Chapter 7
Far upstate in the austere, razor-wire-encircled perimeter of Otisville Federal Correctional Facility, former executive Daniel Hale wore a coarse orange jumpsuit that swallowed his shrinking frame. He sat on a cold metal stool in the communal mess hall, staring down at a plastic tray of flavorless institutional food while inmates laughed loudly at neighboring tables. The high-powered executives and socialite mistresses who once praised his brilliance had long since blocked his numbers and forgotten his existence. He was entirely alone, stripped of his wealth, his title, his family, and his freedom, trapped inside a concrete box of eternal regret.
A prison guard tapped a heavy metal nightstick against the edge of Daniel’s table, breaking his miserable trance with a sharp, jarring metallic clatter. "Hale, mail call—though don't get your hopes up, it’s just another legal rejection slip," the guard grunted, tossing a plain white envelope onto the tray. Daniel trembling fingers tore open the envelope to find the final, absolute denial of his appellate petition signed by the federal district court. A heavy, suffocating wave of despair crushed his chest, reminding him of every arrogant word he uttered the night he tried to steal his own daughter's life.
