The Harmonics

THE RESONANT FREQUENCIES

In the pursuit of speed, we often imagine Formula 1 drivers as solitary figures, lone warriors battling physics and competitors within the confines of their cockpit. Yet after months shadowing Alexander Macalister, I’ve come to understand that his story cannot be told through lap times and trophy counts alone. The true measure of his journey lies in the connections he has cultivated along the way.

Like any complex sound, a life is composed of fundamental frequencies and the harmonics that give it richness and depth. For Macalister, whose foundation was fractured by loss at a formative age, these harmonics—these relationships—aren’t merely complementary; they are essential to understanding the man behind the composure.

“I’ve never been interested in being remembered for what I achieved,” he tells me during a rare reflective moment. “Records get broken. Trophies gather dust. It’s the impact you have on people that resonates.” He smiles slightly. “Like that perfect note that makes the whole room vibrate in sympathy.”

The musical metaphor isn’t coincidental. Macalister, whose mother taught him piano, understands intuitively how separate elements combine to create something greater than their individual parts. His life has become a carefully composed piece where each relationship contributes its unique tone to the whole.

For someone orphaned at fourteen, the creation of a chosen family wasn’t a luxury but a necessity. The connections Macalister has formed, with his manager Amy Millie, teammate Charles Leclerc, rival Max Verstappen, Ferrari Chairman John Elkann, and briefly with partner Gemma Rhodes, represent more than professional alliances or passing friendships. They form the infrastructure of his identity, the resonant chambers that amplify his purpose beyond racing.

“When you lose everything,” Amy Millie explains to me, “you become acutely aware of what matters. Alexander doesn’t collect acquaintances; he builds foundations.”

What follows is an exploration of these fundamental relationships, the harmonics that have shaped Alexander Macalister from orphaned teenager to world champion. Each connection vibrates at its own frequency, creating patterns of resonance and occasionally dissonance. Together, they form the complex chord structure of a life rebuilt from profound loss, a symphony still in composition, with movements yet unwritten.

---

THE FUNDAMENTAL FREQUENCY | Amy Millie

The first time Alexander Macalister met Amy Millie, it was 2016. He was a gangly seventeen-year-old clutching a folder of sponsorship contracts like they might bite him. She was a twenty-five-year-old junior contract lawyer at a major London firm with presences in Milan, Paris, and Geneva. She assumed she was assigned his case because no senior partner was going to waste billable hours on a teenager with a fledgling racing résumé. Mostly karting in Italy, with teams no one at the firm had ever heard of. The Ferrari Driver Academy name was enough to get him through the door, but that was all. No one in the building seriously thought this kid would make it to Formula 1. It was a long shot, a one-in-a-million bet, and the partners knew it. This was a numbers game.

“These contracts are predatory,” she declared without preamble, a faint wrinkle forming across her nose. Her London accent was crisp against the Italian Alexander had grown a custom to. “They’re designed to extract maximum value while giving you minimal protection. Who’s representing you?”

“Just me,” Alexander had replied, the enormity of his situation momentarily visible beneath his careful composure. Barely seventeen, orphaned, and navigating international racing contracts alone.

Something had shifted in Amy’s expression then. Not pity, which he would have rejected, but recognition. She’d leaned forward, the afternoon light catching the determined set of her jaw.

“Not anymore.”

---

In a Tokyo hotel room in 2019, Alexander paced while Amy sat cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by printouts of his F3 performance data.

“They’re watching closely,” she said, circling sections of the report. “Ferrari is making decisions about the F2 seat based on consistency, not just raw speed.”

Alexander nodded, his focus absolute. “I need to prove I’m worth the investment.”

Amy looked up, her expression softening just fractionally. “I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t,” she said, the simple truth of it hanging between them. She’d left her promising legal career two years earlier to manage him full-time, against everyone’s advice.

“What if I’ve miscalculated?” he asked quietly, a rare moment of doubt slipping through his methodical exterior. “What if this doesn’t work?”

“Then we adjust and continue,” she replied without hesitation. “But it will work.”

He studied her, absorbing the certainty in her voice. “You sound very confident.”

“One of us should be,” she said with a half-smile, returning to the data. “Now about the qualifying average of yours…”

When researching Alexander’s foundational relationships, Amy Millie graciously shared access to various personal writings she’d been developing as part of her creative writing coursework in Milan. Among these pieces was a particularly illuminating account of the immediate aftermath of Brazil 2020, Alexander’s surprising first win in Formula One. She had written it as an exercise in “capturing pivotal moments,” but its raw honesty transcends any classroom assignment. I present it here in full, with her permission.

From Amy Millie’s Personal Writings “The Night Everything Changed” - Written for Advanced Creative Nonfiction, Milan 2025

---

Brazil, 2020. The impossible had just become reality: Alexander Macalister, the quiet substitute Ferrari driver, had won his first Formula 1 race.

The Ferrari hospitality area had erupted in celebration. Champagne flowing, executives making congratulatory calls to Maranello, media clamouring for statements. I observed Alexander throughout, noting how he maintained his composure despite the chaos swirling around him. He answered questions with characteristic precision, deflected praise to the team, and navigated the barrage of attention with surprising poise for someone who had just experienced the most significant moment of his young career.

It was only when looked closer that I noticed the slight tremor in his hand as he held a water bottle. A barely perceptible sign of the adrenaline still coursing through his system.

Hours later, we found ourselves on Sebastian Vettel’s private jet, heading back to Italy. Sebastian had insisted on the arrangement. It was a gesture from the four-time world champion that spoke volumes about his generosity and Alexander’s performance. The cabin was dimly lit, most passengers asleep after the emotional day.

I was reviewing emails in the jet’s table-top area when Alexander appeared, still wearing Ferrari team gear.

“You should be sleeping,” I said, not looking up from my laptop.

“So should you,” he countered, sliding into the seat opposite. “Quite the day.”

I nodded, continuing to type. “We’ll need to be ready for the media requests tomorrow. There’s already talk about your contract status for next year.”

“Amy.”

Something in his tone made me pause. I glanced up.

“Can we just… not be manager and driver for five minutes?”

I closed my laptop slowly, studying him. The façade had dropped now that we were alone, thousands of feet above the Atlantic. His eyes revealed the exhaustion, disbelief, and vulnerability that he’d carefully concealed from everyone else.

“Of course,” I said, softening. “How are you, really?”

He exhaled, raking fingers through his hair. “I keep thinking I’ll wake up. That none of this actually happened.”

“It happened,” I assured him. “I was there, remember? You were rather good.”

A small smile broke through. “Rather good? High praise from you.”

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the hum of the engines filling the space between us.

“I was scared,” he admitted suddenly, voice barely audible.

“During the race?”

His eyes met mine. “When Hamilton was catching me at the end. I kept waiting… for someone to take it away. For something to go wrong. It always does, doesn’t it?”

The rawness of his admission caught me off guard. Alexander rarely acknowledged fear or doubt, even privately.

“Not always,” I said carefully. “Not today.”

I watched him process the possibility that sometimes, things might actually go right. That he might be allowed to keep something good.

“You know what I was thinking about in those final laps?” he continued. “My dad. How he used to say that someday I’d drive for Ferrari. I always thought he was just…” He trailed off, swallowing hard.

“Being a dad,” I finished for him.

He nodded. “I wish he could have seen it.”

“He would have been proud,” I said, meaning it. “But not surprised.”

Alexander looked away, blinking rapidly.

In that moment, watching this extraordinary young man grapple with the weight of achievement and loss simultaneously, something shifted inside me. The professional distance I’d always maintained, necessary for making tough decisions on his behalf, suddenly felt impossible to sustain.

To my horror, I felt my eyes welling up.

“Amy?” Alexander leaned forward, concern replacing vulnerability. “Are you alright?”

I tried to laugh it off, irritated at myself. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

But the tears betrayed me, spilling over despite my best efforts.

“You’re crying,” he stated, clearly bewildered. In our years together, he had never seen me cry.

“Brilliant observation,” I muttered, fumbling for tissues in my bag. “They’ll make a champion of you yet.”

His hand caught mine, stopping my frantic movements. “Hey. Talk to me.”

I took a deep breath, composing myself. “Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to make people take you seriously? How many conversations I’ve had defending your potential to people who couldn’t see what I saw?”

He waited, silent.

“When you crossed that finish line today…” My voice wavered. “Every door that was closed to us just blew open. Every person who said you weren’t ready, or that I was wasting my career on an unproven teenager…” I stopped, unable to continue.

Understanding dawned in his eyes. “You were right all along.”

“I was,” I acknowledged, allowing myself a moment of unfamiliar vulnerability. “But being right doesn’t mean it wasn’t terrifying. I left a partnership-track position for you, Alexander. I bet everything on you.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

“And I’d do it again,” I added fiercely. “Every time. But today was… vindication.” The word felt inadequate for the tangle of emotions. Relief, pride, validation, a strange kind of grief for the conventional career I’d abandoned.

Alexander squeezed my hand, a reversal of our usual dynamic. “We did it, Amy.”

“You did it,” I corrected, regaining my composure. “I just made sure you had the chance.”

He shook his head. “No. We did it. I wouldn’t be here to have this chance without you.”

The simplicity of his statement hung between us, an acknowledgment of the partnership we’d built, the shared risk we’d taken.

“Well,” I said, wiping away the last evidence of my momentary lapse, “this is thoroughly unprofessional.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he offered with a small smile, wiping his own eye.

“Deal.” I reopened my laptop, signalling a return to normality. “Now, we need to discuss how we leverage this result for your contract negotiations.”

Alexander leaned back in his seat, recognising and accepting the shift back to our established roles. But something had changed. A deepening of trust, a glimpse behind each other’s carefully constructed facades.

In that transatlantic moment of shared vulnerability, the bond between us solidified into something that transcended conventional categories. Not quite family, not merely professional, but something uniquely our own.

A partnership built on absolute faith that would eventually carry us to championships neither of us could yet imagine.

---

This piece, written years after the event as part of Amy’s exploration of memory and meaning through creative writing, illuminates what lies at the heart of Alexander Macalister’s success. Beyond the technical brilliance and methodical approach that define his racing style, there exists this foundational relationship, a partnership built on unwavering belief when evidence was scarce.

When I asked Amy why she chose this particular moment for her class assignment, she smiled and said, “They asked us to write about a moment when we knew everything had changed. Most people wrote about endings. Divorces, deaths, departures. I wanted to write about a beginning that only looked like one in hindsight.”

