Just as Nicolas had predicted, the situation was tricky.
The chaos engulfing Ferrari wouldn't settle in two or three months. If the new leadership ruled with an iron fist, perhaps order could be restored quickly. But if not, the turmoil could bleed into the next season. Balancing the interests of these corporate giants was never a simple task.
But—
"What was the Boss's plan?" Kai cut through the noise, grasping the core issue. In other words, how did this relate to him, a pawn in the grand scheme?
They had no say in the power struggles at the group level. Their battlefield was the race track; that was the only way they could control their destiny.
So, Kai was curious. What was the master plan Marchionne hadn't been able to execute?
Nicolas glanced at Charles Leclerc, then decided not to hold back. "To build the next decade of Ferrari's F1 dominance around the Ferrari Academy's twin stars."
Wait. Twin stars?
Leclerc froze. "Me?"
Kai's lips curled into a smile. "Yes, Your Highness."
But Charles had no time for jokes. His heart hammered against his ribs as he stared at Nicolas.
Nicolas didn't keep them waiting. "Step one: renew Kai's contract."
Nicolas had already briefed Kai on this. Marchionne had been plotting this long before the surgery. He had planned to offer Kai an eight-figure contract, jumping his salary from $500,000 to the ten-million-dollar range, cementing Kai's status as the future leader.
"Step two: sign Charles. Next year, you partner with Kai at Ferrari."
"What?!" Charles couldn't control himself.
The shock choked the sound in his throat. He sat there, stunned.
Nicolas had hinted at this to Kai, but hearing the full scope of Marchionne's ambition was different.
Nicolas exhaled softly, ripping off the bandage. "But, the situation is extremely difficult."
"Look at Williams this year. Two young drivers, Stroll and Sirotkin. It's a disaster. They're dead last with only four points. Lawrence Stroll lost patience long ago; Force India was just an excuse to leave."
"The paddock consensus is clear: either two veterans, or a veteran mentoring a rookie. That's the perfect lineup. Gambling on two youngsters usually ends badly, and Williams is the latest proof."
"So."
"First, they are willing to renew Kai, but the numbers will be fought over, and they refuse to offer a long-term deal."
"Second, they refuse to sign Charles. Specifically, they refuse to pair Charles with Kai. If they must sign a young driver, it will be one of you. Not both."
The process was messy, ugly, and political. But the result was a deadlock.
Charles sat there, having gone from heaven to hell in thirty seconds. The dream seat at Ferrari felt so close, yet suddenly out of reach.
He needed a moment.
Kai, however, was deep in thought. Surprising, yes, but not shocking. Paddock politics were never simple.
He thought of Arrivabene and Vettel. Since Silverstone, their attitudes had shifted subtly. Now the pieces fit. He didn't like their moves, but he couldn't blame them; they were fighting for their careers.
The difference was, Kai wanted to realize Marchionne's blueprint. It wasn't just about self-interest.
If Kai had to stand against them, he wouldn't hesitate.
"So, Pierre Borreipaire?" Kai asked, looking up.
Nicolas smiled wryly. Kai was sharp. "Yes. That was the compromise."
"Not just Pierre. Maurizio also agreed to give you some breathing room. Strategy won't be completely tilted toward Seb anymore. They want to see how high you can fly, to help the board evaluate your contract."
"In exchange..."
Nicolas paused.
"Charles stays at Sauber for now. They are giving Maurizio and Seb more time to prove that their blueprint—keeping Seb as the clear Number 1—is the better choice for next season."
A trade. A gamble. Sacrificing one piece to save another.
Kai shook his head. "That's a plan. Not a blueprint."
Nicolas looked confused.
"Their plan is temporary. The Boss had a blueprint," Kai said firmly. "Nick, before the surgery, I visited Mr. Marchionne in Milan. I think he felt something coming..."
"He said Ferrari's problem isn't the Team Principal, or the Technical Director, or the drivers. It's the culture. It's rotten at the roots. If we don't change the foundation, Ferrari will never return to the peak. 'Restoring glory' is just an old man's daydream without structural change."
