Erica Sinclair - All or Nothing (M/F)

[Jenny_S]

Charged with murdering the son of a powerful billionaire, store clerk Lucy Arden is staring down a life sentence. But when Erica Sinclair takes the case, New York’s most ruthless fixer meets his match.
In this gripping legal thriller, Erica risks everything - her firm, her future, and the lives of those she protects - because when the system shields the predator, justice demands a woman who won’t back down.

[Caesar73]

Dear @Jenny_S that Plot sounds so truly exciting! An All or Nothing Scenario! Again a Picture which conveys the Story´s Core perfectly!

[LunaDog]

Am i looking forward to this? A new Erica Sinclair adventure? About as much as a new Moto GP season! ( Although, unlike this tale i have some time to wait for that, the present one has just concluded! )

[Caesar73]

Am i looking forward to this? A new Erica Sinclair adventure? About as much as a new Moto GP season! ( Although, unlike this tale i have some time to wait for that, the present one has just concluded! )

Dear Friend, I share your Sentiment I am sure @Jenny_S will present us with another magnificent tale.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, dear @Caesar73, I truly hope that I'm not going to disappoint you with this story.
In the words of Erica's father: Let's get this war started.

[Jenny_S]

A soft knock at the office door pulls Erica Sinclair’s attention from the memo she’s reviewing. Through the frosted glass, the silhouette is unmistakable - tall, slim, auburn hair in a neat bun: Claire Messner, her assistant and unofficial conscience.

“Come in, Claire,” Erica calls, pushing her keyboard away and straightening in her chair.

The door opens quietly. Claire slips in with a clipped, professional grace.
“There’s a police detective here to see you,” she says. “She’s waiting in the small conference room.”

Erica glances at her Rolex. Friday. 2:30 PM. She had hoped to leave early, drive north to Scarsdale, visit Aunt Elisa at Sunrise Manor, maybe check on the Taunton Road house renovation. But the universe, it seems, has other plans.
She exhales slowly. The police don't usually come knocking unless trouble is trailing behind.
“All right,” she says, grabbing her notepad and phone as she rises. “Let’s see what this is about.”


~~~


The detective waiting for her in the conference room is a familiar face:
Sandra Ruiz.
Midtown North Precinct.
Sharp jawline, no-nonsense posture, dark eyes that always seem perpetually cautious.
She’s the kind of cop who rarely missteps - and would not show up without a reason.

Erica steps inside, gives Claire a small nod. “Coffee for two, please.”
Claire vanishes, her heels clicking on tile.

“Detective,” Erica says, setting her pad down and smoothing her skirt as she takes a seat. “This is a surprise. Everything all right?”

Ruiz doesn’t answer right away. She places both hands on the table, palms open.
Not reaching.
Not hiding.
A deliberate peace gesture.

“Can I trust this stays between us?”

Erica’s brows lift, just slightly. Cops usually don’t beg - unless it matters.
She leans forward. “I deal in confidentiality, Detective. What happened?”

Claire returns, sets down two steaming mugs. Erica’s is dressed with two Sweet’n Low and a splash of almond milk, just the way she likes it. She offers a nod of thanks, then: “That will be all, Claire.”

As the door whispers closed behind the assistant, Ruiz leans forward and draws a file from her shoulder bag. She sets it down on the table but doesn’t open it yet.
Erica watches her, waiting.

“A few weeks ago,” Ruiz begins, her voice low but steady, “I was called to the ER. A woman had come in - young, twenty-three - battered. Sexually assaulted. Physically abused. Her name is Lucy Arden.”

Erica flips her notepad open, pencil already in motion.
“She told us she and a friend had met a guy at a bar. They hit it off. Exchanged numbers. A couple nights later, she goes to his apartment in Brooklyn Heights. Nice place. Real nice.”

Erica doesn’t interrupt.
She’s heard this kind of story before.
And she hates that she has.

“They had sex. Started consensual - until it wasn’t. Turns out the guy’s into BDSM. The extreme kind. Ropes. Gags. Whips. He hung her from the ceiling, made her crawl on all fours. Held her against her will for almost two days.”

Erica’s pen halts for just a breath. Then continues.

Ruiz finally opens the folder, pulls out several 8x10 photographs. She turns them around, slides them across the table for Erica to look at.

The ER photos are graphic and Erica’s gut tightens.
They show bruised wrists, deep and raw.
Lacerations across the thighs.
A blackened eye.
Welts like angry rivers on a woman’s back.

“Jesus,” Erica releases a breath. “Did she press charges?”

“Initially, yes. Then two days later, she withdrew.”

“Why?”

Ruiz shrugs, bitterly. “The guy’s got money. His father’s got connections - real political clout. Rumor is, they paid her off. But honestly? I think they convinced her that nobody would take her word over his.”

Erica taps one photo gently with her nail. “With this kind of evidence?”

Ruiz leans back. “The story isn’t over. Three days ago, she went back to his apartment. She rang the bell. He opened the door. She shot him. Point blank. So says her friend who saw it from the stairwell.”

Erica doesn’t react. Just takes notes.
Inside her, her stomach coils tightly.

“Lucy Arden says she came to talk - to plead. She didn’t want him doing to her friend what he’d done to her. She says he lunged. Tried to strangle her. She pulled a gun. One shot. Center mass.”

Erica closes her notepad slowly, her eyes on Detective Ruiz. “And why are you bringing this to me?”

Ruiz exhales hard. “Because Lucy can’t afford a decent lawyer. She works at a supermarket. Her public defender’s a nice guy, but he’s way out of his league here. The DA’s office wants to throw the book at her. No plea. They’re going for life. I heard it through the grapevine that they are under political pressure to give no quarter.”

The silence in the conference room is thick.
In the background, only the A/C hums slightly.

“I don’t think she’s a killer,” Ruiz says quietly. “She didn’t go there to murder him. She really went to stop him. That’s my honest take on it.”

She hesitates, then adds, her voice slightly trembling:
“If my lieutenant knew I copied the files and came here… I could go and look for a job stacking boxes in some fucking Walmart in Broken Dick, Arizona.”

Erica leans back in her chair, her fingers laced together.
She doesn’t speak yet.
Because some decisions, once made, cannot be unmade.
Ruiz took a tremendous risk doing this left end run, deciding to go against the flow and get this young woman some real help.