What struck me most in Amy’s telling was the role reversal. Alexander was providing emotional support rather than receiving it. These glimpses behind their public personas reveal a more complex dynamic than the standard manager-driver relationship. It’s this depth of connection, this mutual vulnerability in private moments, that has provided Alexander with the stability to pursue excellence without fear of abandonment.

When I later asked Alexander about this flight, his recollection focused primarily on the practical aspects, like the media strategy they developed and the contract discussions that followed. But he paused when I mentioned Amy’s tears, a fleeting softness crossing his face.

“That was the moment I really realised we were in this together,” he told me quietly. “Not just professionally. Something more fundamental than that.”

In all my years covering Formula 1, I’ve never encountered a partnership quite like theirs, one that defies categorisation yet provides the emotional bedrock for championship success.

---

Abu Dhabi, 2021. The hotel room silent except for Alexander’s voice as he processed the championship lost through a perplexing safety car decision. Amy sat cross-legged on the floor opposite him, listening without interruption.

“It was right there,” he said hollowly. “I could see it, Amy. Right there.”

“I know.”

“What if—” his voice dropped lower, revealing the fear beneath the disappointment, “what if that was my one shot?”

Amy’s response was immediate. “It wasn’t.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can. I do.” She leaned forward, her gaze unflinching. “Look at me, Alexander. This wasn’t your only chance. This was just the first one.”

He studied her expression, searching for platitudes or empty encouragement. Finding only absolute conviction.

“How can you be so certain?” he asked, genuinely needing to understand the source of her unshakeable faith.

“Because I’ve seen what you’re capable of since you were seventeen,” she said simply. “And this, today, doesn’t change that.”

Alexander exhaled slowly, the words penetrating the numbness that had enveloped him since crossing the finish line.

They talked until dawn, dissecting every moment, every emotion, every possibility. Not moving forward yet, but preparing to. Together.

---

The Ferrari hospitality area, late 2022. Amy stepped in from the rain to find Alexander alone, studying telemetry data from a disappointing qualifying session.

“Everyone’s gone to dinner,” she said, shaking water from her umbrella.

He didn’t look up, absorbed in the numbers that showed their car’s fundamental design flaws. “I’ll grab something later.”

Amy dropped into the chair opposite him. “You need to eat.”

“I need to understand why we’re losing two-tenths in the final sector.”

“You already know why. The car window is too narrow.”

Alexander’s jaw tightened. “I need to find a way to drive around it.”

Amy studied him. The tension in his shoulders, the determination etched into every line of his posture. This difficult season was revealing something in him that even she hadn’t fully recognised before: a capacity to find opportunity in adversity rather than just enduring it.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she asked, the realisation surprising her. “Not the results, but the challenge.”

He looked up, momentarily startled by her perception. Ready to defend himself before yielding at the insight. “Is that terrible?”

“It’s telling,” she replied, seeing a deeper truth about him. “Most drivers need to win to be motivated. You need to solve problems.”

Alexander considered this, then nodded slowly. “When everything’s working perfectly, anyone can drive fast. It’s finding speed where there shouldn’t be any. That’s the real test.”

Amy smiled, a rush of certainty washing over her. “This season isn’t a setback. It’s preparation.”

“For what?”

“For when you have both: the problem-solving ability and a car worthy of it.” Her voice was quietly confident. “That’s when you’ll be unstoppable.”

---

Milan, Christmas 2022. Amy’s apartment, where they were reviewing sponsor contracts over takeaway containers. Alexander stopped mid-sentence, struck by something.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” he said, as if just realising.

Amy glanced up from her laptop. “Yes? We discussed this. Better to handle it now than scramble after New Year’s.”

“Where’s your family?”

“London. We’re doing our thing next month when there’s a break in the schedule.”

Alexander frowned slightly. “You rearranged Christmas for contract reviews?”

Amy shrugged. “It’s just a date. Family understands.”

Something in her casual dismissal bothered him. “When’s the last time you took a proper holiday? One that wasn’t scheduled around my commitments?”

“That’s not how this works,” she replied, redirecting to the contracts.

“Amy.”

She sighed, meeting his gaze. “What?”

“You’ve spent the last five years making my career your priority. My schedule, my ambitions, my needs.”

“That’s literally my job, Alexander.”

“But is it what you want?” he pressed, unusually direct. “If you could change anything about your life right now, what would it be?”

The question caught her off-guard. She stared at him, formulating and discarding several responses before settling on honesty.

“Nothing,” she said finally. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

He studied her expression, searching for any hint of compromise or resignation. Finding none.

“I mean it,” she added, seeing his skepticism. “I could have stayed at the firm. Made partner by now, probably. But that life…” She shook her head. “It wasn’t enough.”

“And this is?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“This is…” She gestured between them, to the messy table of contracts and takeaway containers. “This is something we’re building together. Something that matters. At least to me.”

Alexander was quiet for a long moment. “Do you ever regret it? Taking a chance on me?”

“Not for a second.”

---

Abu Dhabi, 2024. The checkered flag. Alexander’s comprehensive radio message thanking every department of Ferrari for their contribution to his championship. The emotional reunion in parc fermé where Amy somehow slipped past security barriers to reach him first.

The moment captured by a hundred photographers: Alexander lifting her off her feet in an uncharacteristic display of public emotion, both of them laughing through tears.

Her words, heard only by him amid the chaos: “I always knew.”

His response, equally private: “Thank you.”

Two simple phrases encapsulating a decade of shared struggle, belief, and now, validation.

Later, in the hotel suite where three years earlier they’d processed devastating defeat, they sat amid champagne bottles and confetti. The contrast wasn’t lost on either of them.

“It feels different than I expected,” Alexander admitted.

“How so?”

“I thought it would feel like… completion. But it feels more like a beginning.”

Amy nodded, understanding as always. “Because it is. The first championship is just proof of concept.”

He laughed, the sound lighter than she’d heard in months. “Only you would describe the pinnacle of motorsport achievement as ‘proof of concept.’”

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” he admitted, studying her with uncharacteristic openness. “You rarely are.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, the weight of their journey together hovering unspoken in the room.

“Amy,” he said finally, voice dropping to something more serious. “I need you to know something.”

She waited, giving him the space to find his words.

“Whatever happens next, more championships, different teams, whatever life brings, you are non-negotiable.”

The echo of their professional shorthand in this deeply personal context caught her by surprise. Non-negotiable: their code for contractual elements that couldn’t be compromised, regardless of other considerations.

“Likewise,” she replied simply, the single word carrying the weight of their seven years together.

In music theory, the fundamental frequency determines the nature of all harmonics that follow. It is the organising principle, the foundation upon which complexity builds. For Alexander Macalister, whose life had been defined by loss and transience, Amy Millie had become the constant that enabled all other variables, the frequency to which he could always calibrate when everything else wavered.

Not just his manager or friend, but his fundamental frequency. The person who had created stability when none existed, who had believed in his future when it seemed most uncertain, who had sustained the same unwavering faith through defeat and triumph alike.

Non-negotiable, indeed.

---

THE PERFECT FITH | Charles Leclerc

Monaco, 2024. Charles Leclerc’s home race weekend. In the sanctuary of the Ferrari garage during a rare quiet moment before qualifying, Alexander found his teammate meticulously arranging his gloves, helmet and HANS device with the same precise attention Alexander himself was known for.

“You’re becoming more like me every day,” Alexander observed, leaning against the doorframe. “Next you’ll be colour-coding your debrief notes.”

Charles looked up with a grin that could disarm even the most hardened. “Please. I’ve been organised since you were a kid playing around in F3. You just never noticed because you were too busy measuring the exact arrangement and angle of your water bottles.”

Alexander feigned offence. “That was one time.”

“Five times before Monza last year,” Charles countered. “I counted.”

They shared a laugh that echoed in the quiet garage, the easy camaraderie that had confounded paddock predictions when they first became teammates in 2021. Two young, ambitious drivers had been expected to create tension, not harmony. No one had anticipated the perfect fifth they would form together. In music theory, the perfect fifth creates the most natural resonance: distinct notes that complement rather than compete.

---

Bahrain, 2021. Alexander’s first race as a full-time Ferrari driver. The pressure was immense. A rookie partnered with Ferrari’s golden boy, the Monégasque prince who had already claimed victories in the scarlet car.

During the drivers’ parade, Charles had sidled up beside him. “Nervous?”

Alexander had considered denying it, maintaining the composed façade he presented to the world. Instead, he’d opted for honesty. “Terrified, actually.”

Charles had nodded, unexpected understanding in his eyes. “My first race for Ferrari, I threw up before qualifying.” He’d grinned at Alexander’s surprise. “Don’t tell anyone. It ruins my suave image.”

That simple confession had changed everything between them. Not immediate friendship, but the seed of mutual respect. The recognition that beneath their different exteriors, they shared the same pressures, the same dreams, the same human vulnerabilities beneath the Ferrari racing suits.

---

Canada, 2022. The garage after a disastrous trio of practice sessions with their fundamentally flawed car. Engineers huddled around data screens, bafflement evident in their expressions.

Alexander found Charles sitting alone, staring at the timing screens with uncharacteristic dejection.

“P11 and P13, at best,” Charles said without looking up. “Tomorrow is going to be brutal. We’re Ferrari. This shouldn’t be happening.”

Alexander took the seat beside him, considering his words carefully. “The car has potential. It’s just buried under some fundamental issues.”

Charles sighed. “We’ve been saying that for weeks.”

“I think I’ve found something,” Alexander said quietly. “In the rear dampener set up. A workaround , maybe, not a solution, but…”

He slid his notebook across the table, opened to pages of meticulous calculations and diagrams. Charles studied them, eyes widening slightly.

“This could work,” he murmured, enthusiasm returning. “Have you shown Ricci? Fred?”

“Not yet. Wanted your input first.”

Charles looked up, genuine surprise crossing his features. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been here longer. Know the car better. And frankly, you’re bloody fast when everything’s working right.”

A moment of silence stretched between them before Charles spoke. “Most teammates wouldn’t share this. They’d keep the advantage.”

Alexander shrugged. “What’s the point? If we can’t figure this out, we both suffer. Besides,” he added with a slight smile, “I’d rather beat you when you’re at your best.”

Charles had studied him carefully, as if seeing something new. “Let’s show Fred together. Make the presentation as a team.”

The next day, they qualified P4 and P6. It was a remarkable improvement that had the entire paddock buzzing about Ferrari’s mysterious overnight gains. In the media pen, journalists had pressed for details about the sudden performance jump.

