Chapter 12 - Facing a disgraced antagonist in a high-security holding cell shatters the last remnants of an arrogant socialite's fragile pride today.
Down in the subterranean holding cells beneath the estate, Helena sat on a cold steel bench wearing a standard grey detention jumpsuit.
Her long dark hair was unbrushed, her expensive makeup was smeared, and her high-society veneer had completely dissolved into bitter resentment.
The heavy iron door clicked open, and Julian stepped into the secure cell block, his dark suit exuding an aura of untouchable authority.
Helena stood up quickly, rushing toward the reinforced glass partition with a look of frantic desperation crossing her exhausted features.
"Julian! You can't do this to me! We had an agreement! We were going to control half of Manhattan's commercial shipping ports!" she shrieked.
Julian stopped just inches from the glass, his gaze cold, sharp, and completely devoid of any emotional attachment or sympathy.
"We never had an agreement, Helena; you were a parasite that latched onto my family name while my back was turned," Julian stated flatly.
"You'll rot in a federal penitentiary for the next thirty years without the possibility of parole," he added with absolute finality.
Helena pounded her fists against the thick glass partition, screaming obscenities as security guards stepped forward to escort her back inside.
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Julian turned around without a backward glance, walking out of the sterile cell block into the warm, sunlit corridors of the estate.
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