Chapter 7 - The Plea of the Desperate
Three days later, inside the attorney-client visitation room at Rikers Island, Daniel Whitmore looked like a shell of his former self.
The sharp Italian suits were gone, replaced by a drab grey inmate jumpsuit. His hair was messy, dark circles hollowed his eyes, and his hands trembled as he sat across the metal table from his lawyer, Marcus.
The heavy steel door unlocked, and Eleanor Vance stepped into the room, holding a slim leather folder.
Daniel jumped up from his chair, his eyes wide with desperate hope. "Eleanor! Did Claire come? Is she outside?!"
"Sit down, Mr. Whitmore," Eleanor said coldly, sitting across from him without extending her hand.
Daniel slumped back into his chair, clutching the edge of the metal table. "Please, Eleanor... tell Claire I'm sorry. I was crazy! I was stressed about the company, Vanessa was manipulating me... it was a mistake! I'll do anything! I'll sign over my remaining stock options, I'll publicly apologize!"
Eleanor opened her folder and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
"This is a full, unconditional confession and waiver of all marital assets," Eleanor stated plainly. "You will surrender any claim to Vance-Sterling property, sign over your remaining founder stock, and agree to a complete, permanent order of protection."
"And what do I get in return?" Daniel asked, his voice cracking with desperation. "Reduced charges? Probation?"
Eleanor looked at him with absolute detachment. "In return, the District Attorney will recommend a sentence of eight years instead of fifteen for felony assault, corporate embezzlement, and tax fraud."
"Eight years?!" Daniel yelled, slamming his hand on the table. "I can't survive eight years in prison! Marcus, tell her that's insane!"
His lawyer, Marcus, sighed heavily and looked down at his notes. "Daniel... the financial audit Vance-Sterling completed yesterday uncovered three million dollars in illegal off-book transfers you made to offshore accounts in Grand Cayman. If this goes to a federal jury, you're looking at twenty years minimum. Eight years is a gift."
Daniel buried his face in his hands, letting out a ragged, heartbroken sob. The magnitude of his utter destruction was finally clear to him. He had traded a life of unlimited wealth, love, and prestige for an executive assistant's flattery—and ended up in a concrete cell with nothing.
"Where is Vanessa?" Daniel asked through his tears, looking up. "Is she helping with my defense?"
Eleanor smiled—a sharp, cold smile. "Miss Cole's apartment was repossessed yesterday by her landlord. She is currently staying in a budget motel in New Jersey, facing civil bankruptcy and three counts of corporate conspiracy. She has refused all your calls."
Daniel closed his eyes as a single tear ran down his cheek.
With a trembling hand, he picked up the pen and signed his name at the bottom of the confession document.
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"Tell Claire..." Daniel whispered, his voice broken. "...tell her she won."
Eleanor pulled the signed document back and placed it neatly into her folder. "Claire didn't enter a contest, Mr. Whitmore. She simply stopped protecting you from yourself."