~~~

[LunaDog]

I remember Detective Sandra Ruiz from a previous story. She was a 'good egg' then, and it appears that she still is. This girl needs real help, Erica is just that person.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, you're right. We met Detective Ruiz in story #12 "The Enemy Within" where she was instrumental in bringing down rogue cop Jimmy Fallon, her partner on the job. She definitely is on the right side of the law.

[Caesar73]

I must say a very intriguing start. It sets the Stage perfectly. It is clear this is a high profile Case. I go out on a limb here: it will be a intriguing, fascinating tale @Jenny_S will be telling us!!!

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73, thank you so much for the vote of confidence. It is definiely going to be a high-stakes case putting not only the client, but literally everything Erica worked for to get Sinclair & Associates on the map, at risk.

[Jenny_S]

Erica stands, still unsure how to react.
Her gaze drifts to the window behind Ruiz, where her reflection glimmers against the afternoon city haze.
The woman staring back at her - tailored navy skirt suit, perfectly ponytailed hair, no emotion betrayed - is cool, collected, and composed.
A woman of law, one who plays by the rules.

But sometimes the truth runs deeper.
Inside, her blood is starting to boil.

She knows what consensual bondage can be - liberating, cathartic, powerful.
When it’s safe.
When it’s real.
When trust is the rope that binds.
But what this man did – weaponizing intimacy, turning trust into humiliation, degradation and violence - there’s nothing sensual in that.
Only control.
Only pain.
And it lead to his demise.

She hears her father’s voice, as if summoned by the memory of him.
Calm.
Unshakable.
“Knowing the law is one thing, Erica. But it takes a strong moral compass to use it.”
Her fingers touch the Rolex dive watch on her wrist, her father’s gift upon her graduation from Harvard Law School, a steady reminder of her promise to him - to herself - to always, come hell or high water, to stand for something, to do the right thing.

She doesn’t say yes, though.

Not yet.

When she speaks, her voice is firm, but something deeper caves in.
“Where is Ms. Arden?”

Ruiz doesn’t hesitate. “In custody at the precinct. Midtown North.”

Erica nods once, the decision settling over her like a cloak.
“I want to talk to her,” she says.

