Chapter 17 - The Judgment
Two Years Later.
In the Federal Correctional Institution in Otisville, New York, the afternoon head count chimed over the loudspeakers.
Julian sat on his bunk in Cell Block C, staring at a small, framed photo he had cut out of an old copy of Forbes magazine that a fellow inmate had left in the dayroom.
The photo showed the new board of Sterling Holdings standing on the balcony of 57th Street.
Standing in the center, flanked by six senior managing partners, was me.
I was smiling—not at the camera, but at something off-stage, looking strong, healthy, and completely untouched by the nightmare that had unfolded in the penthouse two years ago.
Julian’s thumb traced the glass of the cheap plastic frame, his hand shaking slightly.
A heavy guard tapped his nightstick against the cell bars.
May you like
"Vance," the guard grunted. "Trash detail in five minutes. Grab your broom."
Julian didn't answer. He set the magazine cutout face down on his thin mattress, stood up, pulled his stained canvas gloves over his calloused hands, and stepped out into the cold iron corridor.