“Just great teamwork,” Charles had said, arm slung casually over Alexander’s shoulders.

---

Japan, 2023. The hotel corridor after a particularly gruelling race where Charles had struggled with tire degradation while Alexander had managed a podium.

“You’re not answering my texts,” Alexander said, finding Charles outside his room.

Charles looked exhausted. “Just tired.”

“It wasn’t your fault. The strategy—”

“Don’t,” Charles interrupted. “I know what happened. I couldn’t make the tires last. You could. Simple as that.”

Alexander leaned against the wall, considering. “Remember Spa? You were getting better tire life than me, by miles.”

“That was different.”

“It wasn’t. I studied your data for weeks afterwards. Your throttle application through the apexes, it was magic. Taught me everything I know about managing these Pirellis in the medium-speed corners.”

Charles looked up, surprise evident. “You never mentioned that.”

“Why would I? It’s embarrassing to admit your teammate’s better at something you yourself take so much pride in.”

A reluctant smile tugged at Charles’ lips. “Now you’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

Charles laughed despite himself. “Maybe a little.”

Alexander pushed off from the wall. “Good. Now go get some sleep. Tomorrow we’re going through the data together and figuring this out.”

“You already have a podium. You don’t need to—”

“Charles,” Alexander interrupted firmly. “We’re a team, right. We succeed together or not at all.”

It was their unspoken pact. When one struggled, the other stepped in. No public criticism, no private resentment, just mutual support driving them both forward. The perfect fifth, two distinct talents creating something stronger together than either could achieve alone.

---

Monaco, May 2024. The Ferrari garage was electric with celebration. Charles had just secured victory, his first at-home race win. A special moment for any driver who experiences that. Alexander, finishing a close second, seemed genuinely as delighted as if he’d won himself.

In the cooldown room before the podium, Alexander embraced his teammate warmly. “You finally broke the bloody curse!” he exclaimed, his usual reserve momentarily abandoned.

Charles was practically vibrating with emotion. “I can’t believe it actually happened. After all the near misses, the mechanical failures…”

“You definitely deserved this one,” Alexander said firmly. “That qualifying lap yesterday was art.”

Their conversation continued in a mix of English and Italian as they prepared for the podium, with Charles reverting to English when Max Verstappen joined them, creating a linguistic triangle that reflected their distinct personalities and origins.

Later, at the team celebration, I observed them on the periphery of the crowded room, heads bent close in private conversation. It was a familiar sight, the two finding their own frequency amid the chaos of Formula 1.

“They’re extraordinary together,” Fred Vasseur commented, appearing beside me with uncanny timing. The Ferrari team principal watched his drivers with unmistakable pride. “When we paired them, everyone predicted disaster. The Ferrari golden boy and the British wonderkind. Too much ambition in one garage.”

“But it worked,” I observed.

“More than worked,” Vasseur corrected. “They’ve elevated each other. Charles brought out Alexander’s competitive spirit, gave him someone to measure against daily. And Alexander’s methodical approach has tempered Charles’s more… emotional tendencies.”

Across the room, the two teammates were laughing at something on Charles’s phone, shoulders touching with the easy familiarity of siblings.

“How would you characterise their dynamic?” I asked.

Vasseur considered this. “In music, they would call it a perfect fifth. Two notes that are distinct but create pure harmony when played together. Not unison, which would be boring, but colourful and complementary.”

It was an apt description. While other team pairings in the paddock maintained professional courtesy masking underlying tension, Charles and Alexander had developed something genuinely synergistic. Their contrasting approaches to racing (Charles’s intuitive brilliance versus Alexander’s analytical precision) created a feedback loop that strengthened both drivers.

Later that night, long after most celebrations had wound down, I spotted them on the balcony of the Ferrari hospitality suite. Charles was gesturing animatedly, reconstructing some moment from the race while Alexander listened with his characteristic focus, occasionally offering quiet observations that made Charles nod emphatically.

“They do this after every race,” Amy Millie explained, joining me by the window. “Break down each other’s performances, share insights. No ego, just two professionals helping each other improve.”

She watched them with the fond exasperation of someone accustomed to Alexander’s peculiarities. “Most drivers guard their techniques like state secrets. These two exchange notes like university study partners.”

What struck me most, watching them through the glass, was the absence of the political calculation that typically defines teammate relationships in Formula 1. There was genuine friendship underpinning their professional connection. Something that transcended the red cars they drove.

“They’re good for each other,” Amy said softly. “Charles gives Alexander permission to be more expressive, more playful. And Alexander gives Charles…” she paused, searching for the right words.

“Stability?” I suggested.

“Perspective,” she corrected. “A reminder that there’s value in the methodical approach, that passion alone isn’t enough.”

As if hearing his name, Alexander glanced our way, catching Amy watching. He raised an eyebrow in silent question, and she responded with a small head shake. Their typical wordless communication. He nodded almost imperceptibly before returning his attention to Charles.

---

Austria, June, 2024. The Ferrari motorhome was almost empty. Most of the team had departed for dinner, leaving only a handful of engineers hunched over data screens. Alexander sat alone in the small conference room, reviewing sector times from the day’s practice session. The soft knock at the door barely registered.

“I knew I’d find you here,” Charles said, leaning against the doorframe. “Working late as usual.”

I’d witnessed this scene countless times during my year shadowing Alexander, the easy camaraderie between teammates that had defied paddock expectations since day one.

“Join me?” Alexander said, gesturing to the chair beside him.

Charles hesitated, then closed the door behind him.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, dropping into the seat opposite instead. “And I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

Alexander’s fingers paused over the keyboard, his attention shifting to his teammate.

“I’m listening,” he said simply.

Charles took a deep breath. “I’m leaving Ferrari at the end of the season.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implications beyond the simple statement of fact. Alexander’s expression remained carefully neutral.

“Alpine?” he asked after a moment.

Charles nodded, looking both relieved and surprised. “How did you know?”

“Logical step,” Alexander said with a small smile. “French team. Your friend Pierre is already there. A rebuild project where you can apply everything you’ve learned here.” He paused. “Am I close?”

“Unnervingly so,” Charles admitted. “I thought you’d be more surprised.”

“I suspected something was brewing,” Alexander replied, closing his laptop. “You’ve been… different lately.”

Charles looked down at his hands. “I didn’t want to leave, exactly. But I need to see if I can build something from the ground up. Here, I’ll always be…” he trailed off.

Alexander was quiet for a moment, sensing the vulnerability beneath Charles’s usually confident exterior. “You’ll always be measured against the expectations of Ferrari’s legacy,” he suggested gently.

Charles glanced up, grateful for the understanding. “Something like that. And after four years, five years, if it hasn’t happened yet…”

“You wonder if it ever will,” Alexander finished.

“Exactly.” Charles sighed. “I need to prove to myself I can succeed somewhere else, somewhere I can build something on my own terms.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of four years together settling between them.

“Fred will need to find someone pretty special to replace you,” Alexander said finally.

Charles laughed. “Maybe they’ll shock everyone and sign Lewis Hamilton!”

“Hamilton?” Alexander snorted. “Can you imagine? Lewis in Ferrari red after all these years? The tifosi will finally, truly, loose their minds!”

“God help you if Fred did,” Charles said, grinning. “You think I’m fast…”

“And I’d never hear the end of it from Amy. She knows I’ve been his biggest fan since his McLaren days. I’m still not able to look him in the eyes when we pass in the paddock. Those eyes!”

The joke lightened the moment, allowing them both to sidestep the deeper emotions stirring beneath the surface. Neither could know how prophetic their casual banter would prove to be.

Charles leaned forward. “All joking aside, how do you feel about me leaving?”

Alexander considered the question with his characteristic thoroughness. “I understand it,” he said finally. “Even if I don’t like it.”

“You’ll be fine without me.”

“That’s not the point.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “What is the point, then?”

Alexander looked directly at his teammate. “That what we built here was special. The way we worked together. The balance we found between pushing each other and supporting each other.” He gestured vaguely. “It’s rare in this world.”

It was perhaps the most direct acknowledgment Alexander had ever made of their unique partnership, a relationship that had defied the typical teammate rivalry to become something genuinely supportive and productive.

Charles nodded, his own composure momentarily slipping. “Yeah. It is.”

“The good news,” Alexander added with a small smile, “is that friendship doesn’t specifically require matching race suits.”

“You mean that?” Charles asked, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his usual confidence.

“Obviously. You think I’m going to forget four plus years just because you’re wearing blue instead of red?”

Charles studied him for a moment, then broke into a grin. “I suppose not. You know, you’re too sentimental beneath all that British reserve.”

---

Australia, March 2025. The first race where they would compete as rivals for different teams. The paddock hummed with speculation about how their relationship would evolve now that they were no longer teammates.

Before the first practice session, Alexander found a small package in his locker. Inside was a single Ferrari-branded water bottle, whose label was slightly, but deliberately misaligned, along with a note in Charles’s handwriting:

To remind you of the good times.

- CL

P.S. I’m still the fastest one in MacLerc.

Alexander laughed, positioning the bottle on his table with mathematical precision, then deliberately turning it five degrees clockwise, accentuating the crookedness.

Later, on the back of the Driver’s Parade truck, they found their way to each other, exchanging knowing smiles and nothing more. Different teams, different colours, but the resonance between them remained unchanged. The perfect fifth still harmonising, creating something that elevated them both beyond what either could achieve alone.

In music theory, the perfect fifth creates stability, adding richness without clashing. For Alexander Macalister, Charles Leclerc had been exactly that: the teammate who challenged without undermining, who competed without antagonism, who somehow transformed potential rivalry into one of the most productive partnerships in Ferrari’s recent history.

Different notes, perfect harmony.

---

THE COUNTERPOINT | Max Verstappen

In musical theory, a counterpoint creates complexity and depth by combining different melodic lines that remain independent while working harmoniously together. For Alexander Macalister, his relationship with Max Verstappen embodied this principle perfectly. Their rivalry generated a richness that neither could have created alone.

---

Bahrain testing, pre-season 2024. The sun was setting over the circuit, most team personnel already departed for dinner or data analysis. Alexander sat alone in the outdoor seating in front of the Ferrari hospitality area, studying sector times from the day’s running when a familiar figure dropped into the chair opposite him.

“Your car looks fast,” Max said without preamble, setting down two bottles of water. “Especially through Turn 9.”

Alexander glanced up, momentarily surprised. “Yours doesn’t exactly look slow.”

