CHAPTER 83: THE COST OF VOSS

"Ah! This is so comfortable!"

"Claudia, Thea is the one who just survived that boring luncheon. Why are you the one acting relieved? And watch where you put your arm. You’re not a cat." Miranda frowns at her daughter, half-playful, half-annoyed.

Claudia is stretching her whole body inside the car, limbs everywhere, trying to lengthen herself in a vehicle that definitely does not have the space for her nonsense.

Leila laughs. "I can’t blame her, Mir. I want to stretch like that too. It felt too stuffy in there."

"Thea, I saw you only talked at the beginning. After that, you were mostly quiet. They didn’t talk to you?" Claudia squints at him.

Theo grins. "I didn’t want to talk to them that much. I spoke when I felt I needed to. The rest? Their topics weren’t interesting."

"They didn’t insult you?" Claudia asks bluntly.

Both Leila and Theo give the same mysterious little smile.

Leila exhales. "Of course they did. One of them even pointed her finger right at me."

Miranda’s expression darkens. "Yes, I saw that. We were already on our feet and ready to storm your table when she suddenly choked. Serves her right."

Claudia nods hard. "Yes. Serves her right."

Theo and Leila laugh when they see the mother-daughter pair behave like two kids. Miranda and Claudia laugh along with them.

After a moment, Miranda says, "I recognized that lady who choked. I’m sure you did too. That was Margareth Blackwood, right?"

Leila nods. "Yes. A Blackwood."

Miranda sighs. "I knew it. The Blackwoods really hate the Montroses."

Leila nods again. "They do. I just wish they knew what really happened back then."

Miranda’s voice lowers. "It was a long time ago, Lei. Hatred doesn’t disappear just because the truth exists."

Leila sighs. "Yeah, you’re right."

She pauses, then adds, "I just wish Margareth hadn’t done what she did. Not because she insulted me, but because the Baroness was offended. And she’s not the type to let it go."

Theo agrees immediately. "She’ll make sure the Blackwoods pay for the humiliation she felt today."

------------------------------

"I’m sorry, Your Ladyship, but I do not understand."

Ryan Blackwood grips the phone. He sighs inwardly.

"I think I have made myself very clear, Young Blackwood. I do not want to continue our arrangement. I want to pull my money from the Blackwood Arcatherm Project. It has gone on too long, and I no longer feel like waiting."

Baroness Maristella Voss’s voice is tight and cutting.

"I apologize, Your Ladyship, if you feel that way. I admit the project has run a little longer than projected. However, if I may—"

"No, you may not. A little longer? Your patriarch promised it would take less than one year. It has been what? Eighteen months?"

Her tone is firm. Not loud, not emotional — just sharp enough to cut his throat.

The Baroness is not happy.

Panic crawls up Ryan’s spine.

The Blackwood Arcatherm Project is his first major assignment. Greg Thornfield, the Blackwood patriarch, had not wanted to give him this project at all, but Ryan insisted.

When Greg finally relented, Ryan had felt triumphant.

This was his chance to shine.

This was the moment he would finally beat Arthur Montrose in something.

All his life, Ryan has been compared to Arthur, and always came up short.

He cannot fail. Not here. Not on his first project.

But now everything is collapsing.

The Baroness is the biggest donor. If she pulls out, the project will die instantly. Worse, Ryan cannot return her money. He does not have it anymore.

Every cent of the latest funding round has already been poured into hiring a new research team, scientists, technicians, equipment, and more temporary facilities.

His cash flow is gone.

"I do not wish you ill, Young Blackwood. I agreed to partially fund this project because I believed in your potential. However, when I read the last report you sent me... I did not like it. I did not like it at all."

Ryan swallows. Hard.

The Baroness continues, calm and merciless,

"Do not worry. I do not intend to pull one hundred percent of my money. If I did that, it would be very unreasonable of me. And I am sure you must have already allocated some of it. So no, I will not withdraw everything."

A breath of relief slips out of Ryan — a tiny, shaky thing.

But then the Baroness speaks again.

"I only wish to pull fifty percent of my total investment."

Ryan freezes.

Total investment?

Not just the last round.

Not the leftover funds.

Total.

His stomach drops to the floor.

"To—total... investment?" He stammers.

