Chapter 6 - The Scramble of the Rats
The holding cells at the San Diego Central Jail smelled of industrial disinfectant and despair.
Grant sat on a concrete bench in an orange jumpsuit that was three sizes too large for him. His expensive watch was gone, replaced by a plastic barcode bracelet. His nose throbbed constantly, but the jail infirmary had given him nothing more than generic ibuprofen.
The door to the interview room opened, and his mother was ushered in by a guard.
Eleanor Caldwell looked like she had aged twenty years in twenty-four hours. Her designer makeup was gone, her hair was unwashed, and she carried a cheap canvas tote bag instead of her usual Hermès Birkin.
"Mother!" Grant scrambled to the glass partition, pressing his hands against it. "Did you post bail? The judge set it at five million dollars—call the broker, liquidate the Aspen cabin!"
Eleanor looked at him with eyes that were hollow and dead.
"There is no Aspen cabin, Grant," she whispered through the intercom.
"What do you mean there's no cabin?! It’s in our family trust!"
"The trust was cross-collateralized against your corporate lines of credit," Eleanor sobbed, her voice breaking. "When the bank foreclosed yesterday, they seized everything. The house in La Jolla. The cars. The cabin. My jewelry... they sent federal marshals to our home with an asset preservation order. I’m staying at your cousin’s apartment in El Cajon."
Grant stared at her, his brain refusing to process the words. "No... no, what about the lawyers? What about our retained counsel?"
"They dropped us," Eleanor cried. "They said representing you would be a conflict of interest because their primary corporate retainer comes from a defense lobby affiliated with Elias Rowan. Nobody will touch your case, Grant! Nobody!"
Down the hall, in a private, high-security visitation suite reserved for federal depositions, Veronica Pike was having a very different kind of meeting.
Veronica sat across from Lena, who was dressed in an impeccably tailored black silk suit, her leg still resting carefully in its brace. Beside Lena sat Marcus Vance, a tape recorder resting between them on the steel table.
Veronica looked pathetic. She had chewed her fingernails down to the quick, and her designer blouse was stained with sweat.
"Lena... please," Veronica begged, reaching across the table, though Marcus immediately raised a hand to stop her. "You have to believe me. I never wanted him to hurt you. Grant... he manipulated me! He told me you two were already separated! He told me you were emotionally abusive to him!"
Lena didn't blink. Her dark eyes were like black glass, reflecting nothing. "You were in my house, Veronica. You were wearing my clothes."
"I was stupid! I was jealous!" Veronica broke down, sobbing hysterically. "You always had everything! You were so talented, so graceful, everyone loved you... and I just wanted to feel like I mattered! But I didn't know he was going to kick you! You heard me on the stairs—I told him to stop!"
"You told him to stop after you smiled," Lena said, her voice dropping into a register that made Veronica freeze. "I saw your face before I hit the marble. You thought you had taken my life."
"I’m sorry! I’ll do anything, Lena! Please, talk to your father! My dad... my dad had a heart attack this morning. He’s in the ICU. The federal prosecutors told him he’s going to be indicted the moment he leaves the hospital. Our family is finished!"
"Your family made their choices," Lena said coldly. "Just as you made yours."
Marcus leaned forward, clicking the record button on the machine.
"Miss Pike, you are here because you offered a proffer agreement," Marcus said. "You claimed you have documentation regarding Grant Caldwell’s overseas tax evasion and the illegal payoffs he made to city zoning officials to secure the waterfront bid."
Veronica wiped her nose with the back of her hand, nodding desperately. "Yes! Yes, I have everything! Grant kept a private encrypted flash drive in his office safe. He used my father’s personal PAC to route bribes to the harbor commissioners. I have the account numbers! I have the wire transfers! If I give them to you, will you drop the civil suit against me? Will you tell the prosecutor to reduce my conspiracy charges to a misdemeanor?!"
Lena leaned forward, resting her chin on her steepled fingers.
"Give us the drive, Veronica."
Veronica practically scrambled to open her purse, pulling out a tiny silver USB drive and sliding it across the table with trembling fingers. "It’s all there. Every shell company. Every bribe. It proves Grant planned the whole thing. He was going to use the waterfront money to flee to a non-extradition country if the company defaulted."
Marcus picked up the drive, slipped it into an anti-static pouch, and nodded to the guard at the door.
Veronica let out a ragged sigh of relief, slumping in her chair. "Thank you, Lena. Thank you... I swear, I’ll leave the state. You’ll never see me again. We were like sisters once, remember? In college? We—"
Lena stood up, using a pair of sleek, black carbon-fiber crutches to support herself. She moved with an effortless, predatory grace that commanded the room.
She looked down at Veronica.
"We were never sisters, Veronica. You were just a parasite who mistook my kindness for weakness."
Veronica’s smile vanished. "Wait... what about our deal? The prosecutor—"
"I never made a deal with you," Lena said quietly. "Marcus represents the private interests of Vanguard Strategic. We aren't the prosecution. But we will make sure the Department of Justice receives that drive within the hour."
"You lied to me?!" Veronica screamed, lunging out of her chair, only for the two guards to seize her by the arms and pin her against the table. "You promised!"
May you like
"I promised nothing," Lena replied, turning toward the door. "You helped destroy my marriage, you stood by while my bones were broken, and now you’ve handed us the rope to hang both yourself and your lover. Enjoy prison, Veronica. I hear the state facility in Chino doesn't provide silk robes."
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