Chapter 5 - The Downfall of High Society
While Maya held her newborn son in the secure hospital suite, her mother was experiencing the brutal, unsparing reality of the municipal detention center downtown.
Diane Vance sat alone on a bolted aluminum bench inside a stark, gray holding cell. The pink designer blazer she had worn to the baby shower was stained with dust from the ballroom floor; her heavy pearl necklace had been confiscated during booking; and her hair was hopelessly unstyled. The arrogant matriarch who had commanded rooms full of corporate executives and charity board members was now just another prisoner wearing a coarse orange jumpsuit, ignored by the guards and utterly abandoned by the high-society friends who had previously courted her favor.
The heavy steel door of the holding cell clanked open. A female corrections officer stood in the doorway, holding a clipboard and a clear plastic bag containing Diane’s seized wedding ring and car keys.
"Diane Vance. You have a legal visitor in Booth Two," the officer barked unceremoniously.
Diane stood up slowly, her joints aching from the hard bench, her face lined with exhaustion and venomous fury. She shuffled out into the concrete hallway, dragging her rubber-soled slides against the floor, and entered the glass-partitioned visitation booth.
She picked up the heavy plastic telephone receiver with a trembling hand. Sitting on the other side of the glass wasn't a defense attorney offering a miraculous loophole, nor was it a sympathetic family member coming to her rescue.
It was James Sterling, the high-priced corporate defense attorney she had retained for thirty years—and the man who had just reviewed the federal indictment packet.
"James! Thank God!" Diane shrieked into the intercom, pressing her face against the glass partition. "Get me out of this hellhole! File a writ of habeas corpus! Sue the police department! Do whatever it takes!"
James looked at her through the glass with an expression of profound, professional disgust. He didn't pick up his receiver immediately; he simply stared at her as if she were a toxic specimen in a laboratory.
"I can't help you, Diane," James finally said, his voice cold and flat.
"What do you mean you can't help me?!" Diane screeched, pounding her fist against the glass. "I pay you a quarter-million-dollar annual retainer! That's my money!"
"It was your money," James corrected her sharply, leaning toward his microphone. "As of eight o'clock this morning, the federal receiver invalidated every retainer agreement and corporate contract you executed using funds derived from the municipal bond embezzlement scheme. My firm's trust account containing your advance payments has been seized by the Treasury Department."
Diane’s jaw dropped. The color drained entirely from her face, leaving her looking ghastly under the fluorescent lights. "Seized? All of it?"
May you like
"Every single cent," James confirmed, standing up and buttoning his bespoke suit jacket. "Furthermore, the state bar association is reviewing my association with your illicit operations. You are entirely on your own, Diane. Enjoy your stay."
He set his receiver down on the cradle with a crisp, final click, turned his back on her, and walked out of the visitation room without looking back. Diane stood frozen in the booth, the plastic receiver slipping from her numb fingers to dangle against the metal console with a hollow, rhythmic clatter.
