“Looking at it that way, Quiana really is slow. Their wins were basically Loyce carrying the entire team.”
“And if she wasn’t even an official contracted driver, she’s not bound by the usual transfer rules. She can switch teams. She never signed anything!”
The public mood flipped completely. One speech from Loyce, and the narrative collapsed in on Lester’s team like rotten scaffolding. People started shouting at them instead.
“How shameless can they be? She did the most work, and they wouldn’t even give her an official spot. Then they wouldn’t even let her stand on the podium!”
“Same team, but only Quiana gets to be the ‘girl’ on the podium every year? That’s favoritism on a whole other level!”
Voices stacked over voices, and Lester’s crew stood there getting hammered from every side, faces flushed, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.
The officials moved quickly. Their decision came down clearly: Hugo’s team’s results were valid, and Loyce’s status as a legitimate team driver was compliant.
Lester had never taken a loss this humiliating, but he couldn’t argue. Everything Loyce said was true. Worse, he’d never even considered she might care about any of it. Now the crowd was chanting “favoritism” like a verdict, and it was aimed squarely at him.
Then Loyce dropped the microphone and walked straight up to Quiana. She raised her fist and drove one brutal punch into Quiana’s face.
The stands erupted—gasps, then cheers. More than a few people yelled, “That’s what you get!”
Quiana screamed and crumpled to the ground.
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