Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I don’t say anything in return. I just lean my head on his shoulder and let the weight of the day fall away, knowing that—for the first time in a long while—I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
CHAPTER 22
Reid
Sunday mornings in Zurich are slower than anywhere else I’ve ever been. Maybe it’s the way the church bells ring gently from the hilltops or how the markets bloom with fresh-cut flowers along the cobblestone edges of the Limmat. Or maybe it’s the rare sense of stillness before the noise of race week sets in.
Lara and I step out of the apartment just past eight. She’s bundled in one of my sweaters, sleeves rolled over her hands, her hair twisted into a messy knot she probably did without a mirror. And still, she looks more beautiful than is even imaginable.
We walk quietly for a few blocks, stopping at a bakery that’s just propped open its front door. She orders a cappuccino and a croissant. I go for an espresso and a warm buttered roll. We eat on a nearby bench while the city comes alive around us—couples walking dogs, kids chasing pigeons, a man unloading a case of beer outside a pub. It’s Easter morning and there are fewer people out than usual.
“This seems normal,” Lara says quietly, eyes tracking a family crossing the bridge with chocolate bunnies poking out of their shopping bag.
“It is normal,” I reply. “Or at least as close as I ever get.”
She smiles at that, but there’s a thoughtfulness in her expression I can’t quite read.
When we finish, I toss our trash and drape her hand through the crook of my elbow. “Want to see the team’s headquarters?”
Her eyebrows lift. “On a Sunday?”
“Sure. It will be mostly empty, but you’ll get the best behind-the-scenes tour ever given in the history of Matterhorn.”
Lara laughs, bumping me with her hip. “Now, how can I say no to that?”
The drive to Dübendorf doesn’t take long—twenty minutes northeast through tidy roads and pine-fringed suburbs. I take the Audi RS7 today—matte gray, understated, fast as hell. It’s the perfect car for Zurich. Luxury without flash, performance without ego, and it handles the back roads like it was born for them.
I’ve also got a Ducati Panigale V4 S in the garage—sleek black with red accents, tuned for speed and escape as only a motorcycle can be. It’s for the rare days when I need silence and adrenaline at the same time. Days when the only way to think straight is to go two hundred kilometers an hour with the wind ripping past my helmet.
Today isn’t one of those days.
Today I’ve got Lara in the passenger seat, and the Audi’s the smarter call. Smooth. Controlled. Capable of disappearing into the rhythm of the city without drawing too much attention.
Matterhorn FI Racing’s facility sits behind a discreet security gate. The main building is angular and low-slung, all brushed steel, smoked glass, and pale Swiss stone. It doesn’t scream for attention, but it doesn’t need to. The architecture speaks the same language as the team itself—precision, purpose and quiet dominance. The building stretches horizontally across the property in clean, calculated lines, with a subtle M-shaped roof profile that nods to both the team’s name and the Alpine legacy etched into its DNA.
Frosted-glass panels break up the facade like a circuit board, and the Matterhorn emblem is carved into a slab of white stone near the entrance—no sign, no name, just the peaked logo.
Even the landscaping is deliberate—neatly groomed hedges, low ground cover, and a single row of larch trees lining the front approach, as though nature itself has been engineered into submission.
The guard waves us through the gate and Lara leans forward in her seat as we pull into the private lot. “It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, eyes casting upward through the windshield. “But intimidating.”
“That’s the point,” I say with a laugh.
Inside, Lara tips her head back and turns in a circle to take it all in. The lobby is huge with polished, cream stone floors that shine under soft, recessed lighting. Floor-to-ceiling frosted glass floods the space with natural light and brushed metal accents offer a contemporary flair.
A full-size Matterhorn FI race car sits on a raised platform near the center—its sleek chassis and aggressive curves bathed in a dramatic spotlight, the circular platform rotating slowly. Behind it, a curated wall of trophies glitters in tempered glass cases, spanning decades of dominance across series, continents and eras. World Championship plaques, Constructors’ awards, and vintage relics are displayed with museum-level precision.
To the right, a minimalist lounge area offers low-slung leather seats and a gleaming espresso bar made from Alpine stone. The Matterhorn FI logo is carved deep into the main wall, not just etched—like it was cut from the same glacier that inspired the name.
It’s not a workplace. It’s the sanctum of an empire.