“He maintains a cryptocurrency wallet that has no purchases, whose value is now in the high seven digits.” Max slid a thin folder across the table. “For approximately six years it has received irregular Bitcoin transfers.”
Inside were printouts of articles, along with the faces of women Bea recognized from interviews she’d watched onFox Hunt. The realization settled piece by piece.
These were all women who’d initially refused to speak to the press…until Oliver Fox.
Jaxon tapped the screen again and another line of transactions appeared. “The transfers arrive just before each interview. The timing is consistent enough to suggest a business model.”
“So he corners them,” she said. Then amended, “Us. With some kind of doctored image. Then offers a chair and a microphone like he’s rescuing us from the fire he helped light.”
Max inclined his head. “That is our working view.”
“How many times has he done this?”
“Twenty-five, give or take.”
She pushed the papers back toward the center of the table. “That’s vile.”
Rafael finally turned from the window and started toward her. “That’s why this ends now.”
“In the United Republic,” Max explained, “interference with a recognized family unit is actionable. Two documentedincidents reported by the husband are enough for Domestic Security to step in.”
“So it’s Oliver against Rafael,” Bea intuited. “Not Oliver against me?”
Max nodded. “We don’t let our women suffer twice to be believed once.”
“And what happens to him?”
Max didn’t hesitate. “He’ll be detained. Questioned. Likely jailed.”
Rafael took the seat beside her. “He’ll be finished.”
The certainty in his voice should have reassured her. Instead it left a weight behind her ribs. She imagined all the quiet machinery of Westhaven doing what it did best.
He would vanish beautifully. Administratively. Into exactly the kind of whispered myth that allowed men like him to keep their legacy intact.
“That’s not enough.”
Three heads turned to her at once.
“No. It isn’t.” Rafael glanced at Max. “Do I get five minutes alone with him?”
“That’s not what I mean,” Bea interjected, turning toward him in her chair. “Fox’s power is credibility. He’s played the principled journalist for decades.”
“You value your privacy,” Max pointed out. “The Ministry can handle him quietly, and take him off the field.”
“If he disappears quietly, people will turn him into a martyr the UR silenced,” Bea countered. “And what justice do the twenty-five women before me get?”
The muscle along Rafael’s jaw hardened. He studied her like she had just started speaking another language.
Jaxon leaned back in his chair, interest in his eyes. “She’s not wrong.”
“What are you suggesting?” Max intervened.
“I want to do the interview.”
Rafael’s refusal landed before the last word had fully left her mouth. “No.”
Of course it was no. Bea felt the first flare of irritation push through the fear.
