Chapter 6 - THE PRISON PHONE CALL: WHY DOMINIC WARD LEARNED THAT HIS WEALTH COULDN'T BUY A BACKDOOR OUT OF ADX FLORENCE
The fluorescent lights of the federal holding facility hummed with an aggressive, sterile buzz that seemed to vibrate straight through the concrete walls.
Dominic Ward sat at a stainless-steel bolted table in the maximum-security processing block, his orange jumpsuit smelling faintly of industrial laundry detergent and cold sweat.
The heavy glass partition separated him from the visitation corridor, but he didn't care about visitors right now.
He cared about his phone call.
A federal corrections officer tossed a black tethered handset onto the metal shelf in front of him.
“Ten minutes, Ward. Make it quick,” the guard grunted before turning his back and leaning against the reinforced door.
Dominic snatched the handset with trembling, shackled hands, raised it to his ear, and rapidly punched a sequence of eleven numbers into the institutional keypad—his primary offshore fixer in Zurich, Switzerland.
The line rang once. Twice. Three times.
Then, a flat, automated recording kicked in.
“The number you have dialed has been disconnected, temporarily suspended, or seized pursuant to federal asset forfeiture warrant 2024-CR-0991, issued by the United States District Court for the Eastern District of Virginia.”
Dominic slammed the handset down against the metal shelf, his face flushing a furious, mottled purple.
“No! No, pick up!” he roared, slamming his fist against the steel table until the guards turned around with hands resting on their tactical batons.
He tried another number—his chief logistics coordinator in Miami.
Disconnected.
He tried his political lobbyist in Washington, D.C.
“The subscriber is no longer available at this extension.”
In less than forty-eight hours, Judge Victoria Sterling hadn't just put him behind bars; she had executed a surgical, financial decapitation of his entire global network.
Every shell company, every dummy corporation, every untraceable crypto-wallet, and every hidden bank account in the Caymans, Panama, and Zurich had been systematically frozen, audited, and seized by the Department of the Treasury under emergency judicial orders signed by the very woman he had threatened via text message two nights prior.
Dominic slumped forward, pressing his forehead against the cold stainless-steel surface of the table as the horrifying realization finally set in.
He hadn't just lost his freedom.
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He had lost every single penny, every piece of real estate, every luxury car, and every ounce of leverage he had spent a decade accumulating.
And the woman who orchestrated his absolute ruin was currently sitting behind her elevated mahogany bench, preparing to dismantle whatever remnants of his syndicate dared to twitch.
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