“It’s not,” Max agreed with characteristic directness. “But Ferrari’s found something in the high-speed corners.”

Their conversations often began this way, with technical observations delivered without pretence. No small talk, no media-trained platitudes, just the shared language of drivers who understood what the other was seeing in ways team engineers and analysts sometimes missed.

“The real test will be tire wear over a full stint,” Alexander replied, closing his notebook. “We’re still figuring out the rears in the final sector.”

Max leaned back, a slight smile playing at his lips. “Is that why you were doing those weird lines through Turn 13? I thought you were just trying to confuse us.”

“Maybe I was.”

“Bullshit. You don’t play games like that.”

Alexander laughed, conceding the point. “True. That’s more your style.”

“Exactly.” Max grinned, no offence taken. “We each have our methods.”

The ease between them belied the intensity of their competition. It was a relationship built on mutual respect rather than the antagonism that often characterised championship rivalries. They pushed each other to the absolute limit on track, then analysed those battles with the detached fascination of scientists studying an interesting phenomenon.

---

Imola, 2022. A rain-soaked qualification session that had left both drivers frustrated with their starting positions. Alexander found Max in the paddock afterward, sheltering under the same awning as they waited for the downpour to ease.

“That was ridiculous,” Max muttered, watching rivers form between hospitality units. “Couldn’t see a thing in the final chicane.”

Alexander nodded. “I almost went into the wall at Rivazza when I hit the standing water out there.”

“I saw that!” Max gestured with his hands, mimicking the car’s movement. “Good save. Thought you were gone for sure.”

“So did I.” Alexander shivered slightly in his damp clothes. “Didn’t help that I had Hamilton right in front of me. Couldn’t see shit through the spray until I was practically sitting on his gearbox.”

Max’s expression darkened momentarily at the mention of Hamilton. The rivalry that had defined his first championship was still raw in certain contexts. Alexander noticed the shift, filing away the observation. Each driver had their triggers, their pressure points. Understanding these was as much a part of competition as knowing their braking techniques.

“Tomorrow will be interesting if it stays like this,” Max said, changing the subject. “Especially with you starting right behind me.”

“Fancy letting me through at the start?” Alexander asked lightly.

Max’s grin was wolfish. “Fancy giving me a signal before you switch to slicks?”

“Deal”

They both laughed.

The conversation shifted into tyre choices for a potentially damp race, setup compromises, visibility concerns. The shared technical language that united them despite their different teams, different approaches, different temperaments. Two distinct musical lines, independent yet harmonising.

---

Montreal, 2023. Alexander’s phone buzzed during a signing session: Dinner tonight? Found a place with proper steaks. Just us.

These occasional meals with Max had become tradition. Private spaces away from paddock scrutiny where they could simply be two racing drivers sharing a table. That night, over rare steaks and mineral water, Max was unusually reflective.

“Do you ever think about what happens after?” he asked, cutting precisely into his ribeye. “After racing, I mean.”

“Sometimes. Not in detail. You?”

“I do.” Max surprised Alexander with his candour. “Sometimes I think about just disappearing. Buy a house somewhere nobody cares about Formula 1, race sim games online where nobody knows it’s me.”

“You’d be bored within a week.”

Max laughed. “Probably. But the fantasy is nice.” He studied Alexander for a moment. “You’re different though. You’ll stick around, become team principal someday.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You understand people, not just cars. I understand cars better than people.” Max said this matter-of-factly, without self-pity. “Makes me a good driver, but it would make me a terrible boss.”

The insight was characteristically blunt, but perceptive. Despite their intense competition, or perhaps because of it, each had developed a clear-eyed assessment of the other’s strengths and limitations.

---

Spa-Francorchamps, 2024. The rain-drenched aftermath of one of their most intense battles. Thirty laps of wheel-to-wheel racing through changing conditions, ending with Max ahead by mere tenths.

In the cool-down room, the cameras captured their brief exchange:

“That move at Les Combes,” Max said, towelling his face dry. “Didn’t think you’d try the outside there.”

“Neither did I until I was committed,” Alexander admitted. “Thought you might run me out of road.”

“Eh, I considered it,” Max grinned.

This was their unique language: technical observations layered with subtle acknowledgments of the respect that governed their battles. Where other rivalries descended into recrimination or psychological warfare, theirs remained defined by a curious, almost academic appreciation of each other’s craft.

Later in the paddock, I observed them huddled over Max’s phone, studying footage of their battle with the focused intensity of professors analyzing an interesting research problem. No PR handlers, no team principals, no real egos, just two competitors dissecting their shared experience with analytical precision.

“See, I think that’s where it started going wrong,” Max was saying, gesturing at the screen. “I’m already committed to the inside line here.”

Alexander leaned closer. “Yes, but look at your front wheel alignment. You’re not fully committed to the apex yet.”

There was an ease to their interaction that belied the intensity of their on-track battle. No cameras, no agendas. Just two drivers speaking the shared language of their craft.

“If you’d left half a car’s width more—” Alexander continued.

“Then you would have undercut me on exit,” Max countered, though without heat. “I had to defend that position.”

“Fair enough.” Alexander’s tone was thoughtful rather than confrontational. “But that’s why you ran wide. You carried too much speed trying to cover both options.”

“Probably,” Max conceded with a small laugh. “Still think the penalty was harsh though.”

“Agreed. You lost enough time running wide and going over the curb.” Alexander gestured at the screen again. “The deterrent was already built into the outcome.”

---

Abu Dhabi, 2024. The final race of their season-long championship battle.

In the drivers’ parade, their truck passed a massive banner displaying both their faces, thirty-feet high, the words “TITLE SHOWDOWN:REMATCH” emblazoned across it.

“Subtle,” Max remarked dryly.

“At least they used a decent photo of you this time,” Alexander replied. “Remember Singapore last year?”

Max groaned. “Don’t remind me. I looked like I was having some kind of medical emergency.”

They shared a laugh, this brief moment of camaraderie standing in stark contrast to the intensity that would follow once helmets were donned and visors lowered. Their ability to separate competition from animosity remained remarkable in a sport often defined by bitter rivalries.

When Alexander took the checkered flag first, securing both the race win and the championship, Max was among the first to congratulate him in parc fermé.

“You deserve this,” he said simply, the handshake turning into a brief hug. “No safety cars, no controversies. A proper reflection of the season as a whole.”

The acknowledgment wasn’t just sportsmanship. It was recognition from the only other person who truly understood what Alexander had accomplished, who had pushed him to the limits that made the achievement meaningful.

Later, at the FIA Gala in December, I witnessed them together again, away from the formal proceedings. Alexander now the champion, Max the challenger for the coming season. Roles reversed, but the dynamic unchanged.

“Does it feel different?” Max asked, gesturing vaguely toward Alexander’s championship trophy. “After all the work, all the waiting?”

Alexander considered this. “Yes and no. Crossing the line, that moment was… indescribable. But the day after? Back to thinking about next year, next improvements.”

“That’s why I have my work cut out for me with you,” Max observed with surprising insight. “The trophy’s not the end for you. It’s just a milestone.”

This perception, cutting through to the core of Alexander’s motivation, demonstrated how deeply they had come to understand each other through years of intense competition.

“Will you come to my celebration if I win next year?” Max asked with a mischievous grin, referencing Alexander’s appearance at his party after the controversial 2021 finale.

“Depends how you win it,” Alexander retorted, but his smile suggested otherwise.

The championship had added a new dimension to their relationship without fundamentally altering its foundation. The counterpoint continued, each driver’s distinct melody enhanced rather than diminished by the other’s presence.

---

Miami, 2025. The parking area reserved for drivers at the Miami International Autodrome usually resembled a luxury car dealership’s front lot. At this particular hour, it was more sparse. As Alexander and I walked from his Ferrari road car toward the paddock entrance, I noticed the distinctive figure of Max Verstappen ahead of us, striding purposefully toward the same destination.

Alexander spotted him too, his pace subtly quickening. The two had battled wheel-to-wheel just two weeks prior in Jeddah, a duel that had left fans breathless and both drivers grinning in parc fermé despite the stewards’ summons that followed.

Max glanced over his shoulder, slowing his pace to allow us to catch up. His expression shifted from preoccupation to a mischievous glint when he recognised Alexander.

“Morning, Max,” Alexander offered as we drew alongside.

“See that?” Max asked without preamble, nodding toward another section of the parking area where Lewis Hamilton was emerging from his car.

Alexander followed his gaze, a question in his eyes.

Max pointed toward Lewis. “Seven-time world champion.” Then to himself, “Three-time world champion.” Finally to Alexander, “Current world champion.” He made a circular motion with his hand and declared with matter-of-fact delivery, “The first ones in!”

The note in Max’s voice was unmistakable. All three champions shared the same work ethic, the same hunger that drove them to the track before most of their peers had even begun their morning routines.

A slight smile formed on Alexander’s lips. Small but evident. A quiet acknowledgment of the elite club to which they belonged. Three men who understood what it took to stand at the summit.

“You still feeling brave about that overtake in Jeddah?” Max asked, seamlessly transitioning from shared respect to friendly provocation.

“Brave?” Alexander raised an eyebrow. “I’d call it calculated. The gap was there.”

“The gap was the size of a shoebox,” Max countered, but there was warmth in his mock outrage.

“Seemed big enough for me at the time,” Alexander replied with the same understated confidence he showed behind the wheel.

They continued this way toward the paddock entrance, dissecting racing lines and braking points from their previous encounters with the casual precision of master craftsmen discussing their trade. The paddock staff watching them might have been surprised to see such camaraderie between fierce rivals, but they missed the underlying truth: these two understood each other in ways few others could.

Their dynamic reminded me of what Max had told me during our interview: “Alexander and I speak the same language on track. We know exactly where the limit is. Sometimes we step over it,” he’d grinned at this, “but we always know where it is.”

As we approached the security checkpoint, Hamilton caught up to us. The three world champions nodded to each other with that particular recognition that transcends words. Acknowledgment from peers who truly understand the weight of what they’ve achieved and what they continue to risk every time they climb into the car.

Three different personalities, three different journeys to the top, united by the rarefied air of championship success and the relentless pursuit of the next victory. But watching Alexander and Max, I was struck by how their rivalry had fostered genuine friendship rather than animosity. Each making the other better, each respecting the challenge the other presented.

Before they parted ways to their respective teams, Max clapped Alexander on the shoulder. “See you in qualifying,” he said, the implicit challenge clear. Alexander nodded, accepting it without words.

