"C'MON, HUGO. I FINISHED fifth not thirty fifth. A top five finish at Daytona. The Great American Race." Justin Murphy gave his uncle a feigned clip on the shoulder. "Lighten up. You're acting like I went out there and screwed up the car." The first race of the season had ended two hours earlier but the celebrating inside the Turn Rite Tools corporate suite was still going strong. Twenty five or thirty people filled the smallish space, eating, drinking and crowding around Justin and his uncle—and crew chief—Hugo Murphy. "Everyone here's fine with my finish."
"Yeah, well, Dixon Rogers isn't and he still calls the shots at Fulcrum Racing, don't forget. Do you think these suits from Turn Rite won't ditch you in a heartbeat if Dixon lets it be known he's 'looking to go in a new direction' for next season? Or the other way around. The sponsor didn't drop fifteen million dollars in the kitty not to get their chance at the championship."
Of course he'd thought of t ...
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