Chapter 10 - Behind the Glass
The visitation room at the Metropolitan Correctional Center smelled of industrial bleach, stale coffee, and despair.
Ethan Bennett sat on the other side of the thick acrylic partition, wearing an oversized orange jumpsuit that swallowed his frame. His manicured hair was limp and greasy; dark purple bruises of exhaustion circled his eyes. When the guard unlocked my side of the door and I sat down, he seized the heavy plastic telephone receiver with both hands.
I picked up my receiver and held it to my ear.
"Claire," Ethan rasped. His voice was hollow, stripped of every shred of the polished confidence he had worn at the gala. "You came. God, Claire, I knew you'd come. You have to get me out of here. Please. The bail is set at five million. My lawyer says all my accounts are frozen under the RICO statutes. You're the only one who can post the bond."
"Why would I post your bond, Ethan?" I asked calmly.
"Because we loved each other!" he pleaded, pressing his forehead against the scuffed partition. "Five years, Claire! That has to mean something! I made mistakes, terrible mistakes. Madison was a parasite, she drained me dry, she manipulated me! I see that now! I swear to God, if you help me through this, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I’ll sign whatever you want. I’ll work for your foundation. I’ll be your assistant—anything!"
I looked at him through the glass. The man who had sneered at me on the grand staircase, who had paraded his mistress like a trophy, was now reduced to groveling on a prison bench.
"Madison didn't steal thirty million dollars from Northbridge's clients, Ethan," I said evenly. "You did."
Ethan flinched. "I was trying to build an empire, Claire! For us! I was under so much pressure—"
"And did you build that empire for us when you sent eighteen million dollars to Panama?"
The color instantly drained from Ethan’s face. His jaw went slack, and the plastic receiver slipped slightly in his sweaty palm.
"What... what are you talking about?" he whispered, his eyes darting frantically toward the guard standing in the corner.
"Vanguard Crest LLC," I said, articulating every syllable with deliberate clarity. "Richard Bennett. The father you told me died of lung cancer when you were twenty-one."
Ethan stopped breathing. Total, paralyzing terror settled over his features.
"Claire... stop," he whimpered into the receiver. "You don't know what you're doing. Don't dig into that. Please."
"Your father isn't dead, Ethan," I continued. "He’s sitting on a yacht in Panama City, living on stolen pension funds that you wired him while I was cooking dinner in our brownstone. You built an entire life of lies. You lied about your background, you lied about your family, you lied about your marriage, and you lied to your partners."
"You don't understand!" Ethan hissed, leaning in so close his breath fogged the acrylic glass. "My father... he isn't just an old man running a freight company! If you freeze those Panamanian accounts, you don't know who you're crossing! That money wasn't just mine!"
I arched an eyebrow. "Are you threatening me, Ethan? From behind federal glass?"
"I’m warning you!" he choked out, genuine hysteria creeping into his voice. "My father was never penniless! He had partners—dangerous people who used Northbridge to clean dirty maritime capital! I had to send that money! If the feds trace Vanguard Crest, they won't just come for me. They’ll come for him. And his associates will burn everything to the ground to keep those books closed!"
I stared at him in cold realization. Ethan wasn't just an arrogant climber who had cheated on his wife and gotten greedy. He was a small, cowardly cog in an international money-laundering machine that went far deeper than Northbridge Capital.
"Then I suggest you tell your public defender to arrange a meeting with the United States Attorney," I said, preparing to hang up the phone.
"Claire, wait! Don't hang up!" Ethan pounded his fist against the partition. "They know about the Waverly acquisition! They know you control Northbridge now! If they think you're going to hand those server logs to the Department of Justice, you’re in danger! Claire! Listen to me!"
"Goodbye, Ethan," I said quietly.
May you like
I placed the receiver back on its cradle. Through the glass, I could see Ethan screaming, slamming his palms against the partition as two burly corrections officers grabbed his arms and dragged him backward through the heavy steel door.
***
