The Billionaire Businesswoman Searches for Her Lost Son: I acquire my mother's billion-dollar enterprise-Chapter 33

The second generation was utterly baffled. When the full weight of Qin Yuan’s words dawned upon them, a stunned silence descended over the group. Eyes darted from one face to another, each filled with disbelief and curiosity.

Did he just say he was going to greet Todt? Jean Todt?

The man who leads the International Automobile Federation, or FIA, the governing body of Formula One racing—one of the most prestigious sporting events in the world, alongside the Olympics and the World Cup? Todt, a figure of global influence, a man who makes the rules that shape the entire automobile industry? And Qin Yuan… wanted to greet him casually?

Fu Yang’s mind raced. Even with all his connections, he’d never come close to having a word with Todt. The man’s stature was leagues above anything Fu Yang could fathom.

“This Qin Yuan… he’s full of surprises,” Fu Yang murmured to himself.

Zhao Xuehan, the glamorous heiress, studied Qin Yuan with newfound intrigue, her sharp eyes gleaming. Wang Sicong, however, was the least surprised of all. Having spent the day in Qin Yuan’s shadow, he had quickly adjusted to the reality that his title as the “nation’s number one young master” no longer held weight. Compared to Qin Yuan, he wasn’t even in the same league.

“Brother Qin is incredible!” Wang Sicong exclaimed, his excitement bubbling over as he hurried after Qin Yuan.

The rest of the group, though still reeling, followed suit, their curiosity outweighing their shock. Qin Yuan strode confidently toward the main competition area, his every step purposeful.

As they approached, security guards moved to intercept. “Sir, this area is restricted.”

Qin Yuan smiled politely and reached for his phone. He scrolled through his contacts, finding a name he’d marked with a hint of humor—”Little Olba.” With a single tap, the call connected.

“Mr. Qin?” came Todt’s voice, tinged with surprise.

“Todt, it’s me,” Qin Yuan said casually. “I’m at the Ninghai International Circuit.”

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On the other end, Todt’s demeanor shifted instantly. “Mr. Qin!” he exclaimed, his tone a mixture of delight and urgency.

Not even a minute later, a figure appeared in the distance. Todt’s normally composed expression was replaced by one of sheer elation as he spotted Qin Yuan. Ignoring the entourage of influential figures trailing behind him—leaders of the Ninghai Sports Bureau, Chinese billionaires, and chief engineers from Mercedes-Benz, Ferrari, and Red Bull—Todt broke into a near-run.

“Mr. Qin!” he called, his voice carrying across the track. The gathered dignitaries exchanged bewildered glances. Who was this man who could elicit such a reaction from Todt?

When Todt reached the security line, he waved frantically. “What are you doing? Let him through! He’s my friend!” he barked at the guards, his tone brooking no argument.

The guards, flustered, stepped aside, and Qin Yuan walked forward with an easy grace. Todt greeted him with a warm hug, his delight palpable. “It’s been too long, Mr. Qin,” Todt said, laughing. “You’re looking well.”

“And you’ve gained weight, Little Olba,” Qin Yuan teased, his tone light but familiar.

The crowd’s jaws collectively dropped. Little Olba? Was he really addressing Todt—the Todt—with such casual irreverence?

But Todt didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he laughed heartily. “Ah, you’ve caught me. Retirement’s been too comfortable.”

The leaders from the Sports Bureau looked as if their worlds had been upended. For days, they had bent over backward to curry favor with Todt, yet none of their efforts had elicited so much as a genuine smile. Now, here he was, practically beaming.

“Who is this young man?” one official whispered, his voice tinged with awe.

Meanwhile, Qin Yuan and Todt chatted like old friends. “Raikkonen and Lewis are here, right?” Qin Yuan asked.

“Of course,” Todt confirmed with a nod.

“Great,” Qin Yuan said, glancing toward the track. “I’ll warm up a bit and then do a few laps with them.”

Todt’s smile widened. “It would be their honor.”

The casualness of the exchange left the onlookers dumbfounded. Names like Lewis and Raikkonen weren’t just names—they were legends, icons of Formula One. Yet here was Qin Yuan, summoning them as if they were old acquaintances.

“Brother Fu,” Zhao Xuehan whispered, her voice trembling, “he’s talking about Lewis Hamilton… and Kimi Raikkonen…”

Fu Yang’s face was pale. “I… I think so,” he stammered.

Before anyone could recover, Qin Yuan turned back to Todt, his expression shifting to something more serious. “Todt, I’ve made my decision.”

Todt’s eyes widened. “You mean…”

“Yes,” Qin Yuan said, his voice firm. “I’ll assemble a team and join Formula One this year.”

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. Todt’s reaction was immediate—a look of pure ecstasy spread across his face. “Mr. Qin, this is phenomenal news!” he exclaimed. “To witness a team under your leadership enter F1 is a privilege I never thought I’d have.”

Around them, the crowd buzzed with disbelief. The chief engineers exchanged stunned glances. “It’s him,” muttered Pinault, Ferrari’s technical director. “The rumors… they’re true.”

Lyon of Mercedes-Benz nodded, his expression inscrutable. “For him, creating an F1 team is as simple as a flick of the wrist.”

Even the Sports Bureau officials, who had been desperately hoping to secure a contract extension for F1 races in China, were left speechless. “An eleventh team… owned by a Chinese man?” one of them murmured, scarcely able to believe it.

Qin Yuan, oblivious to the chaos his announcement had caused, turned to Wang Sicong and the others. “Come on,” he said with a smile. “Let’s warm up on the track.”

But his words barely registered. Everyone was too busy grappling with the reality that they had just witnessed the birth of Formula One’s 11th team—a team that would carry the weight of a nation’s pride and the vision of a man who seemed unstoppable.