Chapter 11 - The Steel Mesh of the Metropolitan Center
The air inside the Metropolitan Correctional Center tasted of ozone and institutional bleach.
Adrian Vale sat behind a panel of scratched ballistic glass.
He wore an unironed orange jumpsuit stamped with federal property numbers.
His hair was cut short by prison barbers.
His hands were folded on the Formica counter.
The skin over his knuckles was dry and peeling from the low-grade communal soap.
A heavy steel door buzzed open on the visitor’s side of the barrier.
Marcus Vance walked in carrying an accordion file held together by rubber bands.
Marcus looked older.
The sharp swagger that had once commanded seven hundred dollars an hour was gone.
He set his briefcase on the floor and sat down on the bolted metal stool.
He picked up the black plastic telephone handset.
Adrian lifted his receiver.
“The trial date is set,” Marcus said without greeting him.
“When?” Adrian asked.
His voice sounded thin, stripped of its resonance by four months of concrete walls.
“September fourteenth.”
“Castillo denied our motion for change of venue.”
“He said the jury pool in Cook County is perfectly capable of remaining impartial.”
Adrian let out a short, hollow scoff that rattled in the telephone receiver.
“Impartial?”
“Every billboard on the Kennedy Expressway has Frank Bellweather’s face on it.”
“Emma turned a local fire into a holy war.”
Marcus flipped open a manila folder filled with typed interview summaries.
“It isn't just the billboards, Adrian.”
“The U.S. Attorney handed over the grand jury witness list yesterday.”
Adrian’s gaze sharpened.
“Who’s testifying?”
“Henrik Lindqvist for the board.”
“Peter Sloan for the arson logistics.”
“The chief building inspector for the falsified zoning clearance.”
Adrian leaned forward until his breath fogged the Plexiglas.
“What about Luca?”
Marcus paused.
He swallowed hard before answering.
“Luca signed a full cooperation agreement two days ago.”
“He’s not just testifying about the Bellweather fire.”
“He gave the prosecutors your personal encrypted phone logs from the 2021 land auction in Pilsen.”
“He gave them the offshore routing slips from Zurich.”
Adrian’s grip on the handset turned white.
“He was my family.”
“I paid for his law school.”
“I bought his penthouse on Michigan Avenue.”
“He was looking at thirty years, Adrian,” Marcus whispered.
“When the federal government puts thirty years on the table, family loyalty dissolves.”
Adrian stared past Marcus at the painted cinderblock wall.
He remembered the evening of the fire.
He remembered sitting at his long walnut table, pouring twenty-year-old scotch, believing that power was an impenetrable wall of paper and money.
He had thought the world was divided into predators and prey.
He had believed Emma was merely an ornament he had agreed to shelter.
“What about her?” Adrian asked.
His voice dropped so low Marcus had to press the receiver tightly against his ear.
“What about Emma?”
Marcus hesitated again.
“She isn't on the government’s witness list.”
Adrian looked up, his brow furrowing.
“Why wouldn't Hayes put her on the stand?”
“She doesn't need to take the stand,” Marcus said softly.
“She already handed over the land covenants and the forensic accounting ledger.”
“The government’s documentary case is airtight without her saying a single word in front of the jury.”
“And Adrian… she filed the final decree of dissolution yesterday morning.”
“The divorce is finalized.”
Adrian sat frozen.
“She took the name Sterling back?”
“Yes.”
“She didn't ask for alimony.”
“She didn't ask for a penny of your liquid assets.”
“She only kept the Sterling Land Covenant and the riverfront deeds.”
Adrian felt a cold, dull weight settle in his throat.
If she had fought for his money, he could have understood her.
If she had demanded half his stock, half his penthouses, half his art collection, he could have fought her in court until her resources were exhausted.
He understood greed.
He understood ambition.
He understood revenge.
He did not understand a woman who simply walked away with the soil and left the fortune behind to rot.
“Tell her I want to see her,” Adrian whispered.
Marcus shook his head slowly.
“She won't come, Adrian.”
“Tell her,” Adrian demanded, his voice flaring with sudden, desperate urgency.
“Tell her I will instruct you to waive the evidentiary challenges on the offshore accounts.”
“Tell her I will plead guilty to the conspiracy counts without a trial.”
“Just get her in this room for ten minutes.”
Marcus stared at the former billionaire through the scratched plastic barrier.
“I will ask Hayes,” Marcus said quietly.
“But don't hold your breath, Adrian.”
May you like
“She isn't looking behind her anymore.”
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