Chapter 6: The Call from Baltimore
Clare set the phone on the table between us and put it on speaker.
She answered on the fourth ring.
"Clare Ashford."
A pause.
Then a voice — older, unhurried, with the particular smoothness of a man who had spent decades being obeyed.
"Ms.
Ashford.
My name is Harlan Voss.
I believe you may have some guests with you this evening."
Clare's eyes met mine across the table.
She kept her voice completely level.
"I have a number of clients, Mr.
Voss.
You'll need to be more specific."
"I think we're past that kind of courtesy." A brief silence.
"My son reported a tragic accident this afternoon.
A vehicle went into Savannah Creek.
He's been cooperating fully with the local authorities.
It's a very difficult time for our family." Another pause.
"I'm simply calling to make sure there are no — complications — that might prolong his grief unnecessarily."
"I'm not sure I follow you," Clare said.
"I think you do." The warmth in his voice didn't shift.
It was the warmth of a man who had never needed to raise it.
"Ms.
Ashford, you've had a long and respected career in maritime law.
It would be a shame for certain questions to arise about some of your earlier case work.
Specifically the Meridian Harbor dispute in 2019.
I have documents that suggest your conduct in that matter was not entirely — professional."
Clare's jaw tightened.
Just once.
Then it relaxed.
"That's an interesting claim," she said.
"It's a documented one.
I'm not making threats, Ms.
Ashford.
I'm simply observing that complicated situations have a way of becoming more complicated when people involve themselves unnecessarily." A beat.
"Whatever you may have been asked to do tonight — I would encourage you to reconsider.
There is nothing to be gained.
And there is a great deal to be lost."
I leaned forward.
Clare held up one hand — *wait.*
"I appreciate you calling," she said.
"I'll give your observations the consideration they deserve."
"I'm glad to hear it.
Good evening."
The call ended.
The three of us sat in the silence that followed.
Then Tobias said: "The Meridian Harbor dispute."
"A case I won for a client twelve years ago.
The opposing party — a shipping consortium — alleged procedural misconduct.
It went nowhere because there was nothing there." Clare's voice was steady but her hand moved to close the laptop.
"Harlan has clearly been building files on people he might need leverage over.
This is not a spontaneous call."
"He knew you existed before tonight," I said.
"He had a file on you already."
"Yes." She looked at me.
"Which means the question is not whether he has leverage.
It's whether the leverage is real."
"Is it?"
"No." She said it without hesitation.
"But real and usable are different things.
He only needs it to be believable enough to make me pause." She stood up and moved to the desk.
"Which is why we are not pausing."
She picked up a different phone — a landline — and dialed.
It rang twice.
"Daniel," she said.
"It's Clare.
I need you to listen carefully and I need you not to ask me how I know what I'm about to tell you." She glanced at us.
"I have a survivor.
I have lab reports.
And I have reason to believe Harlan Voss has been running the same acquisition pattern for at least fifteen years across multiple families." A pause while the person on the other end responded.
"Yes.
Tonight.
I'll send the documents ahead." Another pause.
"Thank you."
She hung up.
"Detective Daniel Marsh," she said.
"Baltimore homicide.
He has been watching the Voss family for three years without enough to act.
He now has enough."
Tobias exhaled slowly.
"How long before Garrett realizes we're alive?" I asked.
"He may already suspect.
The accident was this afternoon.
If there are no bodies recovered by morning, doubt will start." Clare sat back down.
"There's something else Harlan's call told us."
"What?"
"He called me instead of sending someone.
That means he is not yet certain you survived.
He is covering a possibility, not responding to a confirmed fact." She looked at me steadily.
"We have until morning.
Possibly less."
I thought about Garrett, somewhere in the city tonight.
Penelope beside him.
The two of them waiting for confirmation that would not come.
"There's something I need to do," I said.
Tobias looked at me.
"I need to go back to the house," I said.
"Our house.
Tonight."
"Rosalind—"
"The compound.
Garrett's supply of it.
If it's still in the house, that's physical evidence that the lab reports alone can't provide.
Chain of custody, source location, fingerprints." I looked at Clare.
"Is that right?"
"It would significantly strengthen the case, yes.
But—"
"He won't be there tonight.
He'll be with Penelope.
He thinks I'm at the bottom of a river.
The house will be empty." I held Tobias's gaze.
"You spent fifteen years preparing for this.
I spent three years living in that house.
May you like
I know every corner of it." I stood up.
"I know exactly where he keeps things he doesn't want me to find."