"That... that would amount to... to... about—"

Ryan can’t even finish. His brain, the one thing he prides himself on, has completely short-circuited.

"I have the numbers here, Young Blackwood," the Baroness says calmly. "I have invested a total of fifty million dollars, which means half of it is twenty-five million."

Fifty million?

She only invested twenty-five!

Ryan feels the air leave his lungs. His vision blurs; his fingers go numb. It’s like someone pulled the floor out from under him.

"Your... Your La– Ladyship, I must apologize, but... but Your Ladyship’s total investment is twenty-five, not fifty." Ryan stammers, clinging to whatever dignity he thinks he still has.

"Really?"

The Baroness’ voice holds no warmth. Polite on the surface, unnerving underneath. If Ryan were thinking straight, he would have noticed immediately.

But Ryan is drowning in panic. Every instinct in him screams to plead, and it blinds him to the danger in her tone.

"Yes, Your Ladyship! I have them all on record, right here with me! If you give me time, I can show them to you. I am an excellent record keeper, Your Ladyship. I would never lie."

"I see."

Her voice shimmers with quiet anger.

"I see what you are trying to say. You are accusing me, Baroness Maristella Voss, of lying. I see what you are trying to do. You are attempting to scam me out of my money."

The volume stays the same. The tone stays polite. But Ryan’s knees nearly buckle.

"No! No, Your Ladyship, that’s not—"

She sighs, soft but sharp enough to cut through him.

"Young Blackwood. I am going to say this once more. Listen carefully. I, Baroness Maristella Voss of Valestria, do not wish you, Ryan Blackwood of Blackwood Enterprises, any ill will. Do you understand that, Young Blackwood?"

Ryan nods fiercely before realizing he is nodding at a phone.

"All I want is to withdraw my money from an investment I no longer find interesting. If you read the contract, it is stated very clearly that I have every right to do so. It was an unusual clause for an investment contract, which I found refreshing. That is why I invested."

"Do you know what I am trying to say, Young Blackwood?"

Ryan shakes his head, once again forgetting he is on the phone.

"And now, after reading the reports, I no longer feel this project is interesting. I want to pull my investment. Half of it. Which is twenty-five."

It is not twenty-five! Ryan wants to shout. When did you invest fifty million? I have every transfer on record. I know I can’t lie to you, so I never tried.

"Your Ladyship, your total investment is really twenty—"

"Enough."

Her tone changes. It now carries anger, annoyance, and finality. Ryan does not fully register it because his brain is still malfunctioning, but his instincts know he is doomed.

"I do not want to hear any excuses. I will give you exactly one week to return my money. All twenty-five of it."

She hangs up.

"NO!" Ryan screams at the dead line and collapses to his knees.

"Sir?"

His assistant pokes her head through the door. She heard the scream, which is unusual, so she checks.

Now she sees her boss kneeling on the floor, half crying, half laughing like a madman.

"Sir, are you okay?" She approaches cautiously.

Ryan is breathing hard. His hand is gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles turn white.

"Sir?"

"Leave me alone. Do not come in unless I call you. Get out!"

Ryan kicks her out.

He gets up, still breathing hard.

Think, Ryan. Think.

"What do I do now? How can she demand twenty-five million? Her total investment is only twenty-five. Half? What half? How can someone be this unreasonable? She even lied with a straight face. No. I need to do something. But what?"

He paces while talking out loud. His mind is a storm.

He cannot go to his uncle, Greg Thornfield. He would be chewed alive.

"Should I call the Baroness and ask for leniency? No. She is already upset. If I call her now, twenty-five might turn into fifty. No. I can’t. Not now."

"But why did she suddenly want to pull out? Why today?"

A thought sparks.

"Did something happen today with the Baroness?"

He feels his brain finally reboot.

"Silvia!" he shouts.

Five seconds later, a voluptuous brunette enters. The same woman he kicked out less than five minutes ago.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Go find out where the Baroness went today."

"Sir?"

"Her schedule for today. I want to know. And yesterday too. Two days."

"Where should I—"

"I don’t know. Call her slave or something."

"Sir, the Baroness does not have slaves. Does she?"

Ryan instantly regrets hiring her based on her looks alone.

"No, she doesn’t. She has a PA. His numbers are in the computer. Find them, call them, and ask. Then come back and tell me. Go!"