Chapter 9 - Richard's Arrogance Shatters as Corporate Accounts Are Frozen
Inside the holding cell at the downtown Manhattan precinct, Richard paced frantically across the concrete floor.
The harsh fluorescent overhead lights hummed loudly, casting harsh shadows across his desperate, sweating face.
The desk sergeant finally unlocked the heavy metal cell door, tossing his confiscated personal items onto the steel bench.
“You're being transferred to the federal holding facility downtown for arraignment on financial fraud charges in the morning,” the officer stated.
“Financial fraud? There must be some mistake! I am a pillar of the Wall Street financial community!” Richard shouted angrily.
“Tell that to the federal prosecutors who just slapped a dozen felony indictments on your desk,” the officer replied dismissively.
Richard grabbed his phone, forgetting for a split second that the battery was completely dead and useless.
He stumbled out into the precinct lobby, looking around wildly for a public telephone or a sympathetic face.
Every single attorney he had ever bribed, dined with, or employed suddenly refused to take his frantic collect calls.
His former colleagues at Sterling & Vance had already scrubbed his name from the firm website and directory boards.
He was entirely radioactive—a walking financial disaster that nobody wanted to touch with a ten-foot pole.
The reality of his absolute isolation hit him like a physical blow to his chest, buckling his knees slightly.
He had spent his entire adult life stepping on everyone beneath him to climb the ladder of success.
Now that he had fallen off the top, there was nobody left to catch him except the cold floor of the legal system.
Two federal marshals stepped out from an unmarked SUV parked outside the precinct doors, spotting him instantly.
“Richard Sterling? You're coming with us,” the lead marshal announced, flashing an official federal badge.
They grabbed his arms with practiced precision, slapping cold steel handcuffs onto his wrists without a word of warning.
“This is insane! I demand to call the Swiss embassy!” Richard shrieked as they shoved him into the back of the transport van.
The heavy armored doors slammed shut, plunging him into darkness as the vehicle sped toward federal detention.
His expensive pinstripe suit was now permanently stained, wrinkled, and smelling of street mud and rain.
The arrogant titan of Wall Street had been reduced to a federal prisoner facing decades behind bars.
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Karma had collected its debt in full, leaving no loopholes, no bail bonds, and no second chances.
The city lights flashed past the barred windows of the van, indifferent to his frantic cries of disbelief.
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