"The Boss had dreams, but he never day-dreamed."
Nicolas looked shocked. "...My father said the exact same thing."
A smile touched Kai's lips. "Nick, the Boss looked at the long game. I want to help him realize that blueprint."
Nicolas was speechless.
Kai turned to the other side of the room. "Charles, I can't be sure how you feel right now..."
Chaos. Noise. Anxiety. Bitterness.
Charles couldn't describe it. He managed a pained smile.
Kai's grin widened. "But... they don't believe we can do it. They want us to play by their rules. To kill each other. 'If I win, you lose.' 'It's either me or you.'"
"That's the paddock. Like the Colosseum. Everyone fights their way out like that. Look at the Red Bull juniors tearing each other apart for Ricciardo's seat. Pierre Gasly is about to walk into that fire."
"However."
"I don't plan on playing their game. I have no interest in it. I want to prove them wrong. They are fools who can't see the Boss's blueprint, living in their own delusions."
"So, are you interested in joining me? Let's overturn their chess board."
The storm raged on.
The 2018 Silly Season was living up to the hype.
As expected, Perez sided with the capital, helping Lawrence Stroll take over Force India to save the team (and his seat). This left Esteban Ocon fighting for his life.
Ocon, like Kai and Hamilton, came from nothing. His parents sold their house and lived in a caravan to fund his karting. He had fought his way onto the grid through sheer talent.
Performance-wise, Ocon matched or even edged Perez. But in the paddock, talent often bows to money. Perez brought backing; Stroll brought ownership. It was an open secret that Ocon was the odd man out.
The cruelty of the sport was on full display. To stay, Ocon had to step over a corpse.
Kai was in the same boat. On the surface, Ferrari and Mercedes were fighting for him. In reality, without Marchionne, he was vulnerable. If he faltered, he could be discarded in a heartbeat.
The question hanging over the summer break was simple: Could a leaderless Ferrari hold it together?
"Without Marchionne, what is Ferrari?"
"Spa again! Can Kai pass the test?"
"Who leads in the chaos—Kai or Vettel?"
The pressure was suffocating. The entire team felt the weight of the Tifosi's anxiety.
Then came the Belgian Grand Prix.
Spa-Francorchamps. The cathedral of speed.
It ended as a nightmare for the Tifosi.
"BOTTAS!"
"Unbelievable! Valtteri Bottas conquers Spa! A magnificent drive! Mercedes has steadied the ship and the Kings have returned!"
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Mercedes officially takes the lead in the Constructors' Championship!"
Bottas P1. Hamilton P2. Verstappen P3.
Kai finished P4. Vettel P5.
Constructors: Mercedes 379, Ferrari 377.
The lead had changed hands. Mercedes, revitalized after the break, had seized the momentum. Toto Wolff's management and the team's resilience had paid off.
For Ferrari, it was a disaster. The chaos of the summer was dragging them into the abyss.
Night fell over the Ardennes forest. The circuit was silent, save for the crickets and the wind.
Mattia Binotto, Ferrari's Technical Director, walked out of his third meeting of the night. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaustion finally showing.
He sighed, glancing at the engineering room next door. The lights were still on.
Through the crack in the door, he saw a figure sitting at a computer, reviewing race footage.
It was Kai.
Binotto checked his watch. 10:13 PM.
Everyone else had left. Even Mekies. Binotto just wanted to collapse on a sofa and stare at a wall. No one liked re-living a defeat, especially one that echoed the previous year's collapse.
He told himself to walk away. Whatever the kid was looking for, the engineering team was already analyzing it.
But his body betrayed him. He knocked and poked his head in.
Kai was wearing headphones and didn't hear him. Binotto walked in and stood behind him, looking at the screen.
Kai sensed the presence and pulled out his earbuds. He saw Binotto's reflection in the monitor.
"Hey, Mattia."