As Max headed toward the Red Bull garage, Lewis fell in step beside Alexander. There was still a careful rhythm to their movement together. The partnership was too new for the seamless synchronicity Alexander had shared with Charles, but evolving with each race weekend.

“Max seems cheerful this morning,” Lewis observed with the hint of a smile.

“He’s always cheerful before he tries to push us off the track,” Alexander replied, which earned a knowing laugh from the seven-time champion.

They continued toward the Ferrari garage, their red team shirts creating a striking visual unity despite their contrasting approaches. As Lewis moved ahead to speak with his race engineer, I asked Alexander about his relationship with Max.

“It’s simple,” he replied after a moment’s consideration. “We can fight like hell on Sunday and still respect each other on Monday. Not everyone understands that.”

His words captured perfectly what I’d observed. How competition at the highest level, between the right spirits, doesn’t diminish connection but deepens it. And watching him now with Lewis, I could see the same dynamic beginning to form. Mutual respect between champions who understood the true weight of what they pursued together.

---

When interviewed in 2025 about their rivalry, Max offered perhaps the most revealing perspective:

“People always expected us to hate each other,” he said, characteristically blunt. “That’s what they think championship battles should be. Enemies trying to destroy each other. But it was never like that.”

He paused, searching for the right words.

“Alexander drives differently than most. He’s… predictably unpredictable, if that makes sense. Always fair, always on the limit, never beyond it. You know exactly what you’re getting with him: the absolute maximum within the rules. Makes for good racing. It means he always surprises me, but he’s never rash or dangerously unpredictable. With that knowledge, I know I can take it to the absolute limit with him every time. ”

This, perhaps, was the key to their unusual dynamic: the mutual recognition that their greatest rival was also their greatest catalyst for improvement. That the other’s excellence demanded their own best response. That competition could be fierce without becoming personal.

After a contentious race at Spa in mid-2024, I found Alexander and Max in a quiet paddock corner, hunched over a tablet analysing their controversial battle. Two fierce rivals dissecting racing lines without defensiveness or animosity, speaking the shared language of elite drivers.

What surprised me most was learning Alexander had approached the stewards following Max’s five-second penalty that cost him the race and nearly cost him the podium position. The Dutchman’s genuine surprise at this revelation spoke volumes.

Later, when I asked Max about their relationship, his response illuminated their unusual dynamic.

A small smile crossed his face. “Most people think we’d hate each other because we’re fighting for the same thing. But it’s actually the opposite. We understand each other because we’re the only ones who know what it’s like to be in those moments, making those decisions.”

For Alexander Macalister, Max Verstappen had been the essential counterpoint in his championship symphony. The challenging, contrasting melody that had pushed him to heights he might never have reached alone. Their rivalry had become one of Formula 1’s most compelling narratives not because of animosity, but because of its absence. Two competitors who brought out the best in each other without needing to diminish the other’s achievements.

“We communicate through our driving,” Alexander explained when I asked about this dynamic. “Where we place the car, how we approach a corner, when we choose to attack or defend. It’s a conversation, just one conducted at 300 kilometres per hour.”

Different approaches, different temperaments, different musical lines, creating together something richer than either could produce alone.

---

THE BASS NOTE | John Elkann

In music, the bass note provides the foundation, the deep, resonant undertone that grounds every chord and creates stability for melodic exploration. For Alexander Macalister, John Elkann served precisely this function, a constant, steady presence whose influence rippled through every aspect of his career while rarely drawing attention to itself.

---

Fiorano test track, July 2014. Late afternoon light slanted across the pit lane as fifteen-year-old Alexander climbed from a Formula 4 car, removing his helmet with hands that still seemed too small for the task. Around him, Ferrari Academy officials murmured assessments, scribbling notes on clipboards.

A polished black Maserati had arrived midway through the session, parking discreetly behind the pit wall. Its occupant (tall, impeccably dressed, with keen eyes that missed nothing) had observed the final laps in silence.

As Alexander handed his helmet to a technician, an academy coordinator approached. “Mr. Elkann would like a word,” he said quietly, nodding toward the chairman.

Alexander straightened his academy race suit nervously, then crossed to where Elkann stood. In his memories later, this conversation would remain fragmentary. Nervousness clouding his recall of specific words. But the impression of Elkann’s demeanour stayed with him: the lack of condescension, the direct manner of addressing him not as a child but as a serious prospect.

“Your lines through Turn 13 were distinctive,” Elkann remarked, his accent precise and cultivated. “Different from the other academy drivers. Why?”

Alexander hesitated, suddenly worried his unorthodox approach had drawn criticism. “I found I could carry more speed through the exit if I sacrificed a little on entry,” he explained carefully. “It’s slower for one corner but faster over the full lap.”

Elkann’s eyebrows raised slightly, interest sparked. “You’re thinking in complete laps, not isolated corners. Good. That’s quite sophisticated for your age.”

The conversation that followed was brief but probing, with Elkann asking not just about driving technique but about Alexander’s understanding of car dynamics, his approach to learning, his long-term vision. Not the superficial questions of someone making obligatory conversation, but the targeted inquiries of a man genuinely evaluating potential.

As they parted, Elkann offered a single, understated encouragement: “I’ll be watching your progress.”

It wasn’t dramatic or effusive, but in Ferrari’s hierarchy, the chairman’s personal attention carried weight that reverberated throughout the academy. Within days, Alexander found himself allocated additional simulator time, invited to engineering briefings normally reserved for senior academy members, included in conversations that expanded his understanding beyond mere driving technique.

The bass note had sounded, subtle but unmistakable, establishing the foundation upon which everything else would build.

---

Monza paddock, September 2016. Alexander’s mid-season slump in Formula 4 had culminated in a disastrous qualifying session, leaving him frustrated and withdrawn. The technical perfection he’d been pursuing had somehow transformed into mechanical precision without soul. Driving by numbers rather than instinct.

He’d retreated to a quiet corner of the team’s modest motorhome when an unexpected knock came at the door.

John Elkann stood outside, dressed more casually than Alexander had ever seen him. A simple polo shirt replacing his usual suit.

“Walk with me,” he said without preamble.

They moved through the bustling paddock in silence, Elkann acknowledging greetings from team principals and officials with practiced efficiency while maintaining their progress away from the crowds. Eventually, they reached the old banking of Monza. The historic oval, now silent and unused, was a monument to racing’s past.

“Do you know why I’m here today?” Elkann asked suddenly.

Alexander assumed the question was rhetorical. The Ferrari chairman obviously had commitments with the Formula 1 team competing that weekend.

“I came to watch you race,” Elkann continued, surprising him. “Because something is wrong, and I want to understand what.”

The directness invited honesty. “I’m trying to be perfect,” Alexander admitted. “Hitting every apex exactly right, braking at precisely the correct point, following every instruction to the letter. But it’s not working. I’m getting slower, not faster.”

Elkann considered this. “You’re approaching racing like an engineering problem.”

“Isn’t it? The perfect lap is mathematically definable—”

“Only in theory,” Elkann interrupted. “In reality, perfection in racing isn’t mathematical; it’s artistic. The greatest drivers find the limit not through calculation but through feeling.”

He gestured toward the banking. “The men who raced here, Fangio, Ascari, they didn’t have the data you have. They had instinct, courage, feel. Technical understanding matters, of course. But at some point, you must trust yourself beyond the numbers.”

“What if I don’t have that instinct?” Alexander asked, voicing his deepest fear.

“You do,” Elkann said with surprising conviction. “I’ve seen it. But you’re suppressing it, trying to make yourself into a driving computer. It’s why I found you in the motorhome, hiding, instead of working with your engineers.”

The observation struck Alexander in its accuracy. He had been avoiding the team, retreating into increasingly rigid self-criticism.

“Your father was a methodical man, was he not?” Elkann asked unexpectedly.

Alexander nodded, surprised by the connection.

“And you’re trying to honour that approach,” Elkann continued. “I understand. But your father would have also known when to trust his instincts. When to let go of the numbers and feel the car.”

He placed a hand briefly on Alexander’s shoulder. An uncommon gesture.

“Tomorrow, forget the perfect lap. Just drive.”

The conversation shifted then to broader topics: Italian politics, English literature, the history of Monza itself. Not the pep talk Alexander might have expected, but something more valuable. A reminder that he existed beyond his lap times, that his worth wasn’t measured solely by performance.

The following day, Alexander delivered a masterclass, a recovery drive from P16 to P1. Not by being technically perfect, but by finding a harmony between precision and instinct that transcended both.

When he looked to Ferrari’s guest area after taking the checkered flag, Elkann was already gone. Back to his other commitments, no doubt. But his influence remained, a bass note resonating through Alexander’s approach to racing from that day forward.

---

Ferrari headquarters, Maranello, November 2019. The summons to Elkann’s office came unexpectedly, interrupting Alexander’s simulator session preparing for his final Formula 3 race.

He’d visited the chairman’s sanctum before. A space that embodied Ferrari’s essence with its careful balance of heritage and forward-thinking modernity. Racing memorabilia shared wall space with contemporary art; historic trophies occupied shelves alongside cutting-edge technical models.

“Sit,” Elkann said, gesturing to a chair opposite his desk. At twenty, Alexander had grown into his lanky frame, no longer the awkward teenager who had first arrived at the academy. His Italian had become fluent, his racing record impressive, his trajectory toward Formula 1 increasingly clear.

“I’ve been reviewing your development,” Elkann began, opening a substantial file. “Your technical feedback is exceptional. Your race pace consistent. Your media presence improving, though still reserved.”

He looked up, assessing. “Sebastian is signed through 2020. Charles is showing we were right to give him the seat this year. The logical progression would be to follow the template established with him; place you in a customer team for 2021, then potentially Ferrari in 2023-24. Assuming everything develops as expected.”

Alexander nodded, familiar with this projected timeline.

“However,” Elkann continued, “circumstances can change quickly in Formula 1. Should an opportunity arise sooner, would you be ready?”

The question wasn’t hypothetical. That much was clear from Elkann’s tone. Something specific prompted this conversation.

“Yes,” Alexander answered without hesitation. “I would be ready.”

In the silence that followed, Elkann studied him carefully. “Many drivers would elaborate. List their accomplishments, argue their case.”

“You already know my record, sir,” Alexander replied simply. “Either it’s sufficient or it isn’t.”

A rare smile flickered across Elkann’s features. “This confidence… is it genuine, or a performance for my benefit?”

