Mercedes and Red Bull, too. It's just a matter of how deeply they've infiltrated. After Sergio passed away, Maranello was thrown into absolute chaos for months. That gave their rivals the perfect opening. It's not surprising at all that their spies managed to gather highly sensitive intelligence."
Lorenzo let out an exasperated laugh. "It's come to this, and Ferrari is still trying to play hardball with the best driver on the grid. They don't know how to cherish what they have. They need to lock him down immediately so they can free up their hands to fix their own internal mess. They can't even prioritize their own crises. I don't think much of John Elkann. He's just an empty suit."
Nicholas was amused by Lorenzo's blunt critique. "It doesn't matter. Right now, it's not us who needs them; it's them who needs us. We hold all the leverage."
"So, what was their second point?"
The focus returned to Kai.
Kai didn't hesitate. "Secondly, the exact technical team we were just discussing."
"So far, I've only ever driven for ART and Ferrari. My understanding of the working environments within other technical teams in the paddock is limited. But the blueprint Wolff painted—no, more accurately, the team atmosphere Susie subtly sketched out through her casual anecdotes and stories—was incredibly appealing."
"It's an illusion," Lorenzo stated without a shred of hesitation.
Sensing Kai's gaze, Lorenzo took a deep breath. "I'm not trying to defend Ferrari here. Trust me, I know exactly how painfully closed-off and stubbornly conservative Ferrari's technical department is. It's an absolute disaster."
"But Mercedes and Red Bull are no better. I'll admit, Mercedes is probably slightly more functional, otherwise they wouldn't have won five Constructors' Championships in a row. That's an undeniable fact. But at their core, engineers inherently trust their own data over the drivers. Factions forming to isolate and sideline drivers is a universal phenomenon across the entire paddock."
"Any special treatment at Mercedes is likely reserved exclusively for Lewis Hamilton."
"Of course, if you join them right now, arriving as the newly crowned World Champion, you might get some preferential treatment initially. But ultimately, you will never usurp Hamilton's status within that structure."
"Just look at Nico Rosberg. He fought with every ounce of his being to rip a World Championship out of Hamilton's hands, and the moment he did, he immediately turned around and retired. Why? Because he knew exactly what awaited him. Everyone else called him a coward, saying that as the reigning champion, he finally had the capital to challenge Hamilton openly. But the reality was infinitely more brutal than that."
A smile touched Kai's eyes.
Lorenzo looked slightly embarrassed. "I really am not trying to defend Ferrari here, I swear."
Kai laughed out loud. "I know. But that leads us directly to the third point."
"Clearly, Susie recognized that my arrival would instantly become the ultimate threat to Lewis. Everyone is terrified of a repeat of the toxic Hamilton-Rosberg civil war. So, without me even needing to ask, they proactively addressed it."
Without warning, Kai abruptly shifted the topic.
"Nick, did you know that in Sebastian Vettel's contract, it is explicitly stated in black and white that his teammate must be a weaker driver than him?"
Nicholas wasn't surprised. "Yes, I know. Fernando Alonso had the exact same clause. It's not just about guaranteeing 'Number One' status. They explicitly demand that their teammate cannot be a former World Champion, and cannot be a demonstrably superior driver. I don't know the exact phrasing of the clauses, but I do know that Sebastian demanded that his teammate could not have finished higher than him in the championship standings over the previous three seasons."
Wow!
Lorenzo actually gasped out loud.
Given that context, one could only imagine how excruciatingly uncomfortable Vettel's current position was. Nobody could have predicted that Kai would not only humiliate Vettel in his rookie season, but would go on to win the entire World Championship.
Nicholas caught the implication. "How did you find that out?"
"Susie told me," Kai replied. "She said Lewis has absolutely no demands like that in his contract. Lewis is incredibly secure and supremely confident. He fought his way up from the bottom, starting by overthrowing Fernando Alonso in his rookie year. He is fully prepared to welcome any challenger."
"If I join Mercedes for the new season, they are officially opening the door to free competition. They will allow me to compete against Lewis on absolutely equal footing."
Nicholas instantly honed in on the critical flaw. "How exactly are they defining 'equal footing'? Identical race strategies? Trusting the driver implicitly regarding car setups? Splitting the workload equally during free practice? Ensuring R&D development doesn't favor one driving style over the other? Are they actually promising to completely abolish the distinction between a Number One and Number Two driver?"
The superficial promises sounded fantastic, but the devil was entirely in the details hidden beneath the rhetoric.
Kai's smile widened. "Lewis will remain the Number One driver. I will be the Number Two driver."
"Tsk." Lorenzo clicked his tongue in disgust.
"No. That absolutely will not work," Nicholas stated firmly.
