The Race

The Race

“On your marks! Get set! Go!” The commentator’s voice was drowned out by the roar of the crowd and the screech of tires. Engines thundered so loudly that each driver was cut off from the world, left alone with the track and the beast of a car beneath them — a monster that could unleash whole herds of horsepower.

Fans on the grandstands clapped, shouted, and whistled. Some still rushed to place last-minute bets, eager to strike it rich.

“Leading the predictions is Dennis Long — a global star, multiple-time winner of world cups and Grand Prix titles. Sponsors fight for the chance to work with him, and all agree on his relentless drive and hunger for victory. And here we see him pulling ahead with confidence, overtaking his rivals one by one!” the commentator howled, working off his fee with a voice made for selling champions.

Supercars lined up on the track, racing neck and neck, each pilot wringing every ounce of speed from their machines. For many, it wasn’t about glory but survival — a chance to finish in the top ten, to stay in the game, one step closer to the dream of fame.

“And right behind him is Pete Adders, Long’s eternal rival. In the last five races they were separated by mere hundredths of a second. Today Adders promised in an interview that he would do whatever it takes to beat Dennis Long and cross that finish line first!”

The commentator stoked the fire, sending more gamblers rushing to the betting booths. Only five minutes remained before wagers closed, and with ten contenders on the track, he had a sponsor’s ad to deliver for each.

Three laps flew by, the leaderboard finally taking shape. The betting window shut, and now the crowd could only cling to the screens and the roar of the engines, their hearts pounding alongside their money on the line.

***

Dennis Long, the world’s shining star, gripped the wheel of his supercar, fully focused on the road and the engine’s song. Victory was his — he was sure of it. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could take it from him. Not even the fact that this very morning his wife had left him, divorce papers delivered through her lawyer. He would talk to her after the race, and they’d work it out. They had to.

His hand faltered on the gearshift, dropping a notch too low — and in that instant, Pete Adders shot past, seizing the chance. Pete bared his teeth in a fierce grin and widened the gap, diving into the next turn like a predator. Dennis cursed under his breath and slammed the accelerator, fighting to claw back the seconds he had lost.

***

“Oh nooo!” the commentator’s wail merged with the groan of the crowd as Long’s face on the leaderboard slipped from first place to fifth. “It looks like Dennis Long is in serious trouble! He’ll need something extraordinary to claw his way back. Meanwhile, Pete Adders takes the lead, three seconds ahead of the runner-up. In second place we have the audience favorite, rookie Michael Jearn! Despite his young age and lack of experience, he’s been racking up points with remarkable confidence. I’ve heard he’s already juggling offers from two major sponsors, waiting for the best deal…”

***

Michael Jearn tightened his grip on the wheel, chasing Adders into a turn. In his rearview mirror, Long’s car loomed — and the rookie’s pulse soared. To outrun Dennis Long and climb into the top three! Michael grinned smugly and shifted up, drawing closer to Pete. Tonight he’d celebrate, no question. Maybe he’d call that pretty girl he’d met at a racers’ party — Melanie. She hadn’t seemed opposed to getting to know him better.

***

Pete Adders was exultant. Finally! At last, he would cross the line first, not that arrogant golden boy Long. Let’s see how Dennis smiled from the lower steps of the podium. Pete could already picture himself dousing Long with champagne, sponsors swarming him with contracts, and Melanie’s delighted face in the crowd. Things had been rocky between them lately, but a victory like this would fix everything. Just one more lap and he would be a star.

***

“One lap left, ladies and gentlemen! Keep your eyes on the leaderboard. Pete Adders holds first place, Michael Jearn just half a car length behind, and Dennis Long has fought his way back up to third! The others trail behind…” the commentator rattled off names, while fans clutched their tickets and whispered frantic calculations. “Here it is — the final straightaway! Adders and Jearn are nose to nose, and—AND—! They cross the finish line! But who was first? We’re waiting for the photo finish!”

The giant screens lit up with the image: the checkered line, two cars neck and neck. Almost even — but one of them had edged across five centimeters ahead. The stadium erupted with cheers and cries as people rushed to the track to greet the winner.

Adders climbed out of his car, yanked off his helmet, and waved it above his head in triumph. Hands clapped his back, voices roared congratulations in his ears. Melanie threw herself into his arms, shrieking with joy and planting a kiss on his lips.

Michael Jearn celebrated too. Five miserable centimeters had cost him the win, but for a rookie with only half a year in the sport, second place was glory. His personal best, his personal triumph. Spotting Melanie in Adders’s embrace, he chuckled and shrugged. There would be other women. He was young.

***

“So? How much did I win?” A man in a tailored suit exhaled a puff of cigar smoke and leaned back in his chair.

“Plenty. Almost a billion and a half. How the hell did you know Adders would win?” his companion clicked at his calculator, then looked up in astonishment.

“I didn’t bet on Adders winning,” the man said coolly. “I bet on Dennis Long losing. And, as you can see, I wasn’t wrong.”

“But how? Long is… well, Long! How could he possibly fail?”

“An anonymous friend sent Mrs. Long some photos. Dennis with a few girls by the pool. Her lawyer served divorce papers this morning. And Long, as you may recall, adores his wife. That rattled him.” He stubbed out the cigar and adjusted his jacket. “I expect the money in my account on Monday. You have the number.”

“All right. Wait! How do you even know about the divorce? About the photos?”

The man smiled thinly. “I know everything. After all… I’m the one who interviews them. I’m the one who calls their races.”