Chapter 3She Pulled The Plug On Me

Coop watched the metal melt, tears pricking his eyes. I had just destroyed the only two viable setups we had.

"What now, Jamie?"

I looked at my phone. The comment section on my page was a war zone. Beau’s fans were emboldened.

“If you’re so great, why are you hiding your data? Just admit you’re a fraud and quit.”

“I used to think Jamie was a legend. Turns out he’s just a copycat who realized he can't keep up.”

Then, a message popped up from Ivy. She hadn't spoken to me in three days.

“Stop playing with those greasy parts. Come out and have a drink with me tonight. You need to relax.”

I hadn't told her I was in the garage. She knew I stayed in total isolation before a race. She had never asked me to go out the night before a qualifier in eight years.

Then came another text. A voice note. Her voice was trembling, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. “Jamie, please. Just give it up. If you keep going like this, you’re going to die.”

I locked the phone and looked at Coop.

"There's still time," I said. "I’m building one more."

I put the phone on Do Not Disturb. I sat at the bench and started from scratch—no blueprints, no memories of old designs. I designed a "Rich Kid’s Entry Level" car. It looked like something a trust-fund brat would buy for a weekend track day.

It took me two hours. It looked mediocre on paper. But I changed one fundamental thing: I used a high-risk, high-reward cooling bypass I’d spent ten years "theorizing" while I was paralyzed in that hospital bed. It was a design that looked like a mistake to any normal engineer, but at top speeds, it turned the car into a rocket.

Beau hadn't spent a decade in a mental prison dreaming of fluid dynamics. He wouldn't see it.

But the moment I hit "upload" to send the data to the organizers, Beau’s team posted a "Fan Special."

"We know some of you want to get into racing like Beau! So, he designed this 'Beginner’s Build' just for the fans. Check it out!"

My hands started to shake. I didn't even want to look.

I clicked the link.

The cooling bypass. The "amateur" frame. The exact weight distribution.

Everything. It was a perfect mirror.

How? I had been alone. No cameras. No microphones.

Then I saw the official race website. The leaderboard for telemetry was flickering. Suddenly, it went black.

“UNDER MAINTENANCE,” the screen read.

Coop punched the wall, his knuckles bleeding. "That son of a bitch! He’s got the organizers in his pocket! They’re letting him see your uploads in real-time and then back-dating his posts!"

I looked up from the scrap metal on the floor.

"No," I whispered. "It’s bigger than that. And I’m going to go talk to the organizers myself."