Chapter 8: Beatrice's Next Move
She made her move the following morning.
I was at my kitchen table with coffee and my laptop, reviewing the Voss Capital quarterly reports my father had forwarded, when my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.
*This is Beatrice.
I'd like to meet.
Alone.
Without Marcus.
There are things you deserve to know about your father's business that Marcus doesn't know either.
Meet me at the Langham lobby at eleven.
Come or don't.
But you'll want to hear this.*
I stared at it.
Then I forwarded the message to Elena Marsh with a single line: *Advice?*
Elena called back in four minutes.
"Don't go alone.
And record everything.
Illinois is a one-party consent state."
"You think she has something real?"
"I think she wants you to think she does.
Whether she does or not is secondary — the goal is to get you into a room where she can apply pressure without Marcus present." A pause.
"But if she does have something, you want to know what it is before she uses it somewhere else."
I went.
The Langham lobby was all pale marble and quiet money.
Beatrice was already seated when I arrived, back straight, a pot of tea in front of her.
She was dressed as though she had somewhere important to be afterward.
She probably did.
I sat across from her.
I did not order anything.
"Thank you for coming," she said.
"You said you had information about my father."
"I do." She poured her tea with the deliberate calm of someone who had rehearsed this.
"Arthur Voss's fund has a silent partner.
Has had one for eleven years.
A man named Gerald Pryce, who manages a portfolio of real estate holdings across four states." She looked up at me.
"Mr.
Pryce is currently under federal investigation for wire fraud."
I kept my face neutral.
"I have documentation," she continued.
"Filed court records.
His name appears on three of your father's fund agreements from the last decade." She reached into her handbag and placed a thin folder on the table between us.
"If this becomes public — and it will, once the federal case moves forward — it will create significant reputational exposure for Voss Capital.
And for you, by association."
I looked at the folder.
I did not touch it.
"What do you want?" I asked.
Beatrice set her teacup down.
"I want you to walk away from the civil signing.
Quietly.
Tell Marcus you've reconsidered.
No legal action, no public statements, no involvement of Richard Calloway.
You go your way, we go ours."
"And if I don't?"
"Then this folder finds its way to three financial journalists I know personally.
And to Richard Calloway's compliance office." She folded her hands.
"I don't want to do that.
But I will protect my son."
I sat with that for a moment.
Then I reached into my bag and placed my own phone on the table, screen down.
"Beatrice," I said, "Gerald Pryce has been a passive investor in one of my father's legacy funds since 2013.
His name appears in the fund agreements because he is a named limited partner — which is public record.
The federal investigation concerns his personal real estate holdings, which have no connection to Voss Capital.
My father's legal team has already issued a formal statement to that effect.
It was filed with the SEC last Thursday."
Beatrice's expression did not change.
But something behind it did.
"The three journalists you mentioned," I continued, "will find that story has already been addressed, documented, and closed.
There is nothing to report." I picked up my phone.
"And this conversation has been recorded.
Which means that what you just did — threatening to release damaging information to coerce me into abandoning a legal proceeding — has a name."
I stood up.
"It's called extortion," I said.
"And I'd like you to think very carefully about what you do next."
Beatrice's hand was flat on the table.
She did not speak.
"I'm going to the civil signing in two days," I said.
"Whether Marcus is standing there or not is between him and me.
But you will not be in that room."
I picked up my bag and walked out of the Langham lobby without looking back.
Outside, the November air was sharp and clean.
I stood on the sidewalk for a moment, breathing it in.
Then I called Elena.
"She threatened to go to financial journalists and to Richard's compliance office," I said.
"I recorded it."
A pause.
"She actually said extortion out loud?"
"Functionally, yes."
"Valeria." Elena's voice was dry and precise.
"You realize what you're holding."
"I know what I'm holding," I said.
May you like
"The question is what to do with it."
"That," Elena said, "is entirely up to you."
