Chapter 17 - The Visitor from Wall Street
Three hundred miles to the north, at Stateville Maximum Security Penitentiary in Joliet, Daniel Miller sat behind a thick scratched acrylic partition in Attorney Booth Three.
His orange jumpsuit was stained with greasy chow hall gravy.
He had lost twenty pounds in less than a month; his cheekbones protruded like sharp ridges beneath his pale, bruised skin.
Across his left temple was a swollen purple knot where another inmate had struck him with a food tray during yesterday's recreation hour for walking too slowly.
He sat hunched over the metal counter, staring blankly at the scratches in the plastic.
He expected to see his court-appointed public defender, a tired, overworked junior attorney who kept urging him to accept an eighty-year plea bargain.
Instead, the heavy steel security door opened, and a man walked in wearing a three-thousand-dollar charcoal pinstripe suit, an Italian silk tie, and handmade leather oxfords.
He was in his late forties, with slicked-back raven hair, a sharp aquiline nose, and eyes as cold and calculating as a predator shark.
It was Julian Thorne.
Julian Thorne was the managing partner of Thorne Capital Partners, a ruthless private equity syndicate based in Manhattan that specialized in hostile takeovers and corporate liquidations.
He was also the man who had secretly financed Daniel’s offshore hedge fund disaster eighteen months ago.
Daniel looked up, his bloodshot eyes widening with a sudden, desperate surge of panic and disbelief.
"Julian..." Daniel whispered into the intercom handset, his voice cracking with dry terror.
"Julian, what are you doing here?"
Julian Thorne sat down on the swivel stool on the visitor's side of the acrylic glass, placing a slim leather briefcase on the counter.
He looked at Daniel's bruised face with the detached amusement of a collector examining a cracked porcelain doll.
"You look terrible, Daniel," Thorne remarked, his voice smooth, cultured, and utterly devoid of pity.
"I must say, prison linen does not complement your complexion."
"Julian, please!" Daniel wept, pressing his forehead against the partition.
"You have to get me out of here!"
"You promised me twenty million dollars in credit lines if I secured the Lake Shore property!"
"I tried, Julian!"
"I followed every instruction Harold Ross gave me!"
"I had the deed signed!"
"I didn't know Marcus Vance was alive!"
"Nobody told me the father was pulling the strings!"
Thorne leaned forward, resting his steepled fingers against the counter.
"Marcus Vance was never supposed to be an obstacle, you idiot," Thorne said coldly.
"The plan was simple."
"You poison the girl slowly so the autopsy reads as natural cardiac degeneration."
"You acquire the Lake Shore estate through the quitclaim deed."
"You pledge that estate as primary collateral to my front company in Delaware."
"And with that collateral, my syndicate could launch a thirty percent hostile takeover against Vance Logistics before Marcus’s executors realized what happened."
"Instead, you allowed your greedy mother to brag in open restaurants, you got caught on federal wiretaps, and you handed Marcus Vance legal indemnification over my syndicate’s shell debt."
Daniel shuddered, his fingers digging into his scalp.
"I didn't know..."
"Of course you didn't know," Thorne sneered.
"Because you are an arrogant, small-time accountant who thought he was a player."
"You were never a partner, Daniel."
"You were a disposable pawn."
"Then why are you here?" Daniel sobbed, tears cutting lines through the grime on his face.
"Did you come just to watch me suffer?"
Julian Thorne opened his slim leather briefcase, pulled out an encrypted tablet, and slid it toward the glass.
"I am here because tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, the Vance Global Logistics Board of Directors convenes at their Chicago headquarters for their annual shareholder summit."
"Marcus Vance intends to step down permanently and hand the executive chairmanship to Elena."
"If that happens, the Vance family's voting control will be locked in an irrevocable dynastic trust for the next fifty years."
"My syndicate will be permanently shut out."
Thorne's eyes narrowed into twin ice daggers.
"You still have one piece of legal leverage, Daniel."
"Under Illinois statutory marriage laws, until the divorce decree receives final appellate certification, you remain the registered spouse of record on the 2023 Vance Maritime expansion covenants."
"I have prepared an emergency injunction petition claiming that your signature on Lawrence Vance's indemnification rider was obtained under extreme physical coercion and medical duress in Room 412."
"Sign this affidavit," Thorne said, tapping the screen.
"Grant my legal team temporary proxy over your marital claims."
Daniel stared at the digital document, his mind racing through the terrifying maze.
"If I sign this... will you pay for my appeal?" Daniel asked desperately.
"Will you hire a real private defense firm?"
"Will you get me moved to a minimum-security facility?"
Julian Thorne smiled, a cold, predatory flash of white teeth.
"Sign the proxy, Daniel," Thorne murmured.
"And I will make sure the best defense attorneys in the United States take over your case by noon."
Daniel didn't hesitate for another second.
He reached through the small document slot, grabbed the stylus pen, and scribbled his signature across the digital affidavit.
Daniel Miller.
Julian Thorne withdrew the tablet, checked the cryptographic timestamp, and snapped his leather briefcase shut.
He stood up, adjusting his silk tie, without giving Daniel another glance.
"Thank you, Daniel," Thorne said calmly as he turned toward the exit.
"Julian! Wait!" Daniel cried out, pounding against the acrylic partition with both fists.
"When are the lawyers coming?"
"What time will they file the bail petition?"
Thorne paused at the heavy iron door, looking back over his shoulder with an expression of pure, unadulterated contempt.
"No lawyers are coming, Daniel," Thorne said softly.
"Dead men don't need appellate counsel."
"And by tomorrow afternoon, your name won't even be a footnote in the history of this city."
May you like
The heavy door swung shut with a hollow thud.
Daniel was left screaming into the dead intercom, completely alone in the concrete cage.
