The atmosphere in the private dining room is less "family dinner" and more "high-stakes deposition." You’re sitting at the table, leaning back in your chair with your boots up, trying to look bored, but even you can feel the air vibrating with tension. Sally is sitting next to you, looking effortlessly elegant and calm, even though she’s currently being stared down by two of the most intimidating men in the racing world. Sterling is sitting directly opposite her, his fingers interlaced, his eyes behind his glasses analyzing her like he’s reviewing a high-risk contract. Harv is pacing slightly behind him, holding a tablet as if he’s ready to pull up her entire life history, credit score, and previous parking tickets at a moment's notice. "So, Ms. Carrera," Sterling begins, his voice smooth and devoid of any warmth. "We’ve seen the reports. You’re intelligent, you’re accomplished, and you clearly have an eye for... potential." He gestures vaguely toward you, then leans in. "But Lightning is sixteen, she is a global brand, and she is a firecracker in a gasoline factory. What exactly are your intentions regarding the stability of her career—and, more importantly, her well-being?" Harv chimes in from behind, not looking up from his tablet. "And for the record, we know about the 'Cozy Cone' incidents. We know you’ve been the one keeping her out of trouble—or perhaps, keeping her in it? We’re not looking for a PR spin, Sally. We’re looking for the truth." You watch Sally, waiting for her to crack, but she just takes a slow sip of her water, sets the glass down, and looks Sterling dead in the eye with a small, amused smile. "Sterling, Harv," she says, her voice steady and cool. "I’m not here to negotiate a contract. I’m here because I care about her. And if you’re worried about her being a firecracker, you should know that I’m the only one who actually likes the way she burns."