Chapter 7 - The Crumbling Foundation
Meanwhile,
in a small,
musty holding cell in the county jail,
Carter Davis sat on a thin,
uncomfortable cot,
staring blankly at the gray concrete wall.
His designer suit was wrinkled and stained,
his hair disheveled,
his usual arrogance entirely stripped away,
leaving behind a hollow,
terrified shell of a man.
He had spent the last two days screaming at guards,
demanding to make phone calls,
threatening lawsuits,
but his threats had fallen on deaf ears.
Nobody cared who Carter Davis was anymore,
because the name had become toxic,
a plague that everyone in his former circle was desperately trying to avoid.
The heavy metal door clanged open,
and a guard stepped in,
his face utterly devoid of sympathy.
"Davis,"
the guard barked,
"you have a visitor,"
"attorney room B."
Carter scrambled to his feet,
a spark of hope igniting in his chest,
assuming that his mother had finally secured a high-powered defense lawyer.
He smoothed his wrinkled suit,
trying to regain a shred of his former dignity,
and followed the guard down the long,
fluorescent-lit hallway.
He was led into a small,
cramped room,
divided by a thick pane of plexiglass,
and he stopped dead in his tracks.
It wasn't a high-priced lawyer sitting on the other side of the glass.
It was Eleanor,
his mother,
looking completely unrecognizable,
her face pale and drawn,
her eyes wide with an animalistic panic.
She wasn't wearing her usual designer pearls or cashmere;
she was wearing a simple,
faded tracksuit,
her hair pulled back in a messy bun.
Carter picked up the heavy black phone attached to the wall,
his hands shaking violently,
his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
"Mom?"
he choked out,
"What happened to you?"
"Where is Uncle Robert?"
"Why hasn't he gotten me out of this hellhole?"
Eleanor grabbed her phone,
tears streaming down her face,
her voice a shrill,
hysterical whisper.
"Robert is gone, Carter,"
she sobbed,
"he was arrested by federal agents yesterday morning."
"They raided his office,"
she wailed,
"they took all his files,"
"and they froze all of his accounts."
Carter felt the blood drain from his face,
a cold,
sickening dread washing over him,
as the ground beneath him completely vanished.
"What about my firm?"
Carter demanded,
his voice rising in panic,
"Call my partners,"
"tell them to post my bail!"
Eleanor shook her head frantically,
her tears smearing the cheap makeup she had applied,
looking like a desperate,
hunted animal.
"They abandoned you, Carter,"
she cried,
"the firm is being audited by the IRS,"
"and they told the press you were acting alone!"
"The house is gone,"
she whimpered,
"the bank foreclosed on it this morning,"
"saying our assets are frozen due to an ongoing criminal investigation."
"I have nothing left,"
Eleanor sobbed,
"I am staying in a cheap motel by the highway,"
"and my credit cards keep declining."
Carter stared at his mother,
the reality of his situation crashing down on him like a collapsing building,
burying him under the rubble of his own arrogance.
He had thought he was invincible,
untouchable,
but Arthur Sterling had dismantled his entire life in less than forty-eight hours.
"We have to beg her,"
Eleanor whispered desperately,
May you like
pressing her hand against the glass,
"you have to beg your wife for mercy."
