Chapter 5 - The Confrontation in Custody
Three days after his arrest, I finally went to see him.
The visitor’s room at the federal detention center smelled of industrial bleach and old coffee. I sat behind the scratched plexiglass divider, waiting patiently. When the heavy steel door opened, Victor walked in, handcuffed and wearing a drab orange jumpsuit.
The transformation was shocking. The polished, arrogant billionaire was gone. His hair was messy, his face was unshaven, and his eyes were bloodshot with a mixture of rage and desperation.
He slammed his hands against the plexiglass, the metal chains rattling loudly. "You think you're clever, don't you, Claire? You think you won?!"
I didn't flinch. I sat perfectly still, watching him throw his tantrum. "I don't think I won, Victor. I know I did."
"I built that company!" he screamed, his voice cracking. "I gave you everything! You were nothing before me! Just a quiet little girl playing with computers!"
"I was the mind behind the machine, Victor. You were just the loud voice selling it," I said softly, my voice carrying a terrifying weight. "You forgot that when you take the mind away, the machine stops working."
Victor sank back into his chair, the anger suddenly draining out of him, replaced by a pathetic, desperate realization. "Claire... please. We were married for eleven years. You can't let them do this to me. I'll give it all back. The money, the shares, everything. Just tell the feds it was a misunderstanding. Tell them it was a corporate restructuring gone wrong!"
"A misunderstanding?" I smiled, a cold, sharp expression. "You drugged my tea, Victor. You stood by my bed, called me useless, and walked out with my family inheritance while your mistress wore my grandmother's jewelry."
At the mention of the jewelry, Victor froze.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, transparent evidence bag. Inside it was the diamond tennis bracelet.
"The FBI returned this to me yesterday," I said, holding it up so it caught the harsh fluorescent light. "Olivia gave it up the second they offered her a bologna sandwich and a shorter sentence. She turned on you in less than forty-eight hours, Victor. That's the price of a loyalty built on stolen money."
Victor stared at the bracelet, his lips trembling. "Claire... please..."
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"Goodbye, Victor," I said, rising from my chair. "Enjoy the prison commissary. I hear the tea there is terrible."
I turned my back on him, ignoring his desperate screams as the guards dragged him back into the shadows of the prison block.
