Chapter 24 - Blood on the Track
The silence that fell over the infield was deafening, broken only by the hum of the ventilation fans overhead. Mia didn't cry. She didn't drop her head. She slowly wiped the sweat from her eyes with the back of her padded glove, looking straight at Montgomery.
"You're scared," she said. Her voice was small, but clear as a struck bell.
Montgomery blinked, caught entirely off guard by the child's steady gaze. "Excuse me?"
"You're scared I'm going to win," Mia continued, her dark eyes piercing right through the commissioner's veneer. "My dad told me before he died that people who hide behind paper only do it when they know they can't beat you on the road."
Montgomery’s smile vanished completely, replaced by a rigid, haughty contempt. "Child, you don't understand the realities of the adult world. This is about protocol."
"No," I stepped directly between Montgomery and my daughter, leaning in until I could see the tiny burst blood vessels in his arrogant eyes. "This is about Delaware, isn't it?"
A microscopic twitch in Montgomery's jaw gave him away.
"You bought Arthur," I whispered, the puzzle pieces clicking together in a horrific epiphany. "His father’s firm took the fall for the collapsed guardrails, but your company—Apex Steel—was the silent distributor who shipped the substandard alloy to County Road 9. David found the shipping manifests before he was killed. That's why you need the Vance name wiped off the map. Because if Mia wins the National Qualifier, she gets the national press tour. She gets the microphones. And every journalist in the country will start digging into why Mia Vance is racing in a wheelchair."
"That is reckless, actionable slander, Mrs. Vance," Montgomery said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gutter whisper. "You have no proof. What you do have is a daughter who will never race under this governing body again. Pack your equipment. You have ten minutes to vacate the premises before security removes you for trespassing."
He turned on his polished Italian shoes and walked away, his security detail trailing close behind.
Marcus slammed his fist against the pit wall, the hollow metal ringing out like a gunshot. "That corrupt bastard! He owns the board, Elena. He chairs the sanctioning committee. If he signs the disqualification order, there’s no court in the state that will overturn it before the race this Saturday!"
I turned to look at Mia. She had unstrapped her gloves, setting them neatly on her lap. Her hands were scarred, the palms calloused from thousands of miles of pushing through pain, through rehabilitation, through the ghosts of the crash that had shattered her legs.
"Mom," she said, looking up at me. "Is the race on public roads or on a private track?"
I frowned, confused by the question. "The National Qualifier is on the downtown street circuit. The city closes four miles of public avenue around the state capitol."
A tiny, fearless smirk tugged at the corner of Mia’s mouth. "If it's on public streets, then the city issues the parade and road permits, not Montgomery. Uncle Marcus... can a city mayor override a league suspension for an exhibition runner?"
May you like
Marcus slowly raised his head, a wild, wicked spark suddenly igniting in his eyes. "Oh, you brilliant little devil. The Mayor’s office co-sponsors the charity division. And the Mayor happened to serve in the National Guard with your father."
***
