Chapter 12 - The Cellblock Visitor
The concrete walls of Terre Haute Federal Correctional Complex were damp and unforgiving.
Dominic Davenport sat on a rusted metal stool, his orange jumpsuit hanging loosely over his hollowed frame.
In just a few short months, the golden boy of Chicago real estate had lost forty pounds.
His once-flawless skin was pallid and bruised.
His manicured hands were calloused and trembling.
The guards dragged their heavy batons against the iron bars as they escorted a visitor into the secure booth.
Dominic slowly lifted his head, expecting the public defender who barely remembered his name.
Instead, a man in a bespoke three-piece suit sat on the opposite side of the scratched bulletproof glass.
It was Bradley Vance, Julian Vance’s lead defense litigator.
Dominic grabbed the plastic telephone receiver with shaking fingers.
"Who are you?" Dominic rasped, his voice raw from weeks of silence and fear.
"Did Evelyn send you to torment me more?"
Bradley Vance smiled, picked up his receiver, and adjusted his silk tie.
"Mrs. Mercer doesn't know I am here, Mr. Davenport."
"In fact, she believes you are buried alive in this cage forever."
Dominic let out a broken, pathetic laugh.
"I am buried alive."
"She took everything."
"My company, my accounts, my father’s brownstone, my car, even my clothes."
"She owned it all before I even met her."
"She played me like a puppet for eight agonizing years."
"Evelyn is formidable," Bradley acknowledged softly.
"She crushed you because you treated her like an ornament instead of a monarch."
"You were stupid, Dominic."
"You traded an unquantifiable dynasty for a cheap socialite who abandoned you the second the handcuffs snapped."
Dominic winced, the memory of Vanessa Quinn’s cold betrayal burning like acid in his throat.
"Why are you here then?" Dominic snapped, a glimmer of his old arrogance flaring in his eyes.
"To tell me what an idiot I am?"
"I am here to offer you an appeal," Bradley whispered against the receiver.
Dominic froze.
His breath caught in his dry throat.
"An appeal?"
"The evidence against me is airtight."
"I signed the fraudulent wire transfers myself."
"Evidence can be recontextualized," Bradley replied smoothly.
"If a judge is convinced you were acting under duress from an unseen controlling shareholder, the fraud charges collapse into a civil settlement."
"You could walk out of those gates in eighteen months."
Dominic’s hands gripped the receiver so hard his knuckles turned ghost-white.
"What is the price?" Dominic demanded, leaning into the glass.
"Nothing is free."
"What does your employer want from me?"
Bradley leaned in closer, his cold eyes boring into Dominic’s shattered soul.
"Julian Vance wants the master key to the Mercer Lake Geneva estate."
"The one your father gave you before he died."
Dominic’s eyes widened in sudden, stark terror.
"How do you know about Lake Geneva?"
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"Because, Dominic," Bradley smiled coldly, "your father didn't work for Evelyn’s father."
"He worked for us."
