Chapter 8: The Morning Everything Broke Open
Marcus was at Carol Finch's office by seven-fifteen.
He'd forwarded the 3 a.m.
message before he left the house.
Carol had it printed and in a folder by the time he arrived.
She slid the folder across the desk without preamble.
"The threat changes the legal picture significantly," she said.
"That message, combined with the phone call from Voss last night, gives us a pattern.
Intimidation of a witness.
Potentially obstruction, depending on what the DA decides to pursue."
"Can we trace the number?"
"My investigator is working on it now.
We'll know more by noon." She folded her hands on the desk.
"I've also been in contact with the Tribune journalist who was at the gala last night.
Her name is Patricia Sowe.
She reached out to me at six this morning."
Marcus looked up.
"She's writing something?"
"She's been investigating Voss for fourteen months.
The gala was a coincidence — she was there covering the Whitmore announcement.
What she saw and heard last night, combined with what she already has—" Carol paused.
"She's not writing something.
She's finishing something."
"How much does she know?"
"More than we do about the financial structure.
Less than we do about last night." Carol met his eyes.
"I told her we'd consider speaking with her after Monday's board session.
I didn't commit to anything."
"That's right."
"Marcus, I want to be direct with you.
What you have — the video, the emails Richard sent, the phone call, the threat — that is a strong position.
But Harlan Voss has resources that take time to overcome.
The next few weeks will be uncomfortable."
"Define uncomfortable."
"Two of your current clients received calls this morning."
Marcus went still.
"From Voss?"
"From people connected to him.
Suggesting your firm was under investigation for improper conduct during the Whitmore bid process." Carol's voice was steady.
"The opposite of the truth.
But it was said, and now it has to be answered."
Marcus thought about his team.
Six people.
He thought about the Monday morning meeting he'd need to have with them before the board session, because they deserved to hear it from him first.
"Which clients?"
Carol named them.
Marcus nodded once, slowly.
"I'll call them today," he said.
"Personally."
"Good.
Be factual.
Don't over-explain.
Let them ask questions."
His phone buzzed on the desk between them.
He looked at the screen.
Richard Ashford.
He answered it on speaker.
"Richard."
"They came to the house this morning," Richard said.
His voice was different from the night before — stripped of the careful composure.
"Two men.
They said they were there to discuss a legal matter with Diane.
She let them in.
I don't know what they said to her, but she's been in the bedroom with the door locked for forty minutes."
"Who sent them?"
"Who do you think?"
Carol leaned forward slightly.
"Richard," Marcus said, "are you somewhere safe right now?"
"I'm in my car in the driveway."
"Drive somewhere public.
A coffee shop, a hotel lobby, anywhere with people.
Then call your own attorney."
"I don't know if my attorney—"
"Get a different one," Marcus said.
"Today.
Tell them everything you told me last night and everything you sent me.
Don't go back into that house until you've spoken to counsel."
A long pause.
"I didn't think it would move this fast," Richard said.
"It moved fast because you sent me those documents.
That was the right thing to do.
Now protect yourself."
Another pause.
Then: "Is your daughter all right?"
Marcus looked at the window.
Outside, the morning was gray and ordinary.
"She is," he said.
"She slept through the whole night."
"Good," Richard said quietly.
"That's good."
He ended the call.
Carol was already writing something on her notepad.
"Monday's board session just became a criminal referral meeting," she said.
"I'm calling the DA's office when we're done here."
Marcus nodded.
His phone buzzed again.
This time it was a number he didn't recognize — but the area code was local, and something made him answer.
"Mr.
Thorne?" A woman's voice.
Careful, professional.
"My name is Patricia Sowe.
I'm a journalist with the Tribune.
I think you already know why I'm calling."
Carol looked up from her notepad.
Marcus looked at her.
She gave one small nod.
"Ms.
May you like
Sowe," Marcus said.
"Tell me what you have."
