Chapter 9 - Desperation in the Holding Cell
Two hours later, deep in the basement of the regional federal holding facility adjacent to the naval base, the sound of steel sliding against concrete reverberated through the barren corridor.
Derek sat on a stainless-steel bench, his expensive suit trousers torn at the knee from his scuffle on the gala floor. The cuffs had been removed, but his wrists were red and swollen from the pressure. He stared at the steel-reinforced door as it opened, revealing Patricia, flanked by Arthur Vance and a plainclothes federal investigator.
"Mom!" Derek jumped to his feet, rushing to the bars. "Did you fix it? Did you talk to the district attorney? When am I getting out of here? This place smells like bleach and piss!"
Patricia looked ten years older than she had three hours ago. Her hair was disheveled, her makeup smeared into gray streaks across her cheeks. She didn't look at Derek's eyes; she stared at the floor.
"They're... they're not letting you out, Derek," she whispered, her voice cracking.
"What do you mean, they're not letting me out?!" Derek slammed his open palms against the bars, the metal rattling violently. "It was a family argument! She's my sister! You can't go to federal prison for slapping your own sister!"
The plainclothes investigator stepped forward, holding a manila folder filled with financial printouts and shipping manifests.
"You aren't just being held for assault on a flag officer, Mr. Vance," the investigator said, his tone dry and clinical. "While you were sitting in this cell, Naval Criminal Investigative Service, in coordination with the FBI, executed a search warrant on NorthStar Logistics' primary server."
Derek’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes darted wildly between the investigator and his mother. "Search warrant? For what? Our records are proprietary!"
"Not when you're bidding on Department of Defense logistics contracts," Arthur Vance chimed in, opening his briefcase to produce a second set of documents. "We found the duplicate accounting ledgers. The ones showing how you funneled seventy percent of the subcontract advance payments into overseas brokerage accounts in the Cayman Islands to cover your personal margin calls."
"No... that was an investment!" Derek stammered, sweat beading rapidly along his hairline. "I was going to replace the funds before the first shipment cleared Norfolk! It was temporary!"
"It is wire fraud, grand larceny, and defense procurement embezzlement," the investigator stated calmly. "The total amount missing from the naval logistics escrow account is four point two million dollars. And because the funds originated from military appropriations, this falls under federal jurisdiction with mandatory minimum sentencing."
Derek sank back onto the steel bench, his legs completely giving out. "Four... four million?"
"Furthermore," Arthur added, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses, "we cross-referenced those transfers with your father's medical insurance records. You deliberately intercepted Richard’s specialized cardiac medication shipments and sold them on the black market to cover your interest payments to private loan sharks in Baltimore."
Derek looked up, his face twisted in raw, animal panic. "Mom told me to do it! She said Dad was dying anyway! She said keeping him alive for another three months would just waste the insurance payout!"
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Patricia let out a choked gasp, clutching her throat. "Derek! How could you say that?!"
"It was your idea!" Derek screamed, gripping the bars again, his face turning purple with rage. "You were the one who wanted the life insurance! You told me that once he was gone, we could sell the Crestview house, cash out the defense contract, and move to Boca! You ruined me!"
