Chapter 4 - The Cell on Commerce Street
The Lew Sterrett Justice Center on Commerce Street smelled of industrial floor cleaner, stale sweat, and iron.
Nathan Sterling sat on the edge of a narrow metal bench inside a six-by-eight holding cell, his bespoke charcoal suit ruined. The coffee stain on his lapel had dried into a stiff, dark crust, and the left elbow of his jacket was torn from when the arresting officers had forced him down onto the mahogany dining table.
His hands were clasped between his knees, trembling uncontrollably.
For four hours, he had sat in the dim light, listening to the echoing screams of other inmates down the corridor, the slamming of steel doors, and the cold, mechanical hum of the facility's ventilation system.
"Sterling! Attorney visit!" a guard barked, unlocking the heavy metal door with a loud CLANG.
Nathan sprang to his feet, a wave of desperate relief washing over him. "Finally! Jesus Christ, what took so long?!"
He was led down a narrow concrete hallway into a small, windowless consultation room divided by a thick panel of plexiglass.
On the other side of the glass sat Richard Hayes, the Sterling family’s chief corporate council for the past decade. Richard looked pale, his necktie loosened, his briefcase sitting open on the small counter before him.
Nathan slammed his hand against the glass as he sat down on the metal stool. "Richard! Get me out of here! They put me in handcuffs in my own damn house! Judge Miller needs to sign my bond right now! I'll pay whatever it takes—fifty thousand, a hundred thousand, I don't care!"
Richard didn't move. He didn't open his binder. He simply looked at Nathan with a mixture of pity and intense irritation.
"Nathan, sit down and listen to me very carefully," Richard said through the small metal speaker grill. "There is no bond."
Nathan froze, his eyes widening. "What do you mean there's no bond?! It's a misdemeanor domestic dispute! First offense!"
"It was arraigned as a Class 3 Felony continuous family violence charge because of the previous documented incidents she provided to the prosecutor," Richard corrected him coldly. "And that's just the state charge. The federal prosecutors from the Northern District of Texas served a detainer forty-five minutes ago."
"Federal?!" Nathan shrieked, his voice cracking. "What the hell are you talking about federal?!"
"The Oak Lawn refinancing papers," Richard explained, tapping a paper on his side of the glass. "You pledged the Highland Park estate as primary collateral to Texas First Bank. The deed belongs exclusively to the Vance-Sterling Revocable Trust. Pledging a forty-million-dollar asset you do not own to secure a federal banking institution line of credit constitutes bank fraud over five million dollars. That is a federal felony with a mandatory minimum sentence."
Nathan’s head felt light, a loud buzzing sound filling his ears. "No... no, Richard, you don't understand! Vanessa is my wife! What's hers is mine! It was just a technicality!"
"She is not just your wife, Nathan. She is Vanessa Vance-Sterling," Richard snapped, leaning close to the glass. "Why in God's name did you never tell me her full maiden name?!"
"Because she said her father ran a business in Asheville!" Nathan screamed, tears of frustration spilling down his dirty cheeks. "She drove a three-year-old Volvo! She wore plain clothes! She ran some stupid little interior design studio in Bishop Arts that made fifty grand a year!"
"That 'stupid little design studio' was a registered branch office for Sterling Global Land Holdings!" Richard shouted back. "She used that office to manage seventy million dollars in Dallas real estate acquisitions while you were running around town pretending to be a big shot on her allowance! Do you have any idea who her uncle is?! Julian Sterling called the managing partners of my firm an hour ago! He told them that if our firm represents you in this case, Sterling Global will pull forty million dollars in legal retainers from our East Coast offices!"
Nathan felt his chest tighten so hard he couldn't catch his breath. "Richard... you're my lawyer. You've been my father's lawyer for ten years!"
"My firm dropped you as a client twenty minutes ago, Nathan," Richard said flatly, gathering his papers and snapping his briefcase shut. "I'm only here as a professional courtesy to deliver this message personally. You need a public defender."
"Richard! Wait! No! You can't leave me here!" Nathan yelled, banging his fists against the plexiglass. "Where is my mother?! Call my mother!"
Richard paused near the door, turning back to look at the weeping man behind the glass.
"Your mother was evicted from the Highland Park estate three hours ago," Richard said softly. "Her personal bank accounts were frozen alongside the corporate ones. Last I heard, she was sitting on her luggage at the lobby of the St. Regis, trying to find a hotel that would accept a declined credit card."
Richard pushed the door open and walked out, leaving Nathan alone in the small gray room.
Nathan sank back onto the cold metal stool, staring at his reflection in the dark glass. His mind raced frantically, replaying the events of the previous night—the cold kitchen, the spilled coffee, the four slaps that he had delivered with such smug, cruel confidence.
“So you finally learned your place.”
May you like
The words he had spoken to her echoed in his mind, mocking him, burning through his soul like acid.
He buried his face in his stained hands and began to weep violently into the empty room.
