Chapter 11 - The Echoes of Rikers
The smell of sour bleach and damp concrete clung to the intake visitation room of the Rose M. Singer Center on Rikers Island.
Vanessa sat hunched over the scratched stainless steel table, her wrists red and chafed from transport restraints.
The emerald dress had been stripped from her body hours ago, replaced by a drab, oversized khaki jumpsuit that smelled of institutional laundry.
Every ten seconds, her eyes darted to the armed guard standing near the heavy iron partition.
She flinched at the clang of sliding steel gates, shivering as if the chill of the East River had settled directly inside her bones.
When the heavy security door buzzed open, she sat up with desperate speed, expecting to see an army of lawyers carrying release papers.
Instead, a single state-assigned public defender walked in, carrying an overstuffed accordion folder held together by a frayed rubber band.
His name was Thomas Alvarez, a tired man in his late forties with deep purple rings under his eyes and a coffee stain on his lapel.
He dropped the heavy folder onto the steel table with a dull thud and slid into the chair opposite her.
“Vanessa Vance?” he asked, checking the handwritten docket sheet.
“Where is my private counsel?” Vanessa demanded, her voice shrill and cracked from hours of screaming.
“My father hired Gibson & Dunn!”
“They’re supposed to have me out on an emergency writ!”
Alvarez rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out an exhausted breath.
“Gibson & Dunn withdrew their representation three hours ago, Miss Vance.”
“Your father’s retainer check bounced because the State Attorney General froze every operating account linked to Vance Financial.”
“You are currently classified as indigent for the purposes of today’s bail hearing.”
“I am your court-appointed counsel.”
Vanessa stared at him as if he had spoken in a foreign language.
“Indigent?” she whispered, her lips trembling with horror.
“Do you know who I am?”
“I was on the shortlist for the Hayes Foundation Fellowship!”
“I have ninety thousand followers on Instagram!”
“I am not indigent!”
Alvarez didn’t even blink at her outrage; he had heard identical speeches from hundreds of fallen socialites before her.
“You are currently an inmate facing two Class C felony counts of Grand Larceny in the Second Degree and Criminal Mischief in the Second Degree.”
“The complainant has retained Bradley Mercer, who is working in direct coordination with the District Attorney’s Special Prosecutions Bureau.”
“They have four-K security video of you snapping an authenticated eighteen-forty-two Cremonese violin across your knee.”
“They have audio of you admitting intent.”
“And the district attorney has just added a third charge: Tampering with Physical Evidence, because you attempted to hide the broken bridge in your makeup clutch.”
Vanessa pressed her palms against her temples, rocking back and forth violently.
“It was an accident!” she sobbed, tears cutting through the grime on her unwashed cheeks.
“Tell them Claire provoked me!”
“She wouldn't share her dress!”
“She’s my sister! She’s supposed to support me!”
Alvarez closed his folder and leaned forward, his voice flat and brutally honest.
“Miss Vance, no jury in the state of New York is going to accept that destroying an eighty-thousand-dollar antique is a justifiable reaction to not getting a dress.”
“The prosecutor offered a plea bargain twenty minutes ago before I walked in here.”
Vanessa looked up, a glimmer of desperate hope returning to her eyes.
“A plea? What kind of plea?”
“They drop the grand larceny down to a misdemeanor?”
“I pay a fine and do some community service?”
“No,” Alvarez said bluntly.
“Two years in a state correctional facility, followed by five years of strict probation and eighty thousand dollars in direct restitution to Claire Vance.”
“If you refuse the plea and take this to trial, you are facing a mandatory minimum of three to nine years in Bedford Hills.”
Vanessa let out a strangled shriek, falling forward until her forehead hit the cold metal table.
“No! No! I can’t go to prison!”
“I’ll die in there!”
“Call Claire!”
“You have to make Claire talk to me!”
“Claire Vance has obtained a permanent emergency protective order against you,” Alvarez replied, standing up and gathering his papers.
“If you attempt to call, text, write, or have a third party contact her, your bail will be permanently revoked and you will face additional felony contempt charges.”
“You have until four o'clock this afternoon to decide on the plea offer.”
May you like
The security buzzer sounded, and the heavy door unlocked.
Alvarez walked out without looking back, leaving Vanessa clutching the edge of the steel table, her world collapsing into absolute darkness.
