Chapter 5 - The Reckoning Behind Bars
The visiting room of the federal detention center smelled of industrial disinfectant, stale coffee, and quiet desperation.
Victor Sterling sat on the other side of the reinforced Plexiglas partition, his orange jumpsuit hanging loosely off his frame. The arrogant, untouchable posture that had defined him in the kitchen was entirely gone. His hair was unwashed, his eyes were sunken and bloodshot from sleepless nights, and his hands shook incessantly as he clutched the plastic telephone receiver.
On the other side of the glass sat Arthur Vance, looking immaculate in a tailored charcoal suit, staring at his son-in-law with the detached, clinical curiosity of a scientist observing a particularly repulsive insect.
“You wanted to talk, Victor,” Arthur said smoothly into his receiver, his voice echoing slightly through the speaker system. “You have three minutes before my car leaves.”
“Arthur—Mr. Vance, please,” Victor choked out, pressing his face as close to the glass as possible. His voice was cracked and desperate. “You have to help me. They’re treating me like an animal in here. My parents are in the geriatric medical ward, they’re falling apart, and my lawyers say the federal prosecutors are going to throw the book at us for financial irregularities we didn't even commit!”
“You didn't commit financial irregularities?” Arthur repeated, his tone dripping with quiet mockery. “Victor, my forensic team spent forty-eight hours tracing the shell companies you and Robert set up to siphon funds from our joint ventures. You embezzled twelve million dollars from my subsidiary trusts over five years. That’s not an irregularity; that’s a federal indictment waiting to be framed on your prison wall.”
Victor shook his head frantically, tears of pure self-pity spilling down his cheeks. “It was a misunderstanding! We can fix this! Tell Clara to drop the charges! We’re family! We have a bond—!”
“You don't have a family anymore, Victor,” Arthur interrupted, his voice dropping into an arctic chill. “You had a wife who loved you, who protected you, and who carried your child while you treated her like chattel. You threw that away for the sake of your fragile ego and your parents' toxic approval.”
Victor pounded his fist against the Plexiglas partition, the sharp bang echoing through the sterile room. “She’s my wife! She belongs to me! You can’t keep her away from me!”
A heavy hand landed firmly on Victor’s shoulder. Behind him, two massive federal correctional officers stepped out of the shadows, their expressions carved from stone.
“Visiting time is over, inmate Sterling,” the guard growled, grabbing Victor by the biceps and hauling him upright out of the chair.
“No! Wait! Arthur! Please!” Victor screamed as they dragged him backward toward the heavy steel exit door, kicking and thrashing like a child throwing a tantrum. “Clara! Clara, you can’t do this to me!”
May you like
Arthur didn't even blink. He slowly placed his telephone receiver back on its cradle, adjusted his cuffs, stood up, and walked out of the visiting room without looking back once.
The nightmare was officially closed behind steel bars.
