They were arriving to arrest Adrian Vale, and anyone complicit in his finances, for massive, federal corporate fraud.
Chapter 5: The Karma of the Streets
Three weeks later.
The cold, aggressive, fluorescent lights of a federal holding cell buzzed endlessly, casting a sickly, pale yellow glow over the concrete walls.
Adrian Vale sat on a metal bench, wearing an oversized, coarse, bright orange jumpsuit. His face was gaunt, covered in a ragged, unkempt beard. His hands trembled violently as he held the greasy receiver of the communal payphone to his ear.
He dialed Vanessa’s number for the fiftieth time that week. He needed an alibi. He needed someone to corroborate his lies.
The automated, robotic voice replied instantly: The number you have reached has been disconnected or is no longer in service.
Adrian slowly hung up the phone. He stared blankly at the concrete wall.
His high-priced defense lawyers had abandoned him the exact moment the retainers bounced from his frozen accounts. The public defender assigned to him had laughed when he claimed he was a billionaire victim of a conspiracy. He was facing thirty-five years in a federal penitentiary for wire fraud, embezzlement, and defrauding investors. Vanessa, desperate to save herself, had turned state’s evidence, only to find herself permanently blacklisted, evicted from her apartment, and entirely exiled by every wealthy circle in the city.
Adrian was entirely, horrifyingly, permanently alone in the dark.
Thousands of miles away, the reality was vastly, beautifully different.
In a sun-drenched, private medical recovery suite overlooking the brilliant, azure waters of the Mediterranean Sea, I stood in front of a massive, full-length mirror.
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