Chapter 7 - The Plea Bargain War
Three days later.
The attorney visitation room at the Cook County Jail was cold, grey, and smelled faintly of floor wax and stale coffee.
Daniel sat behind a thick sheet of plexiglass, wearing an orange jumpsuit that hung loosely over his shoulders. In seventy-two hours, he looked as if he had aged ten years. His polished hair was greasy, his eyes bloodshot, and his hands trembling as he clutched the black plastic phone receiver.
On the other side of the glass sat his high-priced criminal defense lawyer, Jonathan Vance—who was demanding a fifty-thousand-dollar cash retainer that Daniel no longer had access to.
“Jonathan,” Daniel pleaded, his voice raspy through the small speaker. “You have to get me out on bail! The guys in my cell block... they know who I am! They saw the news!”
“Daniel, listen to me,” Jonathan said, leaning over the small metal counter. “The judge set your bail at two million dollars cash. Your personal accounts are frozen. Your firm stripped your equity shares. Your mother refused to put her house up as collateral. You don't have the money.”
Daniel gasped, pressing his forehead against the cold glass. “My mother refused?!”
“She said you brought this shame on the family herself,” Jonathan stated neutrally. “Now, listen carefully. The prosecutor just called me. They are offering a plea bargain.”
Daniel looked up, a spark of desperate hope flashing in his bloodshot eyes. “A plea bargain? How many months? I can do probation! I’ll do community service!”
Jonathan sighed, rubbing his temples. “It’s not probation, Daniel. They are offering seven years in a state penitentiary if you plead guilty to all charges and agree to testify against Camille Vale.”
“Seven years?!” Daniel screamed, slamming his hand against the counter. “I can’t do seven years in prison! I’m a managing partner! I won't survive a month in there!”
“If you go to trial, Daniel,” Jonathan warned, his voice dropping into a harsh, realistic whisper, “with the digital evidence Serena’s team handed them, you are looking at twenty-five years without parole. They have you on wire fraud, non-profit theft, and forgery. It’s an open-and-shut case.”
At that moment, the heavy door behind Jonathan opened.
The female prosecutor stepped into the room, holding a new document.
“Jonathan,” the prosecutor said, handing a paper through the slot. “You might want to review this with your client before he decides on the seven-year deal.”
Jonathan took the paper and read it rapidly. His eyes widened.
“What is it?” Daniel asked, his heart sinking into a black pit of terror. “What is that?”
“Camille Vale just signed a full cooperation agreement with the state,” the prosecutor announced with a cold, victorious smile. “She handed over thirty-four recorded phone calls where you explicitly explained how you were going to use the Harbor House funds to buy her Lincoln Park apartment. She’s testifying that you threatened to ruin her career if she didn't help you set up the offshore shell companies.”
Daniel stared at the prosecutor, his jaw hanging open, his breath coming in wild, shallow gasps.
“She... she turned on me?” Daniel whimpered, tears spilling down his pale cheeks. “I bought her everything! I ruined my life for her!”
“The seven-year plea bargain is off the table, Mr. Blake,” the prosecutor said, reaching for the door handle. “The new offer is twelve years. You have until 5:00 PM to sign it, or we go to trial for thirty.”
May you like
The door shut with a heavy, metallic clang.
Daniel sat alone in the small booth, holding the black plastic receiver, listening to the hollow dial tone echoing in his ear like the tolling of a funeral bell.
