Secrets - T.WOLFF

chapter 3

Amid the hush of the night, a dream unfolded. It was a dream woven with threads of memory and imagination, a tale that had been brewing in the recesses of my mind. I found myself in the midst of the metro once again, the man in the black suit seated beside me. This time, however, his presence held a sense of familiarity, as if we had shared more than just a single ride.

The dream played out in fragments, like scenes from a movie. The metro's gentle sway, the murmur of conversations, and the soft chime of stations became a backdrop to our interactions. There were no words exchanged, only silent gazes and a sense of connection that transcended explanation.

But as the dream reached its climax, the man's features began to blur, his image fading like a photograph left in the sun. I struggled to hold onto the details, to capture the essence of his presence. And then, abruptly, the dream ended, leaving me with a lingering sense of intrigue.

With a sudden jolt, I woke up, my heart pounding against my chest. The room was dimly lit, the city's lights casting a soft glow through the window. I sat up, my breath uneven, the remnants of the dream clinging to my consciousness.

My gaze settled on the leather bag that had accompanied me through the day's events. Without thinking, I reached for it, my fingers tracing the smooth surface. It felt real, solid in my hands, a tangible link to the man in the dream.

I placed the bag on my lap, my fingers fumbling with the zipper. And then, as if guided by a strange intuition, I noticed a small tag attached to the side. I squinted in the dim light, making out the words: "Petronas Mercedes AMG Formula 1 Team."

The tag was unexpected, a detail that seemed out of place in the context of the man's appearance. What did a Formula 1 team have to do with a man in a metro, dressed in a tailored suit? The puzzle pieces shifted, forming new connections in my mind.

A thought occurred to me, and I reached for my phone. I unlocked the screen and opened Instagram, typing in the name "Petronas Mercedes AMG Formula 1 Team." But to my surprise, nothing popped up – no official account, no posts, nothing. It was as if the name itself was a mystery.

I frowned, contemplating my next move. Then, an idea struck me. I logged into my rarely used fake Twitter profile, a creation I had made to follow a few interests anonymously. I typed in the same name and hit search. This time, a glimmer of success – a blue checkmark next to an account labeled "Mercedes AMG F1"

Excitement fluttered within me as I clicked on the profile. The page was a mixture of updates, images, and retweets, showcasing a world of high-speed racing and engineering prowess.

But as I scrolled, I found no trace of the man from the metro. The images and posts featured drivers, cars, and team celebrations, but the man remained a missing piece in this puzzle.

Determined not to give up, I opened a new browser tab and typed in the company's name. A link to the official website greeted me, and I clicked eagerly. The website was a trove of information, detailing the team's history, achievements, and commitment to excellence.

My eyes scanned the page, and then I spotted it – a tab labeled "Team." My heart raced as I clicked on it, anticipation mingling with curiosity. And there, amidst the roster of key figures, was a name – "Toto Wolff."

A picture accompanied the name, the man from the metro staring back at me from the screen. His gaze was composed, his expression a mix of determination and focus. It was the man I had encountered, the man who had left his bag behind.

My mind buzzed with questions, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. Who was he? What was his connection to the Formula 1 team? And why had he taken the metro on that particular day?

The glow of my laptop's screen cast a soft illumination in the room as I browsed through the details of the man who had captured my curiosity. Toto Wolff – a name now attached to an identity, a man of influence and significance within the world of Formula 1. CEO and Team Principal of the Petronas Mercedes AMG Formula 1 Team – the pieces of his puzzle were starting to fit together.

As the clock ticked on, the weight of the night settled upon me. The questions that had plagued me earlier now swirled in my mind with renewed intensity. How could I approach someone of his stature? Would he even respond to a message from a stranger? The idea seemed both audacious and absurd, yet an indescribable pull urged me to take a chance.

I leaned back against the couch cushions, the leather bag resting beside me, its presence a tangible reminder of the path I was considering. A decision had to be made, a step taken to bridge the gap between our worlds. But the gulf between a university student and a prominent figure in the racing world was vast.

With a sigh, I reached for my phone and opened my email app. Composing a message felt like threading a needle with shaky hands, each word a delicate stitch in a fragile tapestry of communication. My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I considered how to approach the situation.

Finally, I began to type:

*Subject: Regarding Your Leather Bag on the Metro*

*Dear Mr. Wolff,*

*You may have already realized this, but during a recent ride on the metro, you accidentally left behind a leather bag. I happened to find it and thought it would be best to make an effort to return it to its owner. I work at a small café near the Montparnasse train station in Paris. If you find yourself in the city in the near future, it would be wonderful if you could drop by to pick up your belongings.*

*I'm fully aware that you probably have a team to manage your affairs, and my message might get lost in the shuffle. Nevertheless, I felt it was important to reach out and offer my assistance.*

*Please forgive me for the audacity of this email. I understand that you have a busy schedule, and my offer might seem trivial in comparison. Regardless, if the opportunity arises, I would be grateful to assist in reuniting you with your bag.*

*Wishing you all the best,*

*Lyla*

I read the email several times, my heart thudding against my ribs. The words felt simultaneously too much and not enough. Toto Wolff was a figure of influence, someone whose time was likely occupied with matters of great importance. The notion that he would read my message and respond seemed improbable.

With a final breath, I pressed send and watched as the email disappeared into the digital abyss.

Sleep eluded me, replaced by a restless energy that drove me to delve deeper into the enigma of Toto Wolff. His name was now etched in my mind, a constant presence that urged me to learn more.

My fingers danced across the keyboard, Google searches and news entries filling my screen. I learned about his career, his successes, and the impact he had made in the world of Formula 1. Each article painted a picture of a determined individual who had carved a path of leadership and innovation.

As the minutes turned into hours, I came across a mention of his family – a wife named Susie Wolff. My heart skipped a beat at the discovery, a reminder that the man I had encountered was not just a figure in a racing team but also a husband and father.

Curiosity piqued, I clicked on articles that featured Susie Wolff's name. Her story was as compelling as his – a former racing driver herself, she had broken barriers and paved the way for women in motorsports. Their relationship seemed like a partnership built on shared passions and mutual support.

But as I continued to read, a sense of unease settled in. The more I learned, the more I realized that my curiosity had turned into something bordering on obsession. My actions – Googling, researching, and seeking out information – felt intrusive, as if I were trespassing into the private lives of people I had never met.

A thought nagged at the back of my mind, reminding me of my own values and principles. Was this the right way to approach the situation? Should I be so focused on this man's life, his family, and his world? My intentions had been simple – to return a lost item – but my actions had taken on a life of their own.

As the night deepened, I closed the laptop, the room bathed in darkness once more. The leather bag lay on the table, a silent witness to my internal struggle. The weight of my actions bore down on me, a reminder that even curiosity had its boundaries.