The question demanded honesty. “Both,” Alexander admitted. “I believe I’m capable, but I’m also nervous sitting here.”

“Good. Confidence without self-awareness becomes arrogance.” Elkann closed the file. “Fred Vasseur has decided to name you as a Ferrari reserve driver next year, alongside your Formula 2 commitments. It would mean additional responsibilities, more scrutiny.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Elkann leaned forward slightly. “You would be one injury, one illness, away from making your Formula 1 debut in a Ferrari. Not a midfield team where mistakes are expected, but the Scuderia, where every error is magnified a thousandfold.”

Alexander absorbed this, recognising the test embedded in the scenario. “If you believe I’m not ready—”

“I didn’t say that,” Elkann interrupted. “I’m asking if you believe you’re ready.”

Their eyes met across the desk. The seasoned executive who had guided Ferrari through massive corporate transformations, and the young driver whose life had been shaped by the organisation Elkann oversaw.

“I believe I could handle it,” Alexander said carefully. “Not perfectly. I would make mistakes. But I wouldn’t disgrace the team.”

Elkann nodded, seemingly satisfied with the balanced self-assessment. “We’ll make the announcement after your F3 season concludes.”

As Alexander stood to leave, Elkann added something unexpected. “You’ve developed an interesting partnership with Ms. Millie.”

The observation caught Alexander off-guard. Amy had been a constant fixture by Alexander’s side these past several seasons, but he hadn’t realised Elkann was monitoring this relationship.

“She’s been very helpful,” Alexander replied cautiously.

“She declined a partnership track at her law firm to focus on your career,” Elkann noted. “A significant professional gamble.”

Alexander hadn’t known this detail. Amy had downplayed the career implications of her choices to the teenage Alexander.

“She’s smart, ambitious, and fiercely loyal,” Elkann continued. “You would be wise to keep her close as your career progresses.”

The advice carried weight coming from a man whose business acumen was legendary. But something in Elkann tone suggested he wasn’t speaking purely from a strategic perspective.

“I trust her completely,” Alexander said simply.

“Good. In this sport, that’s rarer than talent.” Elkann rose, indicating the meeting had concluded. “One more thing, Alexander. Whatever opportunities arise, remember that Ferrari isn’t just a team; it’s a national institution. When you drive for the Scuderia, you represent something beyond yourself.”

“I understand.”

“I know you do. It’s why you’re still here when many others have come and gone.”

The bass note sounded again. Steady, supportive, creating the harmonic foundation upon which Alexander’s future would build.

---

Maranello, December 2024. Snow dusted the Ferrari campus as Alexander found himself once more in Elkann’s office, now as Formula 1 World Champion. The championship trophy sat on a side table, brought out for a photoshoot that had concluded moments earlier.

“You honoured your word,” Elkann observed, nodding toward the trophy. “When you joined Ferrari full-time in 2021, you said you’d bring a championship within five years.”

Alexander smiled slightly. “I had significant help.”

“False modesty doesn’t suit you,” Elkann replied, pouring two espressos from a sleek machine at the corner of his office. “You delivered what you promised. Acknowledge it.”

He handed Alexander a cup, then raised his own in a small toast. “To fulfilling potential.”

They drank in comfortable silence. The relationship had now evolved from mentorship to something approaching mutual respect between colleagues, though the underlying dynamic remained. Elkann would always be the man who had provided stability when Alexander needed it most.

“What are you thinking about for next year?” Elkann asked.

“Hamilton will push me,” Alexander acknowledged. “His technical feedback will reshape our development direction.”

“I meant beyond racing,” Elkann clarified. “You’ve achieved the goal you’ve pursued since childhood. What comes next?”

The question touched on something Alexander had been considering since Abu Dhabi: the strange emptiness that sometimes followed achievement, the question of purpose once the primary goal was reached.

“The foundation for young drivers,” he said after a moment. “I’d like to expand it. Create something more comprehensive than just financial support.”

Elkann nodded approvingly. “Giving back. Good. What else?”

Alexander hesitated, then shared something he hadn’t voiced to anyone but Amy. “I’ve been thinking about architecture again. Not as a career change, but as an interest beyond racing.”

“You mentioned this passion years ago,” Elkann recalled. “During one of our early conversations.”

“You remember that?” Alexander asked, surprised.

“I remember most things about people who interest me,” Elkann replied simply.

He moved to the window, looking out at the snow-covered factory complex. “Do you know why I took a particular interest in your development, Alexander?”

The question had lingered unspoken between them for years. “I assumed it was my potential as an F1 driver.”

“Partially,” Elkann acknowledged. “But I’ve seen many talented drivers. What caught my attention was your response to loss.”

He turned back, his expression unusually open. “When tragedy strikes, most people become defined by it. Either destroyed or permanently shaped around the absence. You did something different. You acknowledged the loss without surrendering to it. You built something new without forgetting what came before.”

The observation struck Alexander deeply. It articulated something he had never quite formulated about his own journey.

“That quality,” Elkann continued, “is rarer than speed or technical skill or media polish. It’s what makes great leaders, not just great drivers.”

He gestured toward the campus outside. “Ferrari has always been more than a racing team. It’s a philosophy, a cultural institution. The individuals who drive our cars matter beyond their lap times.”

Alexander understood the implicit message: that Elkann’s investment in him had always extended beyond his potential championship contributions to something more lasting.

“I’ve tried to respect that legacy,” he said quietly.

“You’ve done more than respect it,” Elkann replied. “You’ve embodied it. Ferrari gave you structure when you needed it most; now you provide that structure to others through your foundation. The symmetry is… appropriate.”

The conversation shifted to practical matters: upcoming appearances, technical developments, Hamilton’s integration into the team. But beneath these topics, the bass note continued its steady resonance, the foundation upon which Alexander had built not just his career but himself.

As he left the office, trophy carefully cradled in his arms, Alexander reflected on how thoroughly Elkann’s influence had shaped his journey. Not through micromanagement or directive control, but through periodic moments of clarity, insight, and unwavering belief. The chairman had never tried to replace what Alexander had lost; he had simply provided the stable foundation that allowed Alexander to build something new.

In music theory, the bass note rarely draws attention to itself yet fundamentally shapes the character of every chord. For Alexander Macalister, John Elkann had been exactly that: the steady presence that enabled his development from wounded teenager to world champion. Not a replacement father figure, but something equally valuable: the person who believed in his potential when that belief mattered most.

Different notes, perfect harmony.

---

THE NEW HARMONY | Gemma Rhodes

“I’ve managed Alexander’s life for almost a decade,” Amy told me as we sat in her office, afternoon light slanting through the blinds. “I’ve seen him in every possible situation: victories, defeats, negotiations, crises. But I’d never seen him simply… present.”

She described an afternoon at Alexander’s home in Italy. She’d arrived early for a scheduled meeting about upcoming contract obligations, letting herself in with her key as usual. What she found on the terrace stopped her: Alexander and Gemma sitting together, a comfortable silence between them. She with bare feet tucked beneath her, he unusually still, his perpetual motion temporarily suspended.

“They weren’t doing anything,” Amy recalled, still seeming slightly puzzled by the memory. “Not checking phones, not discussing schedules, not planning for tomorrow. Just… being. I stood there watching for maybe thirty seconds before backing away. It felt almost intrusive to witness, like I’d stumbled upon something more intimate than if I’d caught them in bed.”

What had struck Amy wasn’t what they were doing, but what they weren’t. The habitual future-focused energy that defined Alexander’s existence was temporarily suspended. Two people whose entire lives were shaped by disciplined preparation for performance moments were simply existing in the present.

“She altered time,” Amy told me during our interview, choosing her words with uncharacteristic poetry. “Alexander has always lived slightly in the future. The next corner, the next race, the next championship. With Gemma, I’d catch him actually inhabiting the current moment.”

This temporal shift represented something profound in Alexander’s carefully structured existence. His relationship with Ferrari provided purpose; his connection with Amy offered constant support; his friendship with Charles brought camaraderie. But Gemma introduced something entirely different: presence.

“We recognised something in each other instantly,” Alexander explained as we walked through the Ferrari factory months after their relationship had ended. “Not just the obvious parallels (elite athletes, precision sports, similar mindsets) but something deeper. We both understood what it meant to exist in that perfect moment of clarity amid chaos.”

He was referencing that first hot lap at COTA, when he surprised Gemma had surprised by understanding how entering a cornering in an F1 car and the moment between tumbling passes in gymnastics were more alike than not. That split second where everything slows down and spatial awareness becomes absolute. It wasn’t just technical understanding that connected them, but the shared experience of finding perfection within risk.

What wasn’t immediately apparent in their initial connection was how their different career trajectories created a unique equilibrium. Gemma had already summited her sport’s Olympus, with three gold medals across two Olympic Games, and was now exploring what lay beyond competitive gymnastics. Alexander, despite his success, was still climbing toward his defining achievement.

“I recognised that hunger in him,” Gemma told me. “That absolute need to prove something. To yourself more than anyone else. I’d lived with that same fire trying to make it back to the Olympics after my injury. There’s a particular intensity to it that doesn’t quite translate unless you’ve experienced it yourself.”

What made their harmony distinct wasn’t merely romantic connection, but the activation of parts of Alexander that rarely surfaced in his racing world. Adamo noticed it first in training sessions. Subtle shifts in Alexander’s demeanour whenever Gemma’s name appeared on his phone.

“His face,” Adamo explained, “it becomes soft in a way I never see otherwise. Then—click!—he returns to discussing oxygen uptake measurements as if nothing happened.”

This duality fascinated Alexander’s inner circle. The man who compartmentalised everything was experiencing something that refused containment, spilling across the carefully maintained boundaries of his existence.

The most revealing insights into Alexander’s character often emerged not in the Ferrari garage or media pen, but in the quiet moments of his personal life. Through careful conversations with those closest to him, a portrait emerged of a man whose rigid compartmentalisation softened in specific contexts.

Gemma Rhodes described their mornings together with fond amusement: “Jet-lagged Alexander was a completely different person. His careful English would dissolve into Italian without him realising, especially first thing in the morning or when emotionally unguarded.”

According to those who knew him well, Alexander’s default to Italian in intimate moments wasn’t merely linguistic convenience but psychological revelation. In English, he remained the methodical, precise driver, measuring each word as carefully as brake pressure. In Italian, emotions flowed more freely, unfiltered by the language associated with his lost parents and childhood trauma.

“He had nicknames for me that he’d only use in Italian,” Gemma shared. “Terms of endearment he’d never say in English, as if the language itself gave him permission to express feelings his English self found difficult to articulate.”

