The Champion I Created Tried to Ruin Me

My phone buzzed against my thigh the second the elevator doors parted in the basement parking garage.

The screen lit with blocked caller ID.

I hit accept. "Maya Lin."

"Get into your vehicle and lock the doors," Jasper’s voice crackled through the speaker, breathless and raspy.

I did as he said, climbing into the driver's seat and clicking the door locks shut. "Why are you calling from a hidden number again?"

"Because the pit lane call yesterday wasn't an accident," Jasper blurted out. "I knew Rainer was in that office with Vera. I told you to bring that binder because I knew you'd walk in on them."

My grip tightened around the steering wheel. "You staged that?"

"My conscience couldn't take it anymore," he said, his breathing ragged over the static. "I've watched you carry him on your back for seven years while he acted like a golden boy. But watching him dismantle your life behind closed doors? I felt sick. I had to rip the blindfold off."

"And what happens now?"

"We need to talk face-to-face," Jasper said. "Not at the track. Not near the shop. Meet me at the old dyno supply warehouse off Sector Four in twenty minutes. Come alone."

The line cut out before I could answer.

I threw the car into reverse and pulled out into the morning traffic.

The warehouse sat behind a line of rusted shipping containers, far from the polished corporate suites of the speedway. When I pulled up, Jasper’s beat-up pickup truck was already idling near the loading dock.

He climbed down from the cab as soon as my engine died. His mechanic overalls were stained with grease, dark bags sagging beneath his bloodshot eyes. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in forty-eight hours.

"You took your time," he muttered, pacing toward my car.

"I had business with legal," I said, stepping out and shutting the door behind me. "Why are you doing this, Jasper? Rainer was your best man. You’ve been wrenching for him since go-karts."

Jasper stopped two feet away, raking a calloused hand through his buzz cut. "Because there's racing politics, and then there's pure evil. Rainer is my brother. I love the guy. I can't bring myself to drive the knife into his chest with my own hands. But I sure as hell won't stand by and let him slaughter you either."

"So where do you stand?"

"Right in the middle," Jasper said, pulling a heavy, matte-black case from behind his back and thrusting it toward me. "I won't pull the trigger. But I will hand you every round of ammunition I have."

I took the case. It was latched tight with metal clips. "What is this?"

"Insurance," Jasper replied grimly. "Rainer’s been cheating the technical regulations for three months. He forced me to install an unapproved fuel-bypass valve and an illegal restrictor plate bypass on Car Seven to boost straight-line speed during qualifying."

My eyes widened. "Those are mandatory disqualification penalties."

"Not just penalties," Jasper countered. "It’s a multi-year ban from competition. I kept the signed workshop orders and the telemetry snapshots before he made me wipe the onboard logs. It’s all on a solid-state drive inside that case."

"Why did you keep them?"

"To protect my own neck if the scrutineers ripped the engine block apart," Jasper said flatly. "If the FIA caught Car Seven with illegal mods, Rainer would have pointed the finger straight at me and claimed he had no idea what his mechanic bolted on. That's who he is now."

I looked down at the case in my hands. "What else?"

"I've got three pinhole audio bugs and two microscopic wide-angle lens cameras inside that box," Jasper continued, his voice dropping an octave. "Military-grade. Battery life runs ninety-six hours, and they broadcast on an encrypted local frequency that won't show up on commercial Wi-Fi scanners. Plus, my cousin works for one of the premier sports litigation firms downtown, and I’ve got direct lines to two senior editors at *Motorsport Dispatch*."

A grim chuckle escaped my lips—cold and quiet.

Jasper stared at me, visibly rattled by the sound. "You're laughing?"

"I'm laughing because you still think this is just about unapproved parts and infidelity," I said.

Jasper’s brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Rainer isn't just trying to dump me for Vera, Jasper. He cloned my external hard drive yesterday morning. He copied seven years of my proprietary simulation models, my suspension geometry, and my fuel-burn maps. He shopped them to a European team for a twelve-million-dollar buyout."

Jasper froze. His jaw slackened. "He... he stole your root code?"

"That’s only half of it," I continued, stepping into his space, forcing him to meet my gaze. "He convinced me to stay behind for the Barcelona test. You know why?"

Jasper shook his head slowly, fear creeping into his eyes. "Tell me."

"He plans to bin Car Seven at Turn Four during joint testing," I whispered. "He's going to blame the crash on a catastrophic mechanical failure. And he already altered the maintenance logs under my user account to make it look like I over-tightened the steering rack. He’s staging an intentional high-speed collision to frame me for gross negligence, get me blacklisted from motorsport forever, and walk away clean with twelve million dollars."

Jasper stepped back, his boot catching on a cracked slab of asphalt. "Jesus Christ."

"He isn't just ditching me," I said, my voice steady as steel. "He is trying to completely destroy my life so I can never challenge his ownership of the software."

Jasper stood motionless for several seconds, staring at the grease on his palms. When he looked back up, the conflict in his eyes was gone. Only a hard, chilling resolve remained.

"That bastard," Jasper spat, his voice trembling with disgust. "He would crash a four-hundred-thousand-dollar machine and risk other drivers on track just to erase you?"

"Yes."

"Then forget loyalty," Jasper said, striking his fist against the side of his truck bed with a hollow thud. "What do you need me to do?"

"You stay close to him," I ordered. "Act like nothing happened. Don't let your eyes drift, don't change your tone, and don't give Vera a single reason to think you’re compromised. If Rainer tells you to prep Car Seven for transport, you prep it."

"And the surveillance equipment?"

"I'll handle the planting," I said, tapping the black case. "I’m going to bug our apartment study tonight while he packs. Tomorrow morning, before he leaves for the airfield, I’ll plant the second set inside the pit office desk."

"I can cover the hallway while you do it," Jasper offered immediately. "I'll schedule a dyno calibration run during the lunch shift. It'll keep the entire bay loud enough that nobody will hear you moving around the office."

"Good," I said. "Keep your phone open on the secure line. What about your legal contact?"

"Marcus Wright," Jasper said, pulling a business card from his pocket and pressing it into my fingers. "Tell him I sent you. He specializes in intellectual property theft and sporting federation arbitration. If Rainer tries to alter the trackside server logs in Spain, Marcus can file an injunction before the transport plane touches the tarmac."

"And the media?"

"The second Rainer tries to pin a fake mechanical failure on you, I leak the illegal fuel-bypass documents directly to the press," Jasper vowed, his teeth clenched. "We won't just stop him from framing you. We'll strip the helmet off his head."

"No leaks yet," I cautioned, sliding the card into my coat. "If we hit him too early, he runs to the European syndicate, settles out of court, and hides behind their legal team. We let him think he’s winning. We let him walk onto that track believing he holds all the cards."

Jasper looked at me, a low whistle escaping his mouth. "You're going to let him strap into that cockpit knowing what he's planning?"

"He wanted an audience in Barcelona," I said, my voice devoid of mercy. "I'm going to give him one."

I climbed back into my car, setting the heavy surveillance case on the passenger seat next to me.

Jasper leaned through the open window, his knuckles gripping the frame. "Maya?"

"What?"

"He thinks you're just an engineer who crunches numbers behind a screen," Jasper said quietly. "He has no idea what he unleashed."

"He's about to find out," I said, turning the key.

The engine roared to life.

I checked my rearview mirror as I backed away from the warehouse. Jasper stood alone against the concrete, watching me go.

My dashboard clock flashed 10:14 AM.

Rainer’s flight to Spain was scheduled for tomorrow evening.

I had thirty-two hours to wire his entire world with tripwires—and the first wire was going straight under our bed.