Chapter 6 - The Visitor in the Holding Cell
Three days later, I drove to the Santa Clara County Federal Holding Facility.
I didn't go because I missed Preston. I didn't go out of pity. I went because I wanted to close the final door on that chapter of my life with absolute finality.
I was escorted into a private glass visitation room.
A moment later, the heavy metal door clicked open, and Preston was led inside by a guard, wearing a bright orange jumpsuit, his wrists restrained by handcuffs.
He looked terrible. The polished, charismatic man who had poured six-thousand-dollar wine on my balcony three nights ago was completely gone. His hair was messy, dark circles sat heavy beneath his eyes, and his hands trembled continuously.
He sat down across from me on the steel chair, looking at me through the reinforced glass.
“Eliza...” he whispered into the small intercom receiver, his voice hollow and weak. “You... you actually came.”
I picked up my phone receiver, looking at him with cool detachment. “I’m here to give you one final update on your affairs, Preston.”
“Liza, please... my lawyer says I’m facing fifteen to twenty years in federal prison,” he wept, pressing his hands against the glass. “You have connections in Washington! You know the prosecution team! Tell them it was a personal matter! Tell them you forgive me!”
I stared at him through the glass. “Forgive you? You tried to ruin my company, steal forty-two million dollars, and hand my life’s work to a competitor.”
“I was stupid!” Preston cried out, tears streaming down his face. “Julian manipulated me! He convinced me that you didn't respect me! He made me feel like I was just your shadow!”
“You were in my shadow because you chose never to build anything of your own, Preston,” I said softly, every word laced with truth. “I gave you a position at Ironvale. I gave you respect, wealth, and a home. But you didn't want to build—you wanted to possess what wasn't yours.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head against the shelf. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“The federal government has seized all offshore accounts tied to your name,” I informed him clearly. “The court has approved my petition for full asset forfeiture. The Palo Alto house, the vehicles, the investments—they are all legally registered under my sole ownership.”
Preston looked up, his eyes wide with desperate realization. “You’re leaving me with nothing?”
“No, Preston,” I corrected him. “I’m leaving you with exactly what you brought into our marriage twelve years ago: nothing.”
May you like
I stood up, adjusting my coat, and set the phone receiver back onto its hook.
Preston banged his wrists against the glass, shouting my name as the guards stepped forward to restrain him, but I turned my back and walked out of the room, never looking back.
