Chapter 8 - Marcus Begs For His Father
Seated inside the holding cell of the downtown federal precinct, Marcus paced back and forth like a caged animal.
His expensive Italian leather shoes squeaked against the gray concrete floor as he shouted through the barred window.
“Get my father on the phone right now! Do you know who I am?” Marcus yelled at the bored desk sergeant.
The guard didn't even look up from his computer screen, turning the page of a crossword puzzle in absolute indifference.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, and Marcus spun around eagerly as the heavy steel door unlocked with a loud click.
Arthur walked into the holding room, looking immaculate in his gray suit, his expression as cold as winter stone.
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“Dad! Thank God! You have to fix this! The federal prosecutors are insane!” Marcus cried, rushing toward the bars.
Arthur stopped a few feet away, placing his hands behind his back as he looked at his son with utter disappointment.
