Chapter 20
Far away from the tranquility of Boston, the federal penitentiary walls stood cold and imposing against the winter frost.
Richard Davidson walked slowly through the concrete yard during his designated morning isolation exercise period.
His hair had turned completely silver, his posture stooped under the immense weight of decades of isolation and regret.
He looked up at the grey winter sky, realizing that his immense wealth and power had amounted to absolute nothing.
Not a single visitor had ever crossed the prison threshold to ask about his well-being or offer a word of comfort.
He had traded his family, his integrity, and his humanity for an illusion of control that evaporated in minutes.
A correctional officer blew the whistle signaling the end of recreation, directing the inmates back inside their cells.
Richard turned silently, shuffling his feet across the frozen pavement as the heavy steel gates clanged shut behind him.
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His existence had been erased from the annals of high society, relegated to a forgotten cell in the American penal system.
Justice had been served in its purest, most absolute form, leaving the world entirely balanced once again.
