Friday, November 16th, 2018- Milton Keynes, England, United Kingdom
Red Bull Racing Factory
"Look, Christian, you're my team principal, you decide if I keep my seat at Red Bull or I don't and that's fine because I actually like you and I respect you; I really do but here's the thing– if you think you're about to just start jerking my- our family around again without first owning up to what you've done, then you can go fuck your-" Max slams both hands down against the gleaming wooden surface top with all his might, the last four letters of the final word lost but not missed, his point still more than made.
"Verstappen, get up, now," your voice is calm, even but it commands attention, cutting clean through the tension pulled taut between the two men framing opposing sides of the same desk, brokering no room for Max to do anything but what he been told to, "excuse us, Horner, won't you?"
You're not asking him, you're informing him but he doesn't seem to care about that, too busy burning a hole in the back of Dutchman's head to do more than jerk his chin in nonverbal dismissal.
"Outside. Now, Max. Go."
Clearly, whatever it was that you'd just unknowingly walked right into the very midst of wasn't as new or as unknown as you'd previously thought it to be to present company. Its waters must run deep, they had to for Max to have just sunk faster than he could swim, for him to get caught in such a vicious, sight unseen current so quickly, to have just happened upon an undertow capable of doing the lion's share of his work for him.
He'd put on a good show but it's still not enough to trick your eyes into believing he was a victim as he'd been pulled below the surface by malicious seas because innocent men don't drown themselves if they have nothing to hide.
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Horner had always prided himself on his handling of Max Verstappen over the years and for having learnt to take the air of chaos and destruction that seemed to follow the boy around everywhere he went but even he had to admit that in recent months, the young driver had begun to truly test his capabilities as a team manager.
It had only been a matter of time really, if he were to be entirely honest with himself, that he would have eventually found himself here, where he stood now, entirely uncertain of how to proceed. Because while he'd found a way to spin years of Max's antics, of his less than appropriate comments and his general tendency towards disregarding his own life, Christian had finally reached the end of his tether.
"If they aren't back in five minutes, I'm going out to get them," Helmut Marko's voice breaks through his internal monologue, catching Horner by surprise but he doesn't show it, instead straightening in his seat as he turns to face the man still standing at his side.
"Do what you like," Christian answers in a flat, almost bored tone, waving a hand through the air at the remark, the gesture dismissing anything further Marko might have been about to say, "since that's what you do you anyway, isn't that right?"
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Marko's words come out calm and unflustered, the older man the very picture of impassivity as he steps around the edge of Horner's desk, lowering himself into the seat you'd been sat in just a moment before, "speak plainly, Christian, there's hardly time for games. If you have something you'd like to say to me, then say it."
"Exactly how long was it before you called Max and told him everything," if the doctor wants him to cut straight to the point, then he won't bother to do otherwise, "don't try to deny it, Helmut, I am in no mood for you and your lies this morning."
