Chapter 3 - The Glass Wall
The Metropolitan Detention Center was a concrete monolith that seemed designed to drain the humanity out of everyone who entered it.
I sat in a small, private interview room, separated from the inmate side by a thick sheet of plexiglass.
The air was freezing, and the hum of the fluorescent lights was maddeningly consistent.
The heavy steel door on the opposite side clicked open.
Elian Vale stepped inside, flanked by a guard.
He wasn't wearing the bespoke Italian suits he used to favor.
He was in an oversized orange jumpsuit, his hair longer and unstyled, his face pale and slightly gaunt.
Yet, when he saw me, that familiar, arrogant smirk crept back onto his lips.
He sat down, picking up the gray plastic telephone receiver.
I did the same.
“Clara,” he said, his voice echoing through the static of the line. “You look as cheerful as ever. Did you come to apologize for ruining my wedding?”
“You look smaller in orange, Elian,” I said, keeping my tone perfectly conversational. “It doesn't suit you.”
He chuckled, leaning back in his chair.
“Four years in a minimum-security facility with early parole. That’s what your little stunt bought me. I’ll be out before I’m thirty-two, Clara. Still wealthy. Still a Vale.”
“You think your father’s brother is going to keep you rich?” I asked, tilting my head. “Raymond Vale doesn't care about you. He cares about protecting the assets that haven't been seized yet.”
Elian’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
“We’re taking care of things. The family is fine.”
“Then why did Raymond’s IT specialists try to break into my server last night?”
Elian didn't look surprised.
He leaned closer to the glass, his eyes narrowing into a cruel, familiar shape.
“Maybe they were just looking for old memories. Mara had so many beautiful things saved on her phone. It’s a shame she’s being so difficult. The trial hasn't even started yet, Clara. A lot can happen to a girl’s reputation on the witness stand.”
“Are you threatening her again?”
“I’m stating a fact,” he whispered, his breath fogging the glass. “My father’s legal team is going to pull her life apart. Every past relationship, every college party, every medical record. By the time they’re done, the jury will think she gave herself those marks just to get out of a contract.”
My blood ran cold, but my face remained an unreadable mask.
I knew he was trying to provoke me.
He wanted me to scream, to threaten him, to give his lawyers a reason to claim witness harassment.
“You really don't understand how this works, do you?” I said softly.
Elian frowned.
“Understand what?”
“You think you’re the one holding the leverage because your uncle is playing dirty,” I said, leaning in until I was inches from the glass. “But you forgot who audited your father’s foundation. I didn't just look at the money that went to politicians, Elian. I looked at the money that went to you.”
He blinked, his arrogance suddenly wavering.
“What are you talking about?”
“The luxury apartment in Miami. The offshore yacht registration in the Caymans. You signed those tax exemptions yourself, claiming they were business expenses for the Vale Group,” I said, a slow, sharp smile spreading across my face. “That’s not corporate fraud, Elian. That’s personal tax evasion on a massive scale. The IRS hasn't even looked at you yet because the DOJ wanted you for the conspiracy charge.”
I paused, letting the weight of my words settle into the room.
“If I send my secondary analysis to the criminal investigation division of the IRS, your plea deal with Marcus Vance won't mean a thing. They will indict you separately. You won't be going to a minimum-security camp for four years. You’ll be doing fifteen years in a federal penitentiary with real criminals.”
The color drained from his face, leaving him looking exactly as he had when the FBI stepped into the glass chapel.
“You’re bluffing,” he stammered, his fingers tightening around the receiver.
May you like
“Try me,” I whispered. “Tell your uncle to back off. Tell him that if my server gets so much as a spam email from his network again, I will personally print your tax indictments and hand-deliver them to the revenue service.”
I hung up the receiver, stood up, and walked out without looking back.