"Still here?" Binotto smiled wearily. "I thought you'd be gone. Charles must have had quite a scare today."
At Turn 1, a massive pile-up saw Alonso's McLaren launch airborne over Leclerc's Sauber. The halo device had saved Charles's life. It was a terrifying reminder of the sport's danger.
"I was ahead, so I didn't see it," Kai said. "Pierre told me Charles was fine. But watching the replay... it looked like a Hollywood disaster movie."
"But Charles felt nothing," Kai chuckled. "He thought Fernando just rear-ended him. He was complaining on the radio about reckless driving until he saw the footage."
Binotto smiled. "The Halo saved him. Maybe Jules was watching over him today."
Binotto's eyes misted over slightly. He knew Bianchi.
"Qualifying?" Binotto noticed the footage on the screen. "I thought you'd be reviewing the race."
"Sorry. Our strategy team ruined the whole weekend," Kai said bluntly.
In Q3, the rain had stopped. Kai had argued that the track would dry quickly due to the high ambient temperature. He wanted to wait.
The strategy team disagreed. Their models predicted standing water would persist. They sent the cars out early on Intermediate tires.
Kai drove the wheels off the car, drifting through the Bus Stop chicane to go P1 temporarily. But as the session went on, the track dried. Hamilton, coming out later, found the grip and smashed Kai's time by two seconds.
It wasn't a lack of pace. It was a strategic error.
"I don't want to say 'I told you so'," Kai half-joked. "But next time, please consider my opinion."
"Simulators and data are great, but the real track is different."
"How different?" Binotto asked, crossing his arms.
Kai hesitated. He was just a kid with street racing roots and 18 months of experience. Binotto was a veteran engineer.
But he remembered Marchionne's words: Binotto is worth trusting.
"Different in many ways," Kai said. "For example, the sim says our rear wing has a 12% chance of instability in low-speed corners. But in reality, with wind, temperature, and driver input, it feels like 20% or more."
"Data is vital. But if we only trust data, we miss the optimal solution."
Binotto listened, hand on his chin. "We are always listening."
"If you were listening," Kai's gaze sharpened, "the summer upgrades wouldn't look like this."
He said it.
"The Canada upgrade had issues. The Spa upgrade didn't fix them; it created new ones."
"Floor, sidepods, rear wing. I get it. You want more downforce for low-speed corners."
"But we won Austria, Britain, and Germany," Binotto interrupted, defending his team.
"And we lost Hungary and Belgium," Kai countered.
"The floor design messed up the airflow separation point. It added drag without the efficient downforce we need. We lost our advantage in straights and high-speed corners."
"In the sim, it looks perfect. On track, the high-speed stability is compromised."
"I was watching Vettel's Q3 lap. The drying line exposed it. The car isn't planted."
Binotto's eyes darkened. Only a few people knew that the upgrades were a point of contention between him and Arrivabene. The communication breakdown in management was bleeding into car development.
"You mean we should scrap the upgrades?" Binotto's tone carried a hint of defensiveness. "You have no idea how much work went into them."
"Mr. Binotto, relax," Kai smiled. "I know this is a capital game. You can't just throw away millions in development after one race. And we can't revert the car in three days."
"Besides, Mercedes and Red Bull are improving. Standing still is moving backward."
Binotto stayed silent.
"Mr. Binotto," Kai looked him in the eye. "Next stop is Monza."
Monza. The Temple of Speed. Home.
"Monza is similar to Spa. If we struggle here, we struggle there. You don't want to finish P4 and P5 at Monza, do you?"
Kai's voice was calm, devoid of the arrogance of youth.
Binotto felt a tug in his chest. Reverting the upgrades would be a political nightmare with Arrivabene. But Kai was right. Monza was non-negotiable.
Binotto sighed, uncrossed his arms, and took a step forward.
He pulled out a chair and sat down, meeting Kai's gaze at eye level.
"Talk. What exactly is going on in that head of yours?"