"Maybe in a standard, mid-season race, that arrangement might hold up. But in a critical, blood-soaked championship decider, Mercedes will prioritize their Number One driver. One hundred percent guaranteed. If Wolff is kind enough to inform you over the radio before he screws you over, consider it an act of mercy. The truly terrifying scenario is when the team silently funnels all their development resources and upgrades toward Hamilton, leaving you completely stranded without a fighting chance."
"Why did Nico retire the second he won the title? Why did he ruthlessly backstab Toto? Because the team's entire apparatus was entirely skewed toward Lewis. Nico had to effectively betray his own team and fight a solitary, brutal war just to carve out a path to victory. That World Championship pushed him to the absolute fringes of Mercedes. It was one man fighting against the entire world."
"The reality of winning a World Championship is rarely a fairy tale."
"Fundamentally, Mercedes-Benz is exactly the same as Ferrari. They have corporate glory to protect. They have massive brand value and a PR image to maintain. No single individual is allowed to stand in opposition to the interests of the conglomerate."
"Believe it or not, right now, Lewis is Toto's right-hand man. Toto trusts him implicitly. But the moment Lewis's interests diverge from the team's strategic direction, Toto will be the very first person at Mercedes to ruthlessly discard him. Others might feel sentimental about it, but Toto won't hesitate for a second."
Therefore, on the surface, Susie had painted Mercedes as a warm, welcoming family. But at its core, it was a tapestry of convenient lies.
The Number One driver would always be the Number One driver. And the Number Two driver... would remain the Number Two driver.
The corners of Kai's mouth lifted in a lazy, teasing smirk. "Is that the final verdict, then? Since there's still one last condition, does that mean there's no point in even discussing it?"
The facade versus the reality. The rumors versus the hard evidence. Championships versus corporate interests. On-track performance versus paddock politics. Everything was hopelessly tangled together, weaving the complex, cutthroat reality of the F1 ecosystem.
So, what was the truth? What was the correct strategic decision? How do you build a rock-solid foundation off the track that translates into lethal competitiveness on the track?
Everything was completely unknown. The reality was infinitely more complex than anyone could imagine.
Transitioning from GP3 to F1, Kai had already experienced a taste of the political warfare. But looking back, that was merely a light drizzle. This right now was a Category 5 hurricane.
Let alone Lorenzo, even a seasoned veteran like Nicholas—who had grown up immersed in the blood-soaked politics of the paddock—couldn't help but secretly sweat.
Kai's meteoric rise wasn't just about a World Championship trophy. He was a massive, uncontrollable variable. A true wildcard capable of completely obliterating the established order.
No wonder this off-season storm was infinitely more violent and deranged than ever before.
Even though Nicholas was on the phone and couldn't see Kai's face, he could clearly hear the relaxed, teasing lilt in Kai's voice.
Nicholas couldn't help but laugh.
Kai was still Kai. He never followed the established path. That was exactly why Kai possessed the power to upend the entire paddock, unlike anyone else currently on the grid.
Taking a deep breath, Nicholas wiped the sweat from his palms. "Since we've already come this far, we have to analyze every single option and every single variable."
"After all, it is Mercedes-Benz." Who wouldn't want to drive a rocket ship? "So, what was the final condition?"
"I don't know," Kai replied.
Nicholas: ???
Lorenzo's eyes bugged out, and the words tumbled out in a rapid-fire torrent. "What do you mean you don't know?! You were sitting there for five hours! You were our sole representative in that meeting! If you don't know, how the hell are we supposed to know?! Did you get so drunk your brain turned to mush and you literally forgot what happened?!"
"Hehe." Kai laughed out loud. "I mean it literally. I really don't know. Susie handed me an envelope. She didn't say a single extra word. I'm currently debating whether it's a blatant bribe, or Mercedes' ultimate trump card."
"A bribe? A signing bonus? One million euros? Five million?" Lorenzo couldn't resist throwing out guesses.
Kai didn't explain. He reached behind his back, pulled an envelope from the waistband of his board shorts, and handed it over.
Lorenzo took the envelope and examined it closely. Knowing Nicholas couldn't see it, he narrated. "It's just an incredibly ordinary, plain envelope. There's absolutely nothing written on the outside. And it isn't even sealed."
Lorenzo frowned, looking genuinely perplexed.
Nevertheless, he opened it. "There's a card inside. It looks like a standard birthday card. Inside it says—"
Then, dead silence.
Nicholas couldn't help but press, "Lorenzo, what does it say?!"
Lorenzo looked up, staring blankly at Kai.
Kai shrugged. "Don't look at me. I told you, I don't know what's written inside. I'm waiting for you to reveal the dramatic answer."
Lorenzo quickly regained his footing and took a deep breath. "Two thousand."
The air stalled for a moment as they tried to process the significance of the number.
In the silence, only the gentle sound of the ocean waves and the breeze pushing against the yacht could be heard.
