Chapter 7
The holding cell was a box of cinder blocks and cold steel, lit by a single recessed bulb protected by a thick wire mesh in the ceiling. Days bled into one another without the natural marker of sunrise or sunset, measured only by the rhythmic clanging of heavy keys and the distant shouting of guards shifting patrol routes. David Vance sat on the edge of the narrow mattress, his knees drawn up toward his chest, staring at the concrete floor.
He had not spoken a word since his arrival, aside from answering mandatory booking questions in a flat, monotone voice. His mind was a perpetual motion machine of regret, replaying every missed birthday, every skipped soccer game, and every unanswered phone call from the past three years. He remembered the exact moment Lily had called him during his corporate retreat in Chicago, asking him to read her a bedtime story over the phone. He had told her he was too busy reviewing quarterly projections and promised to make it up to her. He had never made it up to her.
A heavy clatter at the cell door broke his trance. A plastic tray slid through the slot at the bottom, bearing a cup of tepid water and a pile of greyish institutional food. David didn't touch it. His stomach felt perpetually knotted, rejecting sustenance just as his mind rejected the concept of moving forward.
Footsteps approached the cell bars, stopping just outside. David looked up slowly, expecting a guard or perhaps a prison counselor. Instead, standing on the other side of the heavy steel mesh was his court-appointed defense attorney, Marcus Sterling, a tired-looking man in his late fifties with rumpled grey hair and tired eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.
"Vance," Sterling said, his voice raspy as he gripped the vertical bars. "We have a massive uphill battle. The prosecutors have a mountain of digital paper trail from your corporate terminal. They are pushing for a maximum sentence, citing reckless disregard for both financial regulations and public safety standards."
David stared at the attorney, the legal terminology washing over him like white noise. Corporate regulations, wire fraud, prison terms—none of it carried any weight compared to the memory of the white lilies in his living room.
"Does it matter?" David asked quietly, his voice raspy from disuse.
May you like
Sterling sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exhaustion. "It matters if you want to avoid spending the next twenty years of your life behind razor wire. But I have to be honest with you, David. Your wife isn't returning my calls. She filed for a full asset freeze and submitted a victim impact statement to the federal judge that is... devastating. She isn't just cooperating with the prosecution; she is helping them build the narrative of a man who abandoned his family for a spreadsheet."
David swallowed hard, looking back down at the floor. He couldn't blame Maya. Every harsh word she had spoken in the living room was entirely justified. He had traded his family for an illusion of success, and now the bill had come due in full.
