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Algeria. The largest country in Africa, it was a French colony for over a hundred and thirty years before gaining its independence in 1962. Although it still bore the physical and psychological scars of a massive civil war that ended in 2002, it had economically recovered since then and a certain number of families had benefited and profited from the country's growth. The Mahri family were considered the cream of the crop among the wealthy, controlling a multi-billion dollar beverage company that became an exclusive national bottler for the world's top soda corporations. Their mansions dot along the wealthy sectors of Algiers, Oran, and Annaba. Despite the poverty and the nation's youth facing uncertain futures, Joseph Mahri remained sheltered on the lap of luxury and that became evident as he drove his Furrari 488 Pista through the streets of Algiers, ignoring the idling pedestrians that gawk at his vehicle as it sped by them. His tires squeal and brought up smoke as he ignored traffic signals, turning right and barely hitting another vehicle in full view of several police cars nearby, but the police paid it no mind. The very wealthy were rarely prosecuted in this country, or so the sentiment went.

Eventually the car reached the circular driveway of a mansion on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by green manicured lawns and guarded away from 'the rest of civilization', as Joseph's mother once elegantly put it. As soon as he parked in front of the steps leading up to the mansion's porch, Joseph climbed out of the car just as the mansion's head butler hurriedly walked down the steps toward him. The butler stopped upon seeing Joseph's glare however, and he cleared his throat softly.

"Mr. Mahri, you should already know not to park your car--"

"I'm only here for a couple minutes, Sami," Joseph curtly replied and brushed past the petite lapine butler as he ran up the stairs.

Sami huffed in frustration as he watched him leave, and he looked back at the vehicle. He wanted to park the car at its proper spot but he knew better than to touch a car worth more than ten years worth of his own salary. He muttered in Arabic under his breath and turned to slowly follow Joseph back into the mansion.

"Master Mahri is in his office..."

Joseph acknowledged with a hurried nod but said nothing as he walked into the mansion. He briskly navigated his way up to the second floor and upon reaching the office door, he simply grabbed the door handle to open it without knocking. The elder African Wild Dog sitting behind his large maple wood desk frowned, pausing to glare at his son while holding his cell phone to his own ear. Joseph opened his mouth to speak but his father quickly held up a paw to silence him. Joseph closed his mouth but he crossed his arms, waiting.

His father relaxed back on his seat and spoke to the phone. "My son is here... yes, I will call you back later. Ella Al-liqaa."

He placed the phone down on his desk and sighed as he looked back at his son. He knew exactly why his son had flown all the way to here from London, and so he stood up and walked around the desk to approach him directly.

For hours, throughout the flight from London to Algiers and then the drive from the airport to his father's mansion, Joseph imagined dozens of scenes on what could happen once he finally confronted his father after what happened. Everything from yelling in anger to extremities such as slapping his father across his face. He coached himself on what to say, how to say it, and how to enter and then leave with beneficial impact.

But on this moment that he prepared himself over and over for, his body froze and then mentally stumbled. Although his father expressed a sense of calmness, he still looked intimidating, honed after decades of iron-willed parenting. His eyes quickly glanced away from him, first to the side and then downward to the floor, and one of his hands absently brushed back some of his white hair. Words mentally screamed but his mouth refused to physically open to set the words free. Finally he quickly shook his head and his blue eyes dart back to focus on his father. "W-why...?"

"You're upset, I know..." Cheikh Mahri answered in a neutralizing tone, and he reached over to grip his son on the shoulder softly. "But I have my reasons."

"You have your reasons?" Joseph turned his back on him and frowned as he looked down at the floor. "I don't have a seat anymore because you sold the team off!"

"You are a two-time Furmula Reynault champion, Joseph... Furry Karting World champion by the age of fourteen. You have journalists proclaiming that in three years from now, you'll be a Furmula One champion!" Cheikh replied with a loud huff. "You really think that you'll be out of a seat for long? Don't underestimate how valuable you are."

Joseph sighed and shook his head slightly. "I loved them... Force K22 stuck with me even in my lowest points of racing, and I won a lot of races with them. And suddenly I get a phone call saying that I've been kicked out of the team because there's a new owner and they wanted someone else taking my seat?"

"They're a team, not a family!" Cheikh replied more firmly. He sighed and then walks back to behind his desk to sit on the leather chair. "You had a lot of success with Force K22, I understand that, but the reality is that they're a low-tier independent team always in need of cash." He leaned back in his chair, letting it creak. "You've grown too big for them."

"Couldn't they grow and expand with me? Promote to the Furmula leagues?"

"That requires a lot more capital, even more than what I'm willing to spare. No one can just snap their fingers and immediately expand their factory to more than three times their size, add in a wind tunnel, a research facility, a warehouse, even a practice race track in the span of a single off-season. That takes time, and while you're young, you're far outpacing your own team. You're destined for greater things, Joseph..."

"Is there a back-up plan?" Joseph asked as he turned to face his father again.

"I've been making phone calls... in fact, I'm glad you decided to take the trip back to here. You'll be meeting with certain team reps soon."

"Who?"

"Lontra... Sigma Motorsport..." Then Cheikh smiled. "Scuderia."

Joseph's ears perk up. "Scuderia?! They're the top Furrari team, one of the best in the world!"

"Now now, don't keep your hopes up about Furmula One... not just yet anyway. Besides, Scuderia Maranello has already signed up their drivers from last season. This is Furmula Three I'm talking about..."

Joseph crossed his arms. "I think I'm ready for Furmula One already, father," he said with a scoff.

"You honestly think you can jump start from a British Reynault series right into the top-tier auto-sporting series in the entire world? No... you may be stepping out of the kiddie pool, but I'm not going to sit back and let you dive right into the deep end of the main pool. Who do you think you are, Amna Al-Nahyan?"

His son rolled his eyes in disgust. "I'm much better than that fake excuse of a driver. I just don't think Furmula Three is for me... or even Furmula Two."

"I want to see you win podiums and trophies, not struggle in some backburner team with the whole world watching. You'll be ready for the spotlight... just not yet. Keep working hard and you'll get there, Joseph... and I'll be there, supporting you.

"Whatever then," Joseph said with a resigned sigh. "I'll be in my best behavior when meeting these team reps... especially Scuderia."

"Good good... is there anything else?"

"No..." He said softly, and finally he turned to exit his father's room.

Cheikh watched him leave and then he glanced back at his phone. With another sigh, he picked it up and dialed the number for Scuderia's main office...

To be continued....