"Wait, hold on, give me a second. Let me double-check if it's two million or twenty million."
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven... Seven zeros. An eight-digit number. Yes, it's twenty million."
Nicholas finally understood. "Lorenzo, what does that mean? Is it a literal check?"
"No," Lorenzo replied. "It's just a regular card with a string of numbers written on it. There isn't even a currency symbol. Who knows, maybe it's twenty million Vietnamese Dong, haha."
As he spoke, Lorenzo couldn't resist injecting a small joke to cut the tension.
He took a deep breath to calm down. "I'm guessing it's their base salary offer? When McLaren negotiated with you last month, what was their offer? Eighteen million dollars?"
"It's true what they say; there are zero secrets in the paddock. If this is a base salary figure, then Mercedes is explicitly targeting McLaren's offer. Zak Brown is probably going to be extremely depressed."
"I am actually a little surprised. I didn't expect Mercedes to be willing to outright beat McLaren's financial offer."
After all, what kind of car was a Mercedes, and what kind of car was a McLaren? Even if Mercedes offered a salary identical to—or even slightly lower than—McLaren's, they still held a massive, undeniable competitive advantage. There was absolutely no logical need for them to increase their financial chips.
Whether it was eighteen million or twenty million, either figure instantly propelled Kai into the top three highest-paid drivers on the grid, sitting only behind Hamilton and Vettel. For a driver entering his sophomore year, it was an absolutely astronomical validation of his worth.
Yet, Mercedes had done it anyway.
After the initial shock subsided, Nicholas's strategic mind began churning again.
"This is a statement. A declaration of absolute intent. It proves how sincere they are."
Kai tilted his chin up slightly, a different kind of light flickering in his eyes. "Behind that sincerity lies a profound arrogance. Handing over a card with a raw number—no explanation, no context, not even a currency symbol—is the ultimate display of their ego."
"It essentially says: 'Look at us. We are Mercedes-Benz. We possess the only true rocket ship on the grid. And on top of that, we are willing to pay you an exorbitant salary. You should consider it the ultimate honor to join us. You should be dropping to your knees in gratitude to accept this job. As for that nonsense about Number One and Number Two driver status? There's no need to argue. Just shut your mouth and be grateful. In fact, we won't even explain this number to you. Guess what it means. Let your imagination run wild and revel in the sheer value we are bestowing upon you.'"
Kai delivered the monologue unhurriedly, a faint, amused smile bleeding into his voice.
Both Lorenzo and Nicholas fell silent. Because they knew Kai was absolutely correct. Wolff was overflowing with supreme confidence. He firmly believed he was making an offer Kai couldn't possibly refuse.
Furthermore, Mercedes was even willing to handle the massive legal and financial nightmare of untangling Kai's existing contract with Ferrari.
The arrogance was baked into their bones, leaking out entirely by accident.
So, what should they do? Accept or decline?
Lorenzo broke the silence. "Were you just doing an impression of Toto?"
Kai burst out laughing. "Just a minor attempt. What, was it not accurate?"
Lorenzo shook his head emphatically. "You can officially abandon any dreams of moving to Hollywood."
The small, lighthearted jab instantly punctured the suffocating tension, and the atmosphere grew joyous again.
Amidst the chaos, Nicholas regained his icy composure. "Setting aside Mercedes' arrogance for a moment, the power of choice still rests entirely in our hands. We hold the absolute high ground."
"My next move is to leak some strategic rumors to put massive pressure on Ferrari. This game is far from entering its third act. There is absolutely no need for us to rush a decision."
Negotiation, psychological warfare, diplomatic maneuvering. The reality was never simple.
Lorenzo nodded slightly. "If Red Bull officially entered the fray right now, things would get incredibly entertaining."
Just picturing the scenario was enough to make his smile bloom wildly.
Lorenzo looked at Kai, bouncing lightly on his toes like a boxer preparing for a title bout, fully ready to provoke Wolff and Horner into a fight to the death.
"Do you think Marko and Horner are just blowing smoke to disrupt everyone's negotiations, or are they actually genuinely interested in you?"
Kai shrugged lightly. "I'm afraid they are the only two people on earth who know the answer to that. Honestly, I'm not even sure Marko and Horner speak to each other in private."
It was a devastatingly accurate roast. Lorenzo laughed hysterically, doubling over.
Nicholas's voice floated over the speaker. It was clear his brain was already operating at maximum capacity.
"They will call."
"And even if they don't, I will personally ensure that the little birds in the paddock know that they did call. I will guarantee Ferrari doesn't miss that crucial piece of information."
The statement was loaded with profound implications, casually revealing Nicholas's ruthless political maneuvering.
The scenario they were currently joking about might not be one hundred percent accurate right now, but without a doubt, it wasn't far from the impending truth.