This duality extended to his physical presence as well. The composed, almost rigid bearing that defined his paddock demeanour would relax in private settings, particularly with Gemma. His characteristically minimal gestures would become more expressive, his laughter more uninhibited.

“I used to tease him about it,” Gemma recalled. “I’d call him ‘Pony Boy’ in reference to the Ferrari emblem that was always on him during ‘work days’, and he’d pretend to be offended while fighting a smile. The Alexander that fans saw on television would never have allowed that kind of gentle mockery of his beloved ‘prancing horse’, but the Alexander I got to share in, he not only tolerated it but seemed to need it.”

These glimpses into Alexander’s private world reveal something crucial about his character development. The integration he eventually achieved as champion began not in the cockpit but in these personal moments, where the boundaries between his compartmentalised selves became temporarily permeable, allowing for a more complete expression of identity.

“He laughed differently with her,” Charles observed when I asked about their relationship. “Not the somewhat careful laugh we usually hear, but something that seemed to come from somewhere deeper.”

“Her Texas accent would get stronger when she was trying to get her way,” Amy offered with a rare unguarded smile. “She’d add this drawn-out ‘sweetie’ to whatever she was asking, and somehow his carefully considered objections would just… evaporate.”

Charles confirmed this with obvious delight: “He had this tell. He would always bit his lower lip whenever she messaged him, or whenever he saw her enter the room. We’d be in the middle of a briefing, his phone would light up, and we’d all exchange glances, trying not to laugh. The mighty Alexander Macalister, undone by a text from Texas.”

Their influence on each other was subtle but profound. During one of Gemma’s visits to attend a race in 2024, I witnessed a moment that captured their unique dynamic perfectly. Alexander was meticulously explaining the technical specifications of his vintage Ferrari 550 to me, dates, engine capacity, production numbers, the history of the Blu Swatters (Ferrari’s Royal Blue), with his typical precision. Gemma listened from the doorway for several minutes before interrupting.

“But you haven’t told him why you actually love it,” she said, a gentle challenge in her voice.

Alexander paused, momentarily wrong-footed. “Well, the engineering is—”

“No,” she smiled. “Not the engineering. That’s what makes you happy. I mean, why you love it so much.”

What followed was revealing. Alexander speaking with uncharacteristic animation about the ‘soul’ of the car. His eyes lit up describing the perfect balance it represented: analog in a digital world, commanding without being ostentatious, technically brilliant without surrendering its emotional heart.

“It’s the last of something special,” he explained, thumbing through his phone to pull up pictures of his car, meticulously organised in an album, of course. “The final manual V12 Ferrari. When you drive it, you feel connected to something… authentic. Everything you do matters. Every gear change, every throttle input. It doesn’t often forgive mistakes, but it always rewards intention.”

He described the sound of the engine with something approaching reverence, how the car demanded the same precision from him that he demanded from himself. Yet somehow, through that technical excellence came pure joy. It was Alexander expressing passion rather than specifications, connection rather than analysis. A glimpse of the man beneath the methodical exterior.

“Gemma had this knack,” Amy told me later, “of drawing out the parts of him he usually kept hidden, even from himself. Not forcing it, just… creating space where it felt safe to emerge.”

During their relationship, Gemma was deeply involved with Team USA’s Olympic preparations for Paris 2024. Not as a competitor, but as an advisor and mentor to younger gymnasts. Her schedule was filled with training camps, choreography sessions, and the delicate work of guiding the next generation through the pressures she knew intimately.

“Watching her work with those young athletes was revealing,” Alexander told me. “How her effortless grace with the physicality of her sport somehow transitioned into a similar grace with her coaching. She seemed to intuitively know when to give reassurance, and when they needed a push.”

The Christmas with her family in Texas represented perhaps the fullest expression of their alternative harmony. Surrounded by the Rhodes family’s boisterous affection, Alexander experienced belonging of an entirely different quality than his Ferrari family provided. For someone whose family had been abruptly severed, this immersion in functional, messy, joyful familial love offered a template he had been missing. A glimpse of what emotional integration looked like in practice rather than theory.

The contrast between these moments and their eventual separation makes their connection all the more poignant. Their orbits, to borrow Gemma’s apt metaphor, aligned temporarily before continuing along their separate but equally valuable paths. Yet even as they diverged, the harmony they created remained.

“People think relationships that end have failed,” Gemma told me during our second interview. “But that’s like saying a beautiful piece of music fails because it eventually concludes. The value isn’t in permanence but in what’s created during the time you share.”

This perspective reveals much about how differently Gemma viewed achievement compared to Alexander at that time. Having already experienced the summit of her sport, she had developed a more nuanced relationship with success. She saw it as part of a journey rather than its destination.

“When I won my first Olympic gold, there was this strange moment afterward. This ‘now what?’ feeling that no one prepares you for,” she explained. “I tried to share that perspective with Alexander, to help him see beyond the championship. Not to diminish his goal, but to prepare him for the reality that achieving it wouldn’t answer all the questions he thought it would.”

Their relationship had contained a mentorship element that neither fully acknowledged, with Gemma having already completed the journey Alexander was still undertaking. As an Olympic champion guiding younger athletes, she understood the full arc of athletic achievement in ways that even Alexander, with all his success, was still discovering. She had experienced the summit and the descent, while he was still climbing.

Their timing was both perfect and impossible. She had the wisdom he needed for the journey he was on, but his singular focus on that journey meant he couldn’t fully absorb it until he’d completed it himself. This created a poignant symmetry to their connection, as if they were orbiting the same star but in different phases.

When Alexander approaches racing now, there’s a freedom in his methodology that wasn’t present before Gemma. When he contemplates life beyond the circuit, there’s a depth to his thinking that previously remained theoretical. The harmony she introduced continues vibrating through his life, altering his composition in subtle but permanent ways.

After his championship victory, one of the first messages on Alexander’s phone came from Gemma.

Now, with his own championship secured, Alexander finds himself in a position more aligned with Gemma’s perspective than ever before. The questions he faces, about purpose beyond achievement, about legacy and meaning, are precisely those she had already begun answering when they met.

In our conversations since their relationship ended, I’ve noticed Alexander occasionally reference things Gemma taught him. Not explicitly, but in the form of perspectives he now holds that weren’t present before. The possibility of balance. The value of presence. The recognition that excellence needn’t consume everything else.

He hasn’t fully integrated these lessons yet (the championship still exerts its powerful gravity) but the awareness itself represents evolution. Their connection proved he was capable of vulnerability and presence he hadn’t previously accessed, expanding his understanding of what might eventually be possible.

In music theory, certain harmonies don’t resolve; they remain open, suggesting possibility rather than conclusion. This perhaps best characterises what Gemma Rhodes brought to Alexander Macalister’s carefully composed life: not an ending or a beginning, but an expansion of what might be possible beyond the track. A new note in his personal symphony that, once heard, could never be unheard.

Even as their paths diverged, this harmony remained, the recognition that connection need not be permanent to be profound, and that some people enter our lives not as constants but as crucial variations, changing the composition forever.

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THE SUPPORTING HARMONICS | Ricci, Adamo, & Claudia

The image burns bright in my memory: Alexander Macalister sitting in a quiet corner of the Ferrari hospitality suite in Singapore, surrounded by three people engaged in what appeared to be ordinary pre-race preparations. Yet watching them work, the easy synchronicity, the unspoken understanding, the subtle adjustments to one another’s energy, it reminded me more of a chamber orchestra than a racing team.

Riccardo Adami leaned forward, gesturing animatedly at data sheets, his Italian passion barely contained even when discussing tyre compounds. Across from him, Adamo Bianchi monitored Alexander’s water intake with the precision of a pharmacist, occasionally interjecting with quiet observations about hydration levels. Claudia Rossi moved efficiently around them, simultaneously fielding messages on two phones, creating an invisible barrier between this inner sanctum and the chaotic paddock beyond.

And at the center, Alexander. Absorbing, processing, occasionally nodding, the still point around which this careful choreography revolved.

What struck me most was not what was said, but what wasn’t. The absence of unnecessary words, the economy of movement, the perfect calibration of each person’s role. This wasn’t simply a team supporting their driver; this was a finely tuned instrument playing a complex composition that had evolved over years.

“They each speak a different language of care,” Amy Millie explained to me months later. “And together, they form Alexander’s complete vocabulary of support.”

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Riccardo “Ricci” Adami’s relationship with Alexander began entirely professionally. The experienced engineer paired with the promising rookie. Their early radio communications were formal, precise, even slightly stiff. But something changed during that first season together.

“At Imola 2021, his first win with me, I see the real Alexander,” Ricci told me, his English still heavily accented after decades in Formula 1. “On the podium, pure, but understated joy. But in the engineering room after? One hour analyzing what we could improve. Not celebrating yet. Working.” He shook his head in admiration. “I realise then his dedication is special.”

The transformation of their relationship crystallised during a pivotal moment in Barcelona 2022. The Ferrari was, as Ricci candidly described it, “terrible. Bouncing, balance issues, one second off the pace in Friday practice.”

What followed became legendary within the team: Alexander spent the entire night in the engineering room, not just giving feedback but working through data, suggesting specific changes that went against their normal setup philosophy.

“By Saturday, we had transformed the car,” Ricci recalled with evident pride. “The other teams thought we had secretly brought new parts! But it was just setup changes. Radical, unconventional changes.”

What emerged from that crisis was a partnership built on mutual respect and implicit trust. I witnessed this during a tense qualifying session in Imola, when most race engineers would be maintaining constant communication with their drivers. Yet between Ricci and Alexander, entire laps passed in silence, broken only by the occasional terse exchange:

“Front grip?” Ricci asked as Alexander completed a warmup lap. “Six out of ten,” Alexander replied. “Mode seven, then.” “Understood.”

No encouragement needed, no reassurance required. Just pure information exchange between two professionals operating with complete confidence in each other’s abilities.

“We have shorthand communication,” Ricci explained later. “Sometimes just a look communicates what earlier required long discussion. My wife says we are like an old married couple.” He laughed. “Maybe this is true!”

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If Ricci Adami represents the technical harmony in Alexander’s life, Adamo Bianchi provides its physical foundation. Their relationship began in late 2018, just before Alexander’s F3 season, and rapidly evolved beyond the typical trainer-athlete dynamic.

“The physical side is maybe 30 percent of what I do,” Adamo told me one morning in Monaco, carefully measuring ingredients for Alexander’s post-workout recovery shake. “The rest? Is problem-solving every day. Different cities, different conditions, different challenges.”

