Chapter 5 - The Fall of the Patriarch
Two weeks later.
The visitation room at the Cook County Maximum Security Facility smelled of stale floor wax, industrial bleach, and metal polish.
I sat on one side of a thick plexiglass partition, wearing a crisp navy blazer, my bandage removed, leaving only a faint pink scar near my hairline.
On the other side of the glass sat Richard Vance.
He had lost fifteen pounds in fourteen days. His tailored black tuxedo had been replaced by a bright orange jumpsuit three sizes too big for him. His polished silver hair was unkempt, his eyes bloodshot, and his hands were cuffed at the wrists, connected to a steel chain around his waist.
He picked up the heavy plastic telephone receiver with shaking hands.
I picked up mine.
"You think you've won, don't you?" Richard snarled into the receiver, his voice raspy and bitter. "You sat in my chair. You put your name on my building. You think you're a big shot now?"
"Good morning, Dad," I said calmly.
"Don't call me Dad!" he barked, slamming his cuffed hands against the ledge, causing the guard standing near the door to rest his hand on his baton. "You betrayed your own blood! You put your father in a prison cell! Your mother is living in a two-bedroom apartment in Schaumburg! Madison is working as a waitress at a diner in West Hollywood! Is that what makes you proud?!"
"Madison is paying her own rent for the first time in her life, Richard," I replied flatly. "And Mom had to sell her diamond jewelry to pay off her credit card debts. They are living in the real world now."
Richard stared at me through the glass, his jaw working silently, his face contorted in pure, agonizing defeat.
"The District Attorney offered your lawyer a plea deal this morning," I informed him. "Eight years in a federal penitentiary for grand theft, bank fraud, and aggravated assault. If you don't take it, they are adding four counts of federal tax evasion, which carries a twenty-year mandatory minimum."
Richard closed his eyes, a shudder running through his heavy frame. The arrogance that had sustained him for fifty years was completely gone, leaving behind an old, broken man who had gambled his family's future on his own vanity.
"Why, Eleanor?" Richard whispered, his voice cracking for the first time. "I raised you. I gave you a home. I gave you a job at my firm."
"You didn't give me a job, Richard," I said, my voice soft, but carrying an unshakeable truth. "You gave me a desk and expected me to cover up your crimes while you gave my hard work to a sister who didn't even know how to fill out a vehicle registration form."
"It was just a car..." Richard whimpered, tears filling his bloodshot eyes. "It was just a BMW..."
"It wasn't about the car, Richard," I said, leaning closer to the glass. "It was about the six years of my life I spent earning it. You thought you could take everything I built because you were my father. But you forgot one thing."
"What?" he asked, looking up at me.
"I'm a forensic accountant," I said, a faint, genuine smile touching my lips. "I know how to balance the books. And today, your account is settled."
May you like
I set the plastic telephone receiver back on its cradle.
I stood up, adjusted my blazer, and walked toward the exit door without looking back once at the man sitting in orange behind the glass.
