The weeks that followed the hearing were a blur of scorched rubber and champagne. Spa, then Monza, then Suzuka. Three legendary tracks, three masterclasses in controlled aggression. Maddox drove like a man possessed, his Apex car a black scalpel carving through the field. He trusted every command I fed him, every radical setup change, every borderline-insane tire strategy. We didn't just win; we dominated. We made the titans of the sport look slow, clumsy, obsolete.
Our garage became the epicenter of the paddock, a hive of quiet confidence swarmed by journalists and stunned rival engineers. They called our car ‘The Phantom,’ a machine that seemed to defy the known laws of aerodynamics. They called me ‘The Oracle of Apex,’ the ghost who had returned from the dead to rewrite the championshi