There’s steel in her voice now.
The same steel her father used to carry when he said: Let’s get this war started.


~~~


The Midtown North Precinct hasn’t changed.
A brick-and-burrito monument to civic decay, just past its prime. The scent of burnt coffee and pine cleaner clings to the walls like mildew. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a pale sheen over worn linoleum floors.
Erica sets her leather handbag on the check-in desk.

“They should open a window,” she murmurs to herself, brushing invisible lint from her sleeve. “Let the rot out.”

Behind the counter, a desk sergeant orchestrates the chaos with one hand on a landline, the other flipping through folders, nodding toward two officers mid-argument in the background. Phones ring, keyboards clack, somewhere someone yells, “Where’s my goddamn phone call?”
He hangs up, finally, and offers her a polite nod. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“Erica Sinclair of Sinclair & Associates.” She slides her business card across the counter like a poker chip. “I’m here to speak with Lucy Arden.”

He takes the card, glances at it, hands her a clipboard with a sign in-list. So much for data protection.
“You’re not her attorney,” he says.

“Not yet,” Erica replies coolly, signing her name with a bold stroke. “Do you want to search my bag?”

He doesn’t.

~~~

[LunaDog]

"Not yet." But obviously Erica's given it some serious thought.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, at least, Erica wants to talk to Lucy Arden.
We'll see what the accused has to say when the story continues tonight.
Stay tuned.

[Jenny_S]

The interview room is a sterile shoebox – a grey tomb of a room, walled in by shuttered glass, every surface scrubbed of comfort.
A single bulb is casting stark light over the steel table.
One chair is bolted to the floor.
No mirrors, just the oppressive hush of held breath.

Erica smooths her skirt and sits in the free chair, composed but alert.
She waits.

When the door opens, a young woman steps in, flanked by an officer.
She’s smaller than Erica expected.
Pale.
Pretty, but drawn.
Her eyes are rimmed with sleeplessness and something darker: hopelessness.

As she sits in the other chair, the officer shackles her handcuffed wrists to a steel loop on the table and leaves.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks.

Then: “Hello, Miss Arden,” Erica says, her voice soft, not pitying. “I’m Erica Sinclair. I’m an attorney. You have a benefactor - someone who’s asked me to look into your case.”

Lucy blinks at her, slowly. “A what?”

“A benefactor,” Erica repeats, patient. “Someone who believes you deserve a defense you can trust.”

Lucy frowns, irritated, mistrusting. “Why? Who would do that for me?”

“I can’t tell you who. But they want you to have the defense you need. I’m here to help you.”

The young woman looks at her. She exhales. “Help? You’re a little late, don’t you think?”

There’s no need to argue with her.
In her situation, everybody would be angry.
And scared.

Erica reaches into her bag, pulls out an envelope, unfolds a single page. “This will release your current public defender, Mr. Ullman, and allow me to take over your case.”

Lucy hesitates for only a second.
Then, as much as her restraints allow, she reaches for what must appear like the saving straw and scrawls her name.
Erica watches the signature form slowly, trembling, like a leaf caught in a current.
She tucks the form away.

