Chapter 8: Voss Makes His Move
The car took her to Roman's building.
He was waiting in the corridor when the elevator opened — coat on, phone in hand, the particular stillness of a man who had been moving fast and had just stopped.
"The recording is clean," he said.
"Both voices, clear.
Webb names the account.
Voss confirms the shipment."
"Is it enough?"
"It's enough." He paused.
"Come inside."
The apartment was quiet.
Ethan was asleep — she could see the light under his bedroom door, the faint sound of breathing through a monitor on the kitchen counter that Roman clearly still used even though the boy was eight.
She sat at the kitchen table.
Roman poured water without asking.
"Webb will start looking at the log access by morning," Claire said.
"He'll find my name."
"I know."
"Roman—"
"I know." He sat across from her.
"We're moving faster than planned.
The recording goes to my contact at the FBI field office tonight.
I've been building this case for fourteen months.
Tonight's recording is the last piece."
"Fourteen months," Claire said.
"Voss has been untouchable.
He operates through legitimate fronts — Webb is one of several.
Every time we got close, the evidence chain broke.
We needed something that put both of them in the same room, on record, discussing specifics." He looked at her steadily.
"You got that tonight."
"We got that tonight."
He held her gaze.
"Yes."
His phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Something changed in his face — not fear, but the cousin of it.
"What?" Claire said.
He answered.
Listened.
Said nothing for ten seconds.
Then: "How long ago."
Another pause.
"Lock it down.
Nobody moves without my direct order."
He ended the call and set the phone on the table.
"Voss left the gala twenty minutes after you did," Roman said.
"He didn't go home."
"Where did he go?"
Roman looked at her.
"He went to Lakeview General," he said.
"He's there right now.
And he asked for the charge nurse by name." A pause.
"He asked where you were scheduled to work next."
The kitchen was very quiet.
"He knows it was me," Claire said.
"He suspects.
He doesn't know for certain yet." Roman stood.
"But he will by morning."
"So what happens now?"
Roman picked up his phone again.
"Now you don't go home tonight.
And you don't go back to that hospital until this is finished."
"I have a shift at six a.m."
"I'll handle the shift."
"Roman, you can't keep—"
"Claire." His voice was quiet.
Not sharp.
Just certain.
"Please let me handle this."
She looked at him across the kitchen table.
He was asking.
Not ordering.
She had learned to hear the difference.
"Okay," she said.
He nodded.
He made two calls in quick succession, speaking in a low voice she didn't try to follow.
When he finished, he set the phone down and looked at her.
"The guest room is at the end of the hall," he said.
"Past Ethan's door.
There are clothes in the dresser — my housekeeper keeps things for emergencies.
She's about your height."
"You have a new housekeeper."
"Since last week, yes."
Claire nodded slowly.
She stood.
She picked up her water glass and carried it to the sink.
"Roman," she said, her back to him.
"Yes."
"When this is over — what happens to Ethan?"
A pause.
"What do you mean?"
She turned.
"He lost his mother.
He almost lost his life three weeks ago because someone he trusted wanted to use him.
He's eight years old and he lives in a building with a security team and a camera grid." She paused.
"I'm asking what happens to him.
After."
Roman was quiet for a long moment.
"I'm working on that," he said.
"That's not an answer."
"No," he said.
"It's not." He looked at her directly.
"But it's the most honest thing I've said in a long time."
She held his gaze.
Then she walked down the hall, past the light under Ethan's door, to the guest room at the end.
She didn't sleep for a long time.
At 2 a.m., her phone lit up with a message from an unknown number.
*We know what you took from that room.
Give it back and walk away.
This is the only time we ask nicely.*
May you like
She stared at it for a moment.
Then she got up and knocked on Roman's door.
