Chapter 7 - Rats Fleeing the Ship
By Wednesday afternoon, the federal detention center in Lower Manhattan felt like the antechamber to hell for Arthur Sterling.
Stripped of his Brioni suit, his gold watch, and his Italian leather shoes, he sat behind a scratched acrylic partition in a stiff, orange jumpsuit that smelled of institutional detergent and industrial disinfectant.
Across the partition sat Gordon Ross, looking exhausted, his tie loosened, a mountain of legal papers spreading across the narrow metal counter.
“What about bail?” Arthur pleaded, pressing his palms against the glass. “Gordon, you have to get me out on bail! I can’t survive in here! The noise, the food... these people are animals!”
Gordon let out a long, heavy sigh and rubbed his temples. “There is no bail, Arthur.”
Arthur stared at him, stunned. “What do you mean there’s no bail? I’m a non-violent offender! I have no criminal record!”
“The judge ruled you a catastrophic flight risk,” Gordon explained bluntly. “You have private shell companies in Panama, Cyprus, and the Caymans. You chartered a private jet to Saint Lucia ten days ago using misappropriated corporate funds. The prosecutor argued that if you were released on bond, you would board a private yacht to an extradition-free country within twelve hours. The magistrate agreed.”
Arthur slumped forward against the counter, his forehead resting against the cold acrylic. “What about the Cayman accounts? If we liquidate the holdings in Apex Global, we can offer full restitution! Claire will drop the civil charges if she gets the money back!”
Gordon looked at Arthur with something bordering on pity. “Arthur... have you spoken to Beatrice’s attorney?”
Arthur looked up sharply. “Beatrice? Why the hell would I talk to her? She betrayed me!”
“Beatrice didn't just sign an affidavit, Arthur,” Gordon said quietly. “Yesterday morning, Beatrice entered into a formal cooperation agreement with the Department of Justice. In exchange for total immunity from prosecution, she handed over the cryptographic keys to the Apex Global accounts.”
Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. “She... what?”
“She had the recovery phrases,” Gordon said. “You stored them in the password vault on her office laptop, Arthur. Did you really think she was just typing your memos? The federal government has already seized all forty-six million dollars in the Cayman accounts. Every single cent has been placed into a court-monitored escrow account under Claire’s custody.”
“No,” Arthur gasped. “No, that’s my money! That was my exit capital!”
“It was never your money,” Gordon snapped, his patience finally snapping. “It was Thomas Sterling’s money. It was the hospital’s money. And now the government has frozen your personal accounts, your retirement portfolio, and your penthouse in Tribeca under the federal asset forfeiture statutes. You are bankrupt, Arthur.”
“I have Harold!” Arthur shouted desperately. “My uncle will back me! He’ll hire a defense team!”
Gordon slowly packed his legal files into his briefcase, clicked the latches shut, and stood up.
“Harold Sterling resigned from the board of Sterling Holdings this morning at nine o’clock,” Gordon said. “He released a public statement condemning your actions and formally apologizing to Claire and the Sterling Trust. He isn't paying for your defense, Arthur. And as of ten minutes ago, neither are you.”
Arthur froze. “What are you saying?”
“I am withdrawing as your counsel,” Gordon said coldly. “My firm does not work on credit. The court will appoint a federal public defender to represent you at your arraignment on Friday.”
“Gordon! Gordon, you can’t abandon me!” Arthur screamed, slamming his cuffed hands against the partition. “Gordon, please!”
A heavy metal door buzzed open behind Gordon, and the attorney walked through it without looking back once.
May you like
Two burly corrections officers stepped up behind Arthur, grabbing him by the shoulders of his orange jumpsuit, hauling him back toward the dark, narrow concrete hallway that led to his cell.
***