“Now,” she says, meeting Lucy’s eyes. “I need you to be honest with me. Really honest. No filters, no edits. Tell me everything.”


~~~


“Giovanna Versini and I… we’re friends.” Lucy’s voice is brittle, like a glass already cracked. “Were friends, I guess.”

She shifts in the metal chair, the cuffs clinking softly as she moves.
Across the table, Erica doesn’t speak.
Doesn’t move.
Just watches.
Listens.
She has learned to read a thousand things in silence - body language, breath, hesitation.
Right now, Lucy is trying to hold herself together with words.

“We work at Kimball’s on Rhinelander. Grocery store. Sometimes when we’re not on a closing shift, we… dress up. Hit the bars. Get a couple drinks bought for us.”
Lucy glances up, checking Erica’s face for judgment.
Erica offers none.
Just the same quiet presence.
A still pool.

“It was, what, five weeks ago?” Lucy continues. “We were at The Pelican. That’s where we met him. This guy. Gary Loudon. He was smooth. You know that kind of charm? Not loud. Not creepy. Just - confident. Good-looking. Expensive watch. Perfect teeth.”
She swallows hard, the memory crawling up her throat.

“Before he left, he asked for our numbers. Next day, he texted me. Said he wanted to hang out. Have a good time. Only him and me.”
Her hands, still cuffed, come up to her face.
She wipes her nose with the edge of her sleeve.
The metal bites into her wrists, but she barely flinches.

“I was working, so we met the Friday after. He picked me up in his fancy Mercedes. Leather seats and everything. Took me to this place in Dumbo, like an art gallery with a bar. We had a great time. Felt like…I don’t know. He made me feel like someone.”

Erica nods slightly, an encouragement to continue.

“He asked if I wanted to keep the night going at his place. I said yes.”
Lucy looks her straight in the eye. “Look, I wasn’t stupid. I knew what it meant. And I was okay with it. I wanted to.”

Erica raises her hand gently. “Just to clarify: everything that happened up to that point - was it consensual?”

Lucy nods quickly. “Yeah. Yes. It was.”

“Thank you. Go on, please.”

“His place was incredible. Like, two floors, art everywhere. He said his dad owns half of Brooklyn Heights. Told me he modeled for Calvin Klein in college. I believed him.”

She draws a breath that doesn’t steady her.
“At first, the sex was good. But then… it changed. He started getting rough. Tied my wrists with scarves. At first, I thought, okay, maybe he’s into that. I’ve done that before, right? But then he got really rough. He put me in handcuffs – tight. I told him to stop. I said it hurt.”

Her voice breaks.
Not a sob, just the sound of something internal giving way.
“I told him no. I begged. He smiled like I was a joke.”
Her voice doesn’t crack—it collapses, a sound you can’t rebuild from. “He just kept going, slapped me around. He put this gag in my mouth - pulled the strap really tight… I thought my jaw would break… then he strapped a collar around my neck… so tight… I could hardly breathe.”

Tears run freely as she describes what happened to her till Gary Loudon released her on Sunday afternoon, talks about the torture, the pain, the humiliation.
Her eyes are glazed now, unfocused.

Erica feels her stomach turn, but she keeps her voice steady.
“So, he released you Sunday afternoon.”

“Said I was boring. Threw my clothes at me. Told me to get the hell out.”

Her hands twitch on the table.
She’s shaking now.
“I got on the subway. I was bruised and bloody. A transit cop saw me and called it in. I don’t even remember what I told them. They took me to the hospital.”

“I have seen the photos from the ER,” Erica says. “The police say you wanted to press charges, right? But then you changed your mind.”

Lucy nods.
Her voice drops into something even smaller than a whisper. “The day after I signed the report, he called me. Said his lawyers would destroy me. Said I couldn’t prove anything. Said no one would believe a store girl over someone like him.”

“So, after the police paid him a visit, he threatened you,” Erica states matter-of-factly. “You were scared.”

“I am scared,” she rasps. “Wouldn’t you be scared if you were me?”

Silence.
A beat.
And another.

“Ms. Sinclair, I didn’t want to die. That’s what it felt like - if I pressed charges, I’d lose everything. Then… he started texting Gio. Sent her flowers. Called her baby. She thought it was romantic. I told her what he did to me. She said it didn’t sound like him. She wanted to believe he wasn’t like that.”

Erica leans forward, her voice calm but clear. “And that’s why you went to his apartment?”

Lucy nods, eyes shut now. “I had to stop him. I just wanted to talk. I wanted him to stay away from her. I didn’t want her to go through what I went through.”

“Then what happened?”

“We argued for a moment. He said I was jealous. That I was lying. He got close. I backed up. He grabbed my throat and started choking me. I thought he was going to kill me. I panicked. I pulled the gun. It just… went off.”

Erica breathes out slowly.
She remembers how it had felt when Julio Ramos had come at her with a knife and she had shot him with her father’s .45.
That was only a month ago.

Silence again.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” she says. “But I wasn’t going to let him strangle me.”

Erica stands and walks to the door. She speaks to the officer posted outside.
“Uncuff her. And get her some water, please. There’s no reason for this to feel like Guantanamo.”

When she turns back, Lucy is staring at her, like she’s not sure if this is real.

Erica’s expression softens - just slightly.
“I believe you.”

And those three words, spoken low but certain, hit harder than any verdict.


