Chapter 7 - THE RECKONING IN CELL BLOCK D
The medical ward of the Manhattan Detention Complex, universally known as the Tombs, smelled of industrial bleach, stale urine, and copper. It was a world removed from the silk sheets, imported Italian marble, and vintage champagne Isaac Vance had known his entire thirty-five years of existence.
Isaac sat on a rusted metal cot bolted to the concrete floor. His right arm was encased in a crude, heavy plaster cast, resting against his ribs. His left eye was swollen shut, bruised a mottled shade of yellow and black from an altercation with an inmate who hadn't appreciated Isaac complaining about the quality of the cafeteria food.
The heavy steel door of the visiting cubicle buzzed, and an armed guard roughly hauled Isaac to his feet.
“Visitor,” the guard barked.
“Is it my father?” Isaac asked eagerly, his voice cracking with desperation. “Did Arthur pay the bail? Am I getting out?”
The guard didn't answer. He shoved Isaac into the small, windowless interrogation room, pushed him into a steel chair, and cuffed his good hand to a welded loop on the table. Then the guard walked out, locking the heavy door behind him.
Across the stainless-steel table sat Caleb Sterling.
Caleb wore an expensive Italian leather jacket, his feet propped casually on the table, tossing an unpeeled orange from hand to hand. When Isaac saw Caleb’s cold, mocking green eyes, all the blood drained from his face.
“Where is my father?” Isaac demanded, his voice trembling between anger and terror. “Where is Arthur? Where are my lawyers?”
Caleb sliced a small piece of the orange with a pocketknife, popping it into his mouth. “Your father signed a full confession two hours ago, Isaac. He’s currently being processed into the federal correctional facility in Otisville. He won’t be attending any board meetings for the next twenty-five to thirty years.”
Isaac stared at him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “You’re... you’re lying. My father has connections! He has senators!”
Caleb tossed a glossy color photograph across the table. It was the picture Caleb had taken of Arthur Vance kneeling on the floor of the Sterling penthouse, weeping into his hands like a whipped dog.
Isaac stared at the photo, a strangled sob escaping his throat. “No... no, no, no. Dad...”
“And your mother,” Caleb continued with sadistic pleasure, “is currently moving her few remaining clothes into a tenement apartment on 149th Street. She won't be posting your bail either, Isaac. Mostly because there is no bail anymore. The U.S. Attorney upgraded your domestic assault charges to federal hate crimes and attempted murder, citing the premeditated use of a weapon and public torture.”
“Attempted murder?!” Isaac shrieked, pulling frantically against the handcuff, the metal rattling violently against the table. “I used a riding crop! It was a domestic dispute! She ruined Clover’s dress!”
“Ah, yes. Clover,” Caleb smiled, leaning forward until his face was inches from Isaac’s. “I’m glad you brought her up.”
Caleb pulled a tablet from his jacket and hit play on a video file.
The screen showed a live press conference taking place on the steps of the New York State Supreme Court. Clover Vance stood behind a bank of microphones, dressed in a modest black dress, clutching a tissue, and weeping profusely for the television cameras.
“I was a victim of Isaac Vance’s coercive control,” Clover’s voice sobbed through the tablet’s speakers. “He manipulated me, threatened my family, and forced me to attend that horrifying party. When he tied Flora to that beam, I was terrified he would kill us both! I am cooperating fully with the District Attorney’s office, and I have provided all the text messages where Isaac planned this public humiliation weeks in advance!”
Isaac’s remaining good eye went wide with disbelief. “That bitch! She’s lying! She begged me to humiliate Flora! She chose the dress specifically so Flora would look clumsy! She told me Flora needed to be broken!”
“Nobody cares what you say, Isaac,” Caleb murmured, turning off the tablet and slipping it back into his pocket. “In the court of public opinion, you are a sadistic monster. In the federal courts, you are an unrepentant felon. And in this prison... well, word has already gotten around about what you did to a woman.”
Isaac’s breath began coming in short, panicked gasps. He remembered the cold, predatory stares of the inmates in the holding tank when he had been brought in wearing his ruined tuxedo. He remembered the whisper that had circulated through the cell block: That’s the rich boy who whipped his wife.
“Caleb... please,” Isaac whimpered, the tears flowing freely now. “Tell Flora I’m sorry. I’ll sign whatever she wants! I’ll give her the whole divorce settlement! I’ll sign away my name! Just get me transferred to a private facility! Don’t leave me here! They’re going to kill me!”
The door behind Caleb clicked open, and I stepped into the room.
Isaac froze.
I was dressed in a tailored crimson suit that hid the bandages on my back completely. My dark hair was swept up into an elegant chignon, and on my finger sat the Sterling family signet ring—a roaring silver wolf—which I had hidden away the day I married Isaac Vance.
“Flora,” Isaac gasped, trying to reach for me with his cast-bound arm. “Flora, my love! Look at me! I’m broken! You got your revenge! Please, call them off! You loved me! You promised to love me forever!”
I stood at the edge of the table, looking down at the man I had once thought was my future. I felt no rage. I felt no sorrow. I felt only a profound, crystalline clarity.
“I promised to love my husband, Isaac,” I said, my voice echoing off the concrete walls. “But my husband died the moment that crop hit my flesh. You are just a pathetic coward who thought wealth made him untouchable.”
“Flora, please!” Isaac dropped to his knees, his forehead pressing against the cold steel table, sobbing hysterically. “I beg you! Have mercy! I beg you for mercy!”
I leaned down until my lips were inches from his ear, repeating the words he had whispered to me under the crystal chandelier:
May you like
“Maybe now you’ll learn your place.”
I turned and walked toward the door. Behind me, Isaac’s frantic, wailing screams filled the interrogation room, pleading for a forgiveness that would never come.
