Roads of Redemption | F1 | Toto Wolff

8.1. | Mercy in you!

As we discussed the key messages our narrative should convey and how they could align with the values in the stories we'd brought to the table, the conversation took an unexpected turn when Toto remarked, "It was like when we hired Olivier to work directly with Andrew." He cut through the previous flow with ease. "That's when he began to rebuild himself emotionally."

Toto paused, clearly surprised by my expression, and asked incredulously, "You really didn't know that, did you?"

Before I could respond, Sebastian, seated next to me, gently touched my forearm and intervened. "At the time, we thought it was better not to tell you." He squeezed my hand, then softly wrapped his fingers around my wrist. "You were going through a different process, and we didn't know how you'd react. We were sure that, in time, you'd understand better." He offered me an encouraging smile.

"Though we all go through the same stages, some people take longer than others," I sighed, shaking my head. "It's okay," I added softly, offering reassurance. "You did what you had to do." I paused, taking a breath before continuing. "Grief is personal. It doesn't follow a script, no matter what people think." My voice turned somber. "What matters is that, in our own way, we all move forward—or at least we try." The last part slipped out with a hint of irony, more as a bitter observation than a rebuke. I didn't need to look up to know he understood; I could feel the weight of Toto's gaze as he watched my exchange with Sebastian.

Olivier was Nano's boyfriend. At the time, there were rumors. Part of the distance between my father and him probably stemmed from that. Although Nano knew everything about me, he resisted accepting some things—a reflection of our upbringing. I was always closer to our mother, who had a free spirit, while Nano connected more with our father, who was the complete opposite.

We were supposed to meet that fateful weekend after the race. But I ended up seeing him at the hospital when Sebastian brought him. Formula 1 has this peculiar duality: the glamour and tradition make it fascinating, yet those same traditions carry a legacy of exclusion for those who don't fit in. The culture that gives F1 its charm also reinforces invisible barriers, silencing those who don't conform. It's as if the shine and history leave no room for what challenges the status quo.

Maybe that's part of why Nano wanted a fresh start, to leave the profession behind. I'll never know for sure.

I snapped out of my thoughts when Toto said, "That's one of the things I wanted to discuss with you, Valen." He tried to sound sympathetic. "I wanted your opinion on this."

"Torger," I sighed, "this is a unique opportunity for him. Just because I have my disagreements with your team or don't particularly like you doesn't mean he should miss out on this chance. Working with Andrew and, consequently, with James is rare. They're top-level professionals." I concluded simply, "He did what he had to do."

Toto stared at me, and I couldn't hold his gaze. He knew that wasn't the whole truth. Even after all this time.

Finally, he leaned back in his chair, almost distancing himself from the conversation, and murmured more to himself than anyone else, "You really chose the right team."

Lewis and George, sensing the tension in the air, exchanged quick glances and let out a simultaneous, "Ouch," followed by forced laughter.

I tried to lighten the mood, though my voice carried a certain heaviness. "Besides," I said, pausing to steady myself, "time has a remarkable way of rebuilding what was broken."

Sebastian stepped in to break the standoff. "It's not the ideal start, but it's a start," he said, his gaze sweeping across the room, as if reminding everyone of the bigger picture. "Lewis, George, Amelia, and Charlotte can coordinate with their PR teams to adjust the dates."