Chapter 4 - The Cellblock Reckoning
The precinct holding area reeked of cheap disinfectant and sweat. Ethan Hayes gripped the rusted iron bars, his face red with fury as he slammed his fist against the metal.
“Do you have any idea who I am?!” he roared at the desk sergeant, who didn't even bother looking up from his crossword puzzle. “I am the CEO of Hayes Technologies! I pay more taxes in a month than you make in a decade! My mother is an elderly woman, and my fiancée is pregnant! You will let us out this instant or I will have your badge!”
In the adjacent cell, Margaret was sobbing uncontrollably, clutching her faux-fur wrap around her shoulders as if it could shield her from the degradation of an iron cage.
“Ethan, do something!” she shrieked, her voice echoing gratingly off the damp cinderblock walls. “That monster of a woman put us here! Claire! That barren, ungrateful bitch! I knew we should have thrown her into the street years ago! She planted those papers! She forged everything!”
Sitting beside Margaret, Brenda patted her small baby bump, her pristine, doe-eyed innocence completely dissolved into sneering malice. “Ethan, you told me she was a nobody with no family. You said the house was yours! Why did the police listen to her lawyer? Why did they drag us out like dogs?”
“Because she played a dirty trick, Brenda!” Ethan hissed through his teeth, pacing the small cell. “Her lawyer is probably some bottom-feeder she hired with my money. She must have secretly transferred the title while I was out of town. It’s fraud! Embezzlement! Once my legal team gets here, Claire will be the one facing twenty years in federal prison.”
Ethan stepped toward the telephone booth against the wall. He picked up the heavy plastic receiver and dialed the personal number of his corporate attorney, Harold Sterling.
The phone rang three times before clicking open.
“Harold! Thank God,” Ethan breathed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Claire has lost her mind. She called the police to the penthouse, fabricated some nonsense about ownership, and had me, my mother, and Brenda arrested. I need you to post bail immediately and file emergency injunctions against her.”
There was a heavy, suffocating silence on the other end of the line.
“Ethan,” Harold’s voice came through, hollow and unnervingly cold. “I no longer represent you.”
Ethan froze. “What? Harold, this is no time for jokes. I pay you a fifty-thousand-dollar monthly retainer—”
“The retainer was paid through an account funded by Mercer Capital,” Harold interrupted bluntly. “Ten minutes ago, Mercer Capital revoked my mandate and terminated all representation of Hayes Technologies. Furthermore, Ethan... the bank just executed an immediate recall on your fifty-million-dollar line of credit. Your corporate accounts are frozen. Your personal accounts have been locked pending an audit for gross financial misconduct.”
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Ethan’s phone nearly slipped from his clammy fingers. “Frozen? What are you talking about? Who authorized that?!”
“A directive signed by Alexander Vance,” Harold whispered, his voice trembling slightly at the mention of the name. “Ethan... whatever you did to Claire, pray she has mercy on your soul. Because the man backing her does not.”
