Chapter 5 - Fall from Grace
While the legal walls were closing in on Grant, the criminal justice system was laying waste to Sienna Blake.
Inside the stark, windowless interview room of the Cook County Criminal Courthouse, Sienna sat dressed in a bright orange inmate jumpsuit. Her long dark hair was greasy and unwashed, her makeup gone, exposing pale, hollow skin. Her wrists were bound by steel handcuffs attached to a heavy belly chain.
Across from her sat her court-appointed defense attorney, Mark Ronson.
"The State Prosecutor just flatly rejected our plea bargain proposal," Ronson said, dropping a thick legal folder onto the metal table.
Sienna’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with manic desperation. "What?! Why?! It was just a cake! People throw cakes on TV all the time! It was a joke!"
"It wasn't a joke, Sienna," Ronson sighed, rubbing his temples. "You hurled a solid, six-pound tiered cake directly at a woman in her third trimester. The physical impact and psychological shock caused a immediate placental abruption. That is legally defined as aggravated battery causing severe bodily harm."
"Grant told me she was crazy!" Sienna screamed, shaking her handcuffed hands, making the metal chains clatter violently against the table. "Grant told me they were sleeping in separate bedrooms! He told me he was going to divorce her as soon as the baby was born! He manipulated me!"
"That might be true emotionally, but legally, you walked into a private event, publicly harassed a woman, and physically assaulted her," Ronson explained coldly. "And because the video went viral nationwide, the District Attorney is making an example out of you. They are pushing for the maximum sentence."
"How long?!" Sienna gasped, tears cutting dirty tracks through the dust on her cheeks.
"If found guilty at trial on all counts? Three to seven years in a state penitentiary."
Sienna collapsed against the metal chair, let out a piercing shriek of horror, and began sobbing hysterically. She had been a rising interior designer, accustomed to mimosa brunches, designer bags, and high-society parties. Now, she was looking at years in a maximum-security prison cell.
"Is... is Grant going to help me?" Sienna choked out, gripping Ronson's sleeve. "His family has millions! Can't he pay my bail? Can't he hire me a real lawyer?"
Ronson looked at her with pity mixed with disgust. "Grant Morgan filed a temporary restraining order against you yesterday morning, Sienna. His legal team is claiming you stalked him and forced your way into the restaurant to ruin his marriage."
Sienna stared at him, her mouth agape. "He... he threw me to the wolves?"
"He threw you under the bus, flipped it, and ran over you twice," Ronson said blunt. "You're on your own."
Meanwhile, across town at the exclusive River North apartment complex, Grant Morgan was experiencing his own personal hell.
He was sitting alone in his dark, messy living room. Empty bourbon bottles and takeout containers littered the expensive mahogany coffee table. The blinds were pulled tightly shut, but he could still hear the faint shouts of paparazzi and reporters standing on the sidewalk five floors below.
His phone buzzed on the couch. It was his father, Arthur Morgan.
Grant scrambled to grab it. "Dad! Dad, please tell me you talked to the board at the firm—"
"Don't call me 'Dad'," Arthur Morgan's stern, icy voice cut through the receiver. "I am calling you as the chairman of the family trust."
Grant swallowed hard. "Dad, please..."
"The board of Morgan & Sterling held a emergency shareholder meeting an hour ago," Arthur stated, his tone completely devoid of parental warmth. "Because of the unprecedented public backlash, the loss of three major institutional clients worth forty million dollars, and the pending criminal charges against you, the firm has formally revoked your equity shares."
"You can't do that! I built the tech portfolio!" Grant screamed, clutching his head.
"We can, and we did under the moral turpitude clause of your employment contract," Arthur replied coldly. "Furthermore, your mother and I have decided to cut off your access to the family trust fund. We will not be paying your legal fees for the criminal trial."
"Dad! I am your son!" Grant sobbed, falling to his knees on the rug. "You're abandoning me?!"
"You humiliated this family name in front of the entire country, Grant," Arthur said, his voice dropping an octave. "You showed yourself to be not only a dishonest husband, but an utter coward who laughed while a pregnant woman was harmed. You are a liability to everything I have built. Do not come to the house. Do not call your mother. Fix your own mess."
Click.
The line went dead.
Grant sat on the floor, listening to the hollow dial tone. The silence in the luxurious apartment was deafening.
He had lost his job. He had lost his money. He had lost his reputation. He had lost his mistress, his parents, his wife, and his child.
May you like
He looked at his reflection in the dark screen of the television across the room. He saw a broken, hollow shell of a man staring back.
He raised his bottle of bourbon, drank until his throat burned, and slumped onto the floor, weeping in the dark.
