Read Chapter 34: The Ghost of Luca

The cemetery sat on a hillside above the circuit, the distant whine of practice laps drifting up like a memory you couldn’t shake. Jack found the grave under a cypress tree, the marble headstone still raw and new, the name *Luca Moretti* carved clean against the grey.

He crouched. The red glove was in his hand, worn soft from years of holding on to something that had slipped away too early. He laid it flat against the base of the stone, the palm face down, fingers curled like they were still gripping a wheel.

“Took your seat,” Jack said quietly. “Figured you’d want someone in it who wasn’t bought.”

The wind moved through the tree. No one answered. He didn’t expect them to.

“I’m going to win it for you. All of it. Not because I need it, but because you did. And because those bastards thought they could bury you and everything else along with you.” He pressed his palm to the top of the headstone, the marble cold and indifferent. “I’m not letting them put you in the ground twice.”

He stayed there another minute, maybe two. Long enough to hear his own heartbeat settle. Long enough to remember the look on Luca’s face in that final video, the fear in his voice when he named the men who would kill him. Alain. Philippe. Aethel behind them like a spider pulling strings.

The strings weren’t all cut. Jack knew that. Aethel’s network had holes in it now, but holes didn’t mean empty.

He stood, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before anyone could see, and walked back down the slope toward the paddock.

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Sophie was waiting by the media center entrance, a tablet tucked under her arm, dark glasses pushed up into her hair. She looked different. Lighter, maybe. No longer the fixer in the shadows, but someone who’d stepped into daylight and found it uncomfortable but survivable.

“That was you at the grave,” she said, not a question.

“You following me now?”

“I was covering the track walk. Saw a tall guy sulking among the tombs. Couldn’t resist.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “How are you holding up?”

“Better than Luca.”

She nodded, slow. Let the silence carry the weight. Then she said, “I’ve been thinking about what happens next.”

“You and me both.”

“This weekend is the first real test. New board, new ethics officer breathing down Fenice’s neck, and half the paddock still wondering if you’re a hero or a liability.” She ticked off points like she was reading a checklist. “And Aethel’s money is still out there. The syndicate didn’t die with Alain’s arrest. It just got quieter.”

“You know something.”

“I know patterns.” Sophie pulled her glasses down, looked him dead in the eye. “I’ve studied this for years, Jack. Not for Fenice. Not for anyone. I’ve been tracking the money flow through the sport since before you got your first podium. And the money didn’t stop moving when they put Philippe in cuffs. It just moved somewhere else.”

Jack felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind. “Where?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. There’s a new team principal at one of the mid-field outfits—Argon Racing, if you want a name. Seeded with capital from a shell company registered in the Caymans three weeks before Alain’s arrest. The timing isn’t a coincidence.”

“You think Argon’s connected?”

“I think someone is laundering the syndicate’s reputation through a new front. Paying drivers to throw races isn’t the only business Aethel’s people were in. There’s betting. There’s sponsorship skimming. There’s data theft. And if they can set up a clean team with dirty money, they can influence the sport from the inside without ever getting their hands dirty again.”

Jack watched a transporter roll past, the Argon livery visible—dark blue and silver, no history, no legacy. A team built to be bought.

“I’m not letting that happen,” he said.

“You’re not going to stop it alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

Sophie’s expression shifted—something guarded cracking just a fraction. “No. You’re not.” She hesitated. “I knew Luca too, Jack. Not the way you did. But I knew he was clean. That’s why I helped, back then. That’s why I helped you.”

“You never said.”

“Because I didn’t need you to trust me. I needed you to survive. There’s a difference.” She pulled her glasses back down, hiding her eyes again. “I’ll keep watching the money. If I find a thread that leads back to Aethel’s network, I’ll pull it. But you should know—I’m not doing this for Fenice. I’m doing it for him.”

The faraway note of an engine revved hard, then cut. Practice was ending. Soon the real work would begin.

“What about you?” Sophie asked. “What’s your play?”

“I race. I win. I make sure the cameras keep pointing at me so no one can disappear me in a corner.” He looked back at the cemetery hill, unseeable now behind the grandstands. “And I keep Luca’s name in every interview until they’re tired of hearing it.”

“They’ll never get tired of it. That’s the point.”

She turned to go, then stopped. “One more thing. Your Zurich envelope. The one Luca sent you. You never picked it up.”

“I’ve been busy not going to jail.”

“Get it. Before the season ends. Whatever Luca wanted you to have, it wasn’t just evidence. It was insurance. And right now, you’re driving without a safety net.” Her voice was even, but the weight behind it was unmistakable. “Aethel’s network may be quiet, but it’s not gone. And quiet doesn’t mean harmless. It just means they’re reloading.”

She walked away, folded into the crowd of engineers and journalists and drivers who didn’t know anything about the graves or the money or the machinery of lies that ran beneath their sport.

Jack stayed where he was, watching the Argon transporter disappear around the paddock corner. His phone buzzed. A text from Emile: *Telemetry shows Argon’s new driver running experimental tires. Might be nothing. Might be sanctioned. Keep your eyes open.*

He typed back: *Everything’s sanctioned until it isn’t.*

Then he turned toward the Fenice garage, where the new board-appointed operations head waited to shake his hand and talk about season strategy. Jack intended to talk about Luca instead. He’d make them listen. He’d make all of them listen.

Corruption never really died. It just changed clothes and waited for someone to stop paying attention.

That wasn’t going to be him.