I observed Adamo’s quiet vigilance at numerous race weekends. The way he monitored Alexander’s hydration levels by sight alone, how he adjusted recovery protocols based on subtle tells only he could recognise, the gentle but firm interventions when Alexander pushed beyond optimal limits.

“Sometimes my job is to say no, today we recover,” Adamo explained. “Sometimes I must protect him from himself.”

This protective instinct was most evident after Alexander’s significant shunt during FP2 at Imola in 2023, an incident that resulted in bruising to his spine and a fractured rib. Injuries which, as I would later learn, Alexander kept hidden from medical staff and team management.

“He confided in me and Amy,” Adamo admitted, “and swore us to secrecy. We reluctantly agreed.”

Through careful adjustment of training, targeted recovery techniques, and constant monitoring, Adamo enabled Alexander to continue racing despite his hidden injuries. A remarkable feat given the physical demands of Formula 1.

But their bond extends beyond the professional realm. During one rare free weekend, I witnessed them debating Serie A football with the animated passion only Italy’s national sport can inspire. Adamo, the die-hard Bologna supporter, and Alexander, the adopted Juventus fan, engaged in playful rivalry that revealed a friendship built on something more substantial than their professional roles.

“Most important thing in my job?” Adamo reflected toward the end of our conversation. “Is trust. He trusts me with his performance, his health. I take this very seriously. Not just job. Is… responsibility.”

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If Ricci and Adamo represent the technical and physical harmonies in Alexander’s orchestra, Claudia Rossi provides its organisational rhythm, the metronome that keeps everything in time.

THE QUIET ORCHESTRATOR

Claudia Rossi wasn’t what one imagined when picturing a Formula 1 driver’s assistant. No designer clothing or performative busyness. Just calm efficiency and an uncanny ability to anticipate needs before they emerged.

I observed this talent during a brutal triple-header that had left the entire paddock exhausted. Alexander had been locked in engineering meetings for nearly six hours, dissecting a disappointing qualifying performance with his trademark analytical precision. When he finally emerged, his face showed the strain that his voice wouldn’t betray.

Without a word being exchanged, Claudia handed him a small package that had arrived that morning. “I thought you might want this now rather than later,” she said quietly.

Alexander’s expression shifted as he recognised the handwriting on the brown paper wrapping. He carefully opened it at one corner to peek inside, then quickly closed it again, a small but genuine smile breaking through his fatigue.

Later, over espresso in the back of the hospitality area, I asked Claudia about the package.

“A first edition of Le Corbusier’s ‘Towards a New Architecture,’” she explained. “I noticed Alexander reading about it last month. His copy is digital, but for somethings I know he would prefer to feel the physical pages.”

“You tracked down a first edition?” I was impressed.

“No,” she laughed softly. “That was all Maria, his neighbor in Maranello. She has a nephew who deals in rare books. I just made a few calls and arranged the shipping.”

“Why today, why that moment specifically?” I asked.

Claudia gave me a look that suggested the answer should be obvious. “Because after a difficult qualifying, he retreats into technical problems he can solve. But eventually he needs a bridge back to himself. The person, not just the driver. Architecture often does that for him.”

What struck me wasn’t just her thoughtfulness but her precision. She hadn’t simply remembered his interest in architecture. She had recognised exactly when that interest would serve as emotional ballast rather than distraction.

“How did you learn to read him so well?” I asked.

Claudia arranged some documents while considering her answer. “My previous job was executive assistant to the CEO of a large financial firm. Anticipating needs was part of the role.” She paused. “But with Alexander, it’s different. He never asks for anything personal, so you have to watch for the smallest signs.”

I’d noticed that Alexander treated Claudia with a particular professional respect that seemed to reflect something deeper than one might witness between a busy professional and their “assistant”. When I mentioned this observation, she nodded.

“We’re both professionals who take pride in excellence. We both understand that my role is critical to his performance. It’s not administrative work, it’s performance optimisation,” she said with quiet confidence. “Alexander recognises that a driver is only as effective as the infrastructure supporting him. He sees my contribution for what it truly is.”

As if summoned by our conversation, Alexander appeared, already changed for his pre-race routine, looking markedly more centered than when I’d seen him an hour before.

“Claudia,” he said, “can you make sure—”

“The quiet room is reserved for your ten minutes, and I’ve already told everyone you’re unreachable until exactly 13:20,” she finished, handing him a small black notebook that hadn’t been visible a moment before.

“Perfetto, grazie!,” he replied, then nodded to me before heading toward his pre-race sanctuary.

I looked at Claudia with newfound understanding. She wasn’t just managing a schedule; she was preserving the conditions that allowed Alexander to be exceptional. The rhythms of his high-performance life required someone who could simultaneously maintain structure and create space. A quiet orchestrator working behind the scenes.

“He’ll be ready now,” she said, not as a statement of professional pride but as a simple fact. “He will have the reset he needed.”

In that moment, I understood another piece of Alexander’s success. His talent and work ethic were evident to all, but equally crucial was his recognition that excellence requires a foundation: professionals whose specialised expertise creates the platform from which he could perform. Unlike many in his position, he understood this wasn’t support staff but essential infrastructure, deserving of the same respect he gave his race engineers or strategists.

Claudia checked her watch and began preparing for the next phase of the race day machinery. Our conversation was over; she had other elements to orchestrate.

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What makes these relationships remarkable isn’t just their individual characteristics but how they interlock, creating a harmonious whole greater than its parts. In isolation, each would be valuable; together, they form the comprehensive support structure that enabled Alexander’s rise to championship status.

I witnessed this integration most clearly after a particularly difficult qualifying session in Monaco. Alexander had missed pole position by a mere hundredth of a second. A margin that represented perfection just beyond reach.

As he returned to the garage, each member of his core team engaged in their distinctive way: Ricci immediately pulled up the telemetry data, identifying the microscopically small time loss in the swimming pool section; Adamo quietly placed a specific recovery drink in Alexander’s hand while assessing his physical state; Claudia efficiently rearranged his media obligations to create space for proper decompression.

No words were exchanged about how to handle the situation. Each person simply executed their role in perfect complement to the others. The process unfolded with the natural grace of something rehearsed countless times, yet each time adapted to the specific circumstances.

“We’re all playing different instruments,” Amy observed during one of our conversations, “but reading from the same score. The music only works when everyone plays their part.”

This orchestra surrounding Alexander isn’t about replacing what he lost when his parents died, or about protecting him from the world. Rather, it’s about enabling the fullest expression of his talent. Creating the environment where excellence becomes possible.

Ricci provides the technical foundation, Adamo the physical framework, Claudia the organisational structure. Together with Amy’s overarching guidance, they form the harmonious support that allows Alexander to perform at the absolute limit of human capability.

“The relationship works because of trust,” Ricci explained after a particularly successful race weekend. “Not just his trust in us, but our trust in each other. We know that everyone is giving everything for the same goal.”

What began as professional relationships have evolved into something far more profound. Connections forged through shared purpose, mutual respect, and thousands of hours in pursuit of excellence. Each relationship serves a specific function while contributing to a greater whole, creating the harmonious environment from which championship performance can emerge.

In music, the most beautiful compositions don’t emerge from a single dominant melody but from the complex interplay of different voices, each with its own character yet blending into something transcendent. Alexander’s support team, Ricci, Adamo, and Claudia, represents exactly this kind of harmony: separate notes combining to create a chord that resonates far beyond what any individual could produce alone.

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THE RESONANT WHOLE

December, 2024

Several evenings after Alexander Macalister’s championship victory, long after the champagne celebrations and official ceremonies had concluded, an unassuming gathering took place in his Italian countryside home. Not the raucous party one might expect, but something far more intimate: a private moment with those who had shaped the harmonies of his life.

Amy Millie sat cross-legged on the floor, championship cap still perched askew on her head, examining the room with the quiet satisfaction of someone seeing years of work finally manifest. Charles Leclerc lounged on the sofa, his head resting comfortably on his partner Alexandra’s shoulder, while their miniature longhaired dachshund Leo attempted repeatedly to engage Alexander’s more sedate Border Collie, Enzo, in play. Max Verstappen leaned against the courtyard doorframe, championship rival now transformed to celebratory friend, Kelly by his side offering quiet observations that made him laugh.

Ricci Adami gesticulated animatedly by the kitchen counter, recounting the race’s pivotal moments with characteristic Italian passion while Adamo and Claudia arranged food and drinks with the same efficiency they applied to race preparations.

What struck me about this scene, described to me by multiple attendants, was its remarkable ordinariness. No pretension, no formality. Just people who had become essential to one another through the crucible of shared purpose.

Alexander moved through this gathering with a quiet contentment. The championship trophy sat unobtrusively on a side table. Acknowledged but not central, much like his achievement itself. More telling was how he interacted with each person: the silent communication with Amy requiring no words beyond moments of eye contact, the teasing banter with Charles, the respectful analysis with Max, the comfortable laughs with Claudia, the technical shorthand with Ricci, and the unselfconscious physical familiarity with Adamo, whose hands naturally found their way to Alexander’s shoulder or hair in a rhythm established through years of physical work together

Those present at this intimate gathering confirmed something profound about Alexander Macalister. That for all his reputation as the solitary, focused driver, his life’s meaning was fundamentally constructed through relationships. Several guests noted how he unconsciously shifted between English and Italian, his gestures becoming more expansive when speaking the latter.

Interestingly, both Charles and Max mentioned separately how Alexander seemed particularly attentive to the comfortable dynamics between them and their partners. Charles and Alexandra’s easy, tactile rapport and Max and Kelly’s tested resilience presented contrasting but equally compelling pictures of relationships that had found their rhythm despite the pressures of Formula 1.

The evening offered a glimpse of Alexander’s continued evolution. A man who had achieved his professional summit now perhaps contemplating what other peaks remained to be scaled. As one guest noted, “He seemed happy, but also thoughtful. Like he was processing possibilities beyond what he’s already mastered.”

For someone whose life has been defined by singular focus, this gathering represented something significant: not just celebration, but perhaps the first notes of a new composition.

In music theory, a chord is not simply notes played simultaneously but a deliberate construction where each component contributes to a harmonious whole that transcends its individual parts. Alexander Macalister’s life, viewed through this lens, is not the solo performance it might appear from outside, but rather a complex, evolving composition. Each relationship a note in an ongoing symphony that continues to develop with every passing day.