~~~

[LunaDog]

You're right here Jenny, sometimes just a few words is better than a full speech, as in right here. And what Erica has given this girl is hope, somebody is finally listening to her and not just 'swatting her aside,' like some sort of inconvenient insect.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, Lucy Arden is not rich, she's just some young woman looking at 40 years in prison and had to rely on her public defender who's boxing above his weight. She's lucky to have Erica in her corner now.

[LunaDog]

No doubt about that, and although she'll never know it, she has Sandra Ruiz and her sense of 'fair play' to thank for that.

I get the feeling that in the U.S. a 'public defender' is roughly equivalent to a 'duty solicitor' here in the U.K. To give the impression that no matter how little money one actually possesses one still has access to legal representation.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, the right to counsel is guaranteed in the Sixth Amendment of the Constitution. If a defendant in a criminal case cannot afford to hire a lawyer, the court will appoint a lawyer at the expense of the government. These public defenders are licensed attorneys, but more often than not, overworked.

[Jenny_S]

The officer returns with a small paper cup of water, lukewarm at best.
He places it on the table in front of Lucy with mechanical politeness, then pulls out a key from his belt.
“I’ll take those off for now,” he says, crouching to unlock the cuffs. “But I need to stay in the room. Procedure.”

His tone makes it clear he doesn’t expect trouble - but rules are rules.
He doesn’t look at Lucy when the shackles click open, just stands back with arms folded, watching.

As if this exhausted, hollow-eyed young woman could overpower a cop and bolt through a locked precinct door.

Lucy rubs her wrists, red and raw where the cuffs bit in.
Her eyes flick to Erica, searching for something that feels like hope.
Still fragile, but no longer entirely lost.

Erica leans forward, her tone low and firm - the voice she reserves for courtrooms and scared clients who’ve run out of road.
“Listen to me,” she says, eyes fixed on Lucy. “I’m going to set things in motion, speak with your Public Defender and let him know he’s no longer on the case. Then I’ll find out which Assistant District Attorney’s been assigned. I’ll push to schedule a bail hearing.”

Lucy just stares at her, brow furrowing, as if the words don’t land.
“I… I don’t even get what you’re saying,” she whispers.

Erica softens her tone without losing its steel. “Okay. In plain English: I’m going to try to get you out of here. I’ll talk to the judge, file a motion, and see if we can get a bail hearing set by next week. That’s our first move. After that, we fight this properly.”

Lucy swallows hard. Her fingers are trembling against the rim of the paper cup.
“You can do that?”

Erica’s answer is simple. “Yes.”

A long silence hangs between them, filled only by the faint buzz of fluorescent lights and the occasional shout from the corridor beyond.
Then Lucy nods, slow but sure.
A tiny flicker of belief takes root in her eyes.

“Just hang in there a little longer,” Erica says. “A couple more days. Can you do that for me?”

Another nod.
Firmer this time.
“I’ll try.”

Erica pushes her chair back and rises, gathering her notes.
She puts her business card into Lucy's hand.
“That’s all I need from you for now. I’ll be back soon - with better news. If you need something: clothes or toiletries, call me.”

She nods politely to the officer, who reattaches the cuffs with less reluctance this time.
Lucy doesn't resist, she holds on to the card as if it is her lifeline.
But as the officer leads her away, she turns once - just briefly - and meets Erica’s gaze with something like trust.

