Chapter 6 - The Iron Door
The county detention facility was an ugly concrete block situated three miles south of the rail yards. It smelled of industrial floor stripper, cold ham sandwiches, and despair.
Eric sat at a stainless-steel table in the attorney consultation booth, his wrists raw from the steel handcuffs he had worn during the transport van ride. He had spent the night on a plastic mattress three inches thick, listening to the screams of men withdrawing from heroin down the tier.
He still had on his tailored trousers, though they were now crumpled and stained with gray dirt. His silk shirt had lost two buttons.
The heavy steel door buzzed, and his defense attorney, Richard Sterling, entered. Sterling was a high-priced criminal defense lawyer whose retainer had been wired by Evelyn at 6:00 AM sharp. He looked exhausted, carrying a thick leather folio under his arm.
“Richard,” Eric said, jumping to his feet. “Thank God. Tell me the bail hearing is set. Get me out of here. I have a 2:00 PM conference call with the Miller partners.”
Sterling didn't sit down immediately. He closed the heavy door, walked over, and tossed the folio onto the metal table with a heavy thud.
“Sit down, Eric,” Sterling said flatly.
“Did you talk to Claire?” Eric demanded, leaning over the table. “Did my mother get the recantation signed? I told her Claire would fold. She always folds when you push her hard enough.”
“Claire didn't fold,” Sterling said, pulling out a metal chair and sitting down. “In fact, Claire just handed the state attorney enough ammunition to bury you under the prison.”
Eric froze, his hands hovering over the table. “What are you talking about?”
“The aggravated domestic battery charge was bad enough,” Sterling explained, his voice devoid of sympathy. “The witness, Dana Kowalski, is a certified trauma nurse. Her deposition is airtight. She testified that she saw you physically drag an eight-month pregnant woman onto concrete, verbally abuse her, and intentionally flee the scene while depriving her of medical assistance. The jury will despise you within thirty seconds of the opening statement.”
“It’s a misdemeanor assault at best!” Eric sputtered. “First-time offense! Pre-trial diversion!”
“It was a second-degree felony until twenty minutes ago,” Sterling countered, tapping the folio. “Then the prosecutor amended the indictment. You are now facing two counts of felony child abuse, one count of aggravated domestic battery, and three counts of identity theft and bank fraud.”
Eric’s breath caught in his throat. The room seemed to contract.
“Bank fraud?” Eric whispered, his voice cracking into a high, pathetic pitch. “How... how do they know about the bank?”
“Your wife’s family ran a forensic audit on your laptop, Eric. Did you really think storing scanned PDFs of forged HELOC authorizations on your local hard drive was a good idea?” Sterling shook his head in disbelief. “You forged your wife’s signature to borrow a quarter-million dollars against her inherited property. Then you laundered it through an offshore crypto exchange.”
“I was going to pay it back!” Eric yelled, his face turning purple. “The market dipped! It was a hedge! I was going to replace the funds before the annual statement!”
“You didn't replace them,” Sterling said coldly. “You used the remaining thirty thousand to pay for luxury weekend excursions with Julianna Reed.”
The name Julianna hit Eric like an anvil dropped from the ceiling.
He slumped back into his metal chair, his arms dropping limply between his knees. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
“Miller & Croft terminated you an hour ago,” Sterling delivered the final blow. “They revoked your partnership track, scrubbed your bio from the website, and locked your office. Julianna Reed was questioned by human resources at 10:00 AM; she turned over all your text messages and emails in exchange for immunity from corporate liability. She threw you under the bus, Eric. She backed the bus up and ran over you twice.”
Eric stared at the gray concrete wall.
Everything he had spent fifteen years building—the prestige, the private clubs, the corner office, the Audi, the envy of his peers—had disintegrated in less than twenty-four hours.
“My mother,” Eric choked out, tears of self-pity finally leaking from his bloodshot eyes. “My mother will post bail. She has the family trust.”
“Your mother is currently being investigated for witness tampering,” Sterling said, standing up. “She showed up at Claire’s hospital room this morning attempting to coerce a recantation. Thomas Vance recorded the entire interaction on his phone. The county prosecutor is reviewing the audio right now.”
Sterling picked up his folio and tapped on the reinforced glass window for the guard to unlock the door.
“Richard, wait!” Eric pleaded, scrambling toward the glass. “You’re my lawyer! You have to fix this! What do I do? What is my defense?”
Sterling paused at the door, looking back at the broken, disheveled man he had known as a polished corporate litigator.
“If you want my legal advice, Eric?” Sterling said quietly. “Pray that your daughter is born healthy. Because if that baby suffers a single complication from the trauma you caused yesterday, the prosecutor is going to add attempted manslaughter to your docket. And there isn't a judge in this state who will give you less than twenty years.”
The heavy steel door slammed shut.
The bolt locked with a final, echoing *clack.*
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Eric fell to his knees on the filthy concrete floor, his hands clutching his head as he began to wail into the empty room.
***
