Chapter 6 - The Fall of Whitmore
The metallic click of the heavy steel door echoed through the concrete hallway of the Manhattan Detention Complex, known throughout the city simply as the Tombs.
Cole sat on the edge of a narrow steel cot bolted to the cinderblock wall of his holding cell, wearing an oversized orange jumpsuit that made his once-athletic frame look frail and diminished. His hand-tailored suits, his Swiss watches, his luxury sports cars, and his penthouse keys had all been collected, cataloged, and sealed inside a clear plastic evidence bag at the intake desk four hours ago.
Through the small, reinforced glass window in his cell door, he could hear the distant, harsh sounds of the detention center: shouting guards, slamming gates, and the persistent hum of fluorescent lights that never turned off.
The heavy door unlocked with a loud, mechanical thud.
"Whitmore," a burly guard barked, tapping his nightstick against the frame. "You've got a visitor. Five minutes."
Cole stood up slowly, his legs stiff, and followed the guard down a narrow concrete corridor into a small, sterile visitation room divided by a thick panel of bulletproof glass.
Sitting on the stool on the opposite side of the glass was his older brother, Julian Whitmore—a quiet, hardworking landscape architect from Pennsylvania whom Cole had publicly disowned three years ago because Julian's modest lifestyle didn't fit the high-society image Cole was building in Manhattan.
Cole sat down on the metal stool, picking up the black plastic telephone receiver with a shaking hand.
"Julian," Cole rasped against the glass, a sudden wave of pathetic relief washing over his face. "Thank God you came. Have you talked to Mom? Did you manage to contact the bail bondsman?"
Julian looked at his younger brother through the glass. There was no anger in Julian’s face, only a profound, heavy disappointment that hurt worse than a physical blow.
"There is no bail, Cole," Julian said quietly into the telephone receiver. "The judge designated you a flight risk after the federal prosecutors revealed the offshore accounts in the Caymans. You're staying here until your formal sentencing hearing next month."
Cole pressed his forehead against the cold glass. "Julian, you have to help me. Talk to Lauren! Call her! She'll listen to you. Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her I'll do whatever she wants—I'll go to therapy, I'll sign over the remaining equity in the firm, I'll stay away from New York! Just tell her to drop the criminal charges so I don't have to go to state prison!"
Julian let out a slow, tired breath. "She's not doing this out of revenge, Cole. She's doing this to protect her children from a man who lost his soul to his own ego."
"I am their father!" Cole yelled, his hand slamming against the glass, causing the guard in the corner of the room to step forward warningly.
"A father doesn't leave his sick ten-month-old babies burning with fever on Christmas Eve so he can stay in a luxury hotel with another woman, Cole," Julian said, his voice dropping into an icy, unshakeable register. "A father doesn't bruise his wife's wrists because she asked why the grocery money was gone. You weren't a father, Cole. You were a tyrant in a high-end suit."
Cole pulled his hand back from the glass, his eyes brimming with hot, bitter tears of self-pity. "I built an empire, Julian! I worked eighty hours a week to give them everything!"
"You built a house of cards," Julian corrected him gently. "And you used people like disposable tools to keep it standing. Whitmore Capital filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy liquidation this morning. The board ousted you unanimously. The firm's name is being removed from the building on Park Avenue as we speak."
Cole sat in absolute silence, the words washing over him like acid.
Bankruptcy liquidation.
Ousted unanimously.
Name removed.
Everything he had sacrificed his integrity for, everything he had lied, cheated, and abused to protect, had vanished into thin air. He was thirty-six years old, penniless, disgraced, facing two years in prison, and completely abandoned by the high-society crowd that had toasted his success only months ago.
"Mom sent you this," Julian said, pulling a small, worn paper envelope from his coat pocket and pressing it against the glass window. "It's a letter. She told me to tell you that she loves you, but she won't be visiting you in prison. She called Lauren yesterday to ask for forgiveness for not noticing what was happening to her sooner."
Cole stared at the envelope, his lower lip quivering uncontrollably. "Mom spoke to Lauren?"
"Lauren brought the twins to visit Mom in Pennsylvania last weekend, Cole," Julian revealed, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips for the first time. "They are thriving. Noah is learning to walk, and Lily has her first tooth. Lauren bought Mom a small cottage down the street from my house so she can be part of their lives."
Cole felt his heart constrict so violently he thought he might drop dead on the concrete floor.
My mother. My children. My family.
They were all together, building a warm, peaceful, protected life in the quiet hills of Pennsylvania—completely whole, completely safe, and completely free of him.
"Your five minutes are up, Whitmore," the guard announced, stepping up behind Cole's stool and grabbing his arm.
Julian slowly hung up the telephone receiver, stood up from his stool, and looked at his brother through the glass one last time.
May you like
"Goodbye, Cole," Julian said softly.
Julian turned and walked out through the heavy security doors into the bright daylight, leaving Cole alone in the dark room, listening to the mechanical locking of the doors that would define the rest of his miserable life.