And for the first time, Erica sees her not as a case.
Not as a victim.
But as a survivor.


~~~

[LunaDog]

The fightback begins. But i have to doubt that even Erica Sinclair can achieve bail here. Lucy is up for the murder of the son of a very rich and politically powerful opponent. Who, if he can get her sent down as a common 'murderer' can successfully gloss over the disgusting behaviour of said son. This won't be easy, but if we know our Erica, we can be sure that she won't be intimidated by sheer money, or the power it supposedly brings. Unlike the 'public defender,' who realistically didn't stand a 'cat in hells' chance.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, getting bail granted is one thing, but finding someone to actually put down the money might be another. We'll see how this case unfolds further.
Stay tuned!

[LunaDog]

Yes, i forget that you have based your story in the U.S. I was applying British legal standards here, where the question whether bail is granted or not is largely regardless of financial considerations. Not so in America, i guess.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, we'll see if and how Erica can arrange something. In the story, it's Friday now, so she needs to get cracking.

[Jenny_S]

Erica slips out of the Midtown North precinct and into the mild spring air, her heels clicking against the stone steps as she makes her way toward the car.
The city hums around her - cabs honking, traffic grinding - but her mind is already racing ahead.

She slides into the driver’s seat of her black Volvo and pulls her phone from her bag with a smooth motion.
Her fingers don’t shake.
Her voice steady.
Time to get to work.

First stop: the Courthouse.
She dials the general line for the Manhattan Criminal Court, punches the extensions she knows by heart, and waits.

“Manhattan Criminal Court, Clerk’s Office,” a tired voice answers. “Officer Torres speaking.”

“This is Erica Sinclair,” she says crisply. “Bar number 027683. I’m taking over representation for Ms. Lucy Arden. I need to confirm who’s been assigned to her case and file a notice of appearance.”

A pause.
There’s a shuffling of paper, keyboard clacks. “One moment.”

The wait drags. She watches a pair of pigeons hop along the edge of the sidewalk outside, utterly unbothered by human urgency.

Finally: “Judge Glickman will be presiding.”
Erica exhales slowly. Not the worst draw. Glickman has a reputation for being by-the-book, but fair.

“Thank you. Please flag the case that I’ll be submitting my NOA today.”
So far - so good.

"If you're going to file a Motion for Bail, the earliest possible date for a hearing would be next Tuesday - but only if we receive your petition my Monday, 12 o'clock." the Court Officer says. He knows the drill.

"That should work." Erica confirms. "Thanks a lot for your help."
She ends the call, immediately dials the second number.
She doesn’t hesitate.
Doesn’t give herself time to rehearse.

Next: Ullman at the Public Defenders Office.
Her voice is cooler now.
Sharper.
This one is professional courtesy - but just barely.

“Ullman.” the PD answers after a few buzzes.

“Hi, this is Erica Sinclair, Sinclair & Associates. I’m calling to inform you that Lucy Arden has withdrawn her mandate. I’ve taken over the case.”

A pause.

“That’s...unexpected.” His tone is flat, defensive. “Did she say why?”

“No, it came sort of unexpectedly for her and for me, too.” She's not going to lie to her colleague. “The signed withdrawal and transfer will be filed this afternoon.”

"Good luck." Ullman says, shuffling papers as he speaks. "The DA has rejected a plea deal. They are going for Murder in the First Degree, the full 40 years."

"We will see. Thanks for the heads-up, Mr. Ullman."
She doesn’t wait for pleasantries and ends the call.

Then, it's the DA’s office.
She takes a slow breath before dialing, bracing herself. Now she will need to hear whom the DA is putting in the arena.
The line rings twice.

“Manhattan District Attorney’s Office.”

“This is Erica Sinclair, Sinclair & Associates.” she says again. “I’ve just been assigned as counsel for Lucy Arden. Can you tell me who’s prosecuting?”

A beat of hesitation. “Hold on, ma’am.”
Soft music plays for less than thirty seconds.

“That would be Assistant District Attorney Jennifer Calloway.”

Erica stills.

Of course it is her.

Jennifer Calloway.
Nicknamed The Ice Queen for good reason.
Clinical, relentless, and brutal in court.
She’s made a career out of burying defendants alive.
Her conviction rate is immaculate.
Her plea offers - if she makes them at all - are insulting.
And she does not bend.
They have clashed before and sometimes co-operated.
Calloway never forgets a face, and she never forgives a courtroom defeat.

“Okay.” Erica’s voice is a shade colder now. “Thank you.”
She ends the call and stares at her reflection in the side mirror.
The first move has been made.

Jennifer Calloway on a case like this isn’t just unfortunate - it’s going to be all-out war. No holds barred.

Erica tucks her phone away and leans back against the seat, closing her eyes for a moment.
The weight of the impending fight settling on her shoulders.
Lucy Arden isn’t just up against the system now - she’s up against one of its fiercest architects.

But Erica’s not backing down.
Not now.
Not ever.


~~~

[LunaDog]

Well, at the present if you want to be Formula One World Champion, you've got to beat Max Verstappen. Sounds like Erica now faces an opponent as equally accomplished in her own field as he is in his.