Chapter 5: Victoria Makes Her Move
The call came at noon.
Elena was at her father's house — a solid, unremarkable semi-detached in Wiltshire that smelled of old books and the particular brand of instant coffee her father had drunk every morning for forty years.
She was sitting across from the solicitor, a quiet man named Mr.
Graves, when her phone rang.
Victoria.
She let it ring twice, then answered and put it on speaker without asking permission.
"Elena." Victoria's voice was warm.
Controlled.
The voice she used at charity lunches.
"I think we got off on the wrong foot last night.
I'd like to meet.
Just the two of us.
No lawyers."
"No," Elena said.
A pause.
"I understand you're upset.
But there are things you don't know — things Julian hasn't told you — and I think if we spoke privately, you'd see this situation very differently."
"What things?"
"Not over the phone."
"Then we're done."
"Elena." The warmth dropped.
Just slightly.
"Your father is a careful man.
I respect that.
But he doesn't know everything either.
There is a document — one that predates the transfer agreement — that changes the legal picture considerably.
If it reaches the wrong hands before we've had a chance to speak, it will hurt you as much as it hurts us."
Elena looked at Mr.
Graves.
He had his pen in his hand and was writing without looking up.
"Are you threatening me?" Elena asked.
"I'm warning you," Victoria said.
"There's a difference."
"Send the document to Mr.
Graves.
His details are on the letter we filed this morning." Elena kept her voice even.
"If it says what you claim, we'll discuss it.
If it doesn't, we'll add it to the file."
Silence.
"You've changed," Victoria said.
"I found out what you did," Elena said.
"People tend to change after that."
She ended the call.
Mr.
Graves set his pen down.
"She'll send something.
It may be real, or it may be a document manufactured to delay proceedings.
Either way, we'll know within forty-eight hours."
"What would a real document look like?"
"Something signed before the transfer.
Something that could be argued as prior consent — even informal consent.
A letter, an email, a recorded conversation."
Elena thought about the audio files on her phone.
"What if I had a recorded conversation that proved the opposite?
That proved the transfer was planned without my knowledge, and that I was deliberately kept uninformed?"
Mr.
Graves looked at her steadily.
"Then I would say that Victoria's call just now was not a warning.
It was a test.
She wanted to know how much you had."
"And now she knows I have enough."
"Yes," he said.
"Which means she'll move quickly.
Whatever she's planning, she'll try to do it before we can file the recordings as evidence."
Elena's phone lit up again.
Not Victoria this time.
Julian.
She stared at his name on the screen.
"Answer it," Mr.
Graves said quietly.
"And put it on speaker."
She did.
"Elena." Julian's voice was tight.
Stripped of its usual ease.
"My mother just called me.
Whatever you said to her — she's not thinking clearly right now.
She's talking about going to the press."
"About what?"
"About your father.
About a deal he made twenty years ago that she says was never properly disclosed." A pause.
"I don't know if it's true.
I'm not saying it is.
But she's not bluffing, Elena.
When she gets like this, she follows through."
Elena looked at her father, who had come to stand in the doorway with his coffee cup.
He had heard every word.
He set the cup down on the bookshelf behind him.
Walked to the table.
Sat down.
And said, calmly, to the phone: "Julian.
Tell your mother I've been waiting twenty years for her to try that."
The line went quiet.
Then Julian said, very carefully: "Sir?"
"The deal she's referring to," Elena's father said, "was disclosed.
Fully.
In writing.
To the regulatory body, to the relevant parties, and to a solicitor whose records still exist." He picked up his coffee again.
"Tell her to go to the press.
I'd welcome the opportunity to correct the record publicly."
A long silence.
"I'll — I'll call you back," Julian said.
The call ended.
Elena exhaled.
Her father looked at her over the rim of his cup.
"She's been holding that for twenty years," he said.
"Waiting for the right moment."
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Because there was nothing to tell.
It was a clean deal.
I knew she had it.
I also knew it only works if the person she's threatening doesn't know the full story." He set the cup down.
"Now you know.
And so does Mr.
Graves."
Mr.
Graves was already writing.
May you like
But Elena's phone had lit up again — and this time, the name on the screen was one she had never seen before.
*Rachel Morrow.*
