Chapter 14 - The Shadow Fades
-14-
As they exchanged their vows in the sunlit ballroom of Alderwyn, miles away, the final remnants of the old regime met their quiet, definitive end.
In a sterile, fluorescent-lit federal visitation room at the Danbury Correctional Institution, Camille Prescott sat behind a thick sheet of reinforced plexiglass. She wore an oversized, faded orange jumpsuit that swallowed her formerly immaculate figure. Her blonde hair, once perfectly coiffed, was tied back in a messy, lifeless knot, and the cruel, arrogant fire in her eyes had been entirely extinguished, replaced by the hollow, vacant stare of a woman who had lost absolutely everything.
A guard tapped on the glass, signaling her visitor had arrived.
Camille picked up the heavy black telephone receiver, her hands shaking slightly. On the other side of the glass sat a sharp-suited federal prosecutor, flanked by two armed US Marshals.
“Miss Prescott,” the prosecutor said, his voice entirely devoid of sympathy. “Your legal counsel informed us you wanted to negotiate a plea deal. You claimed you have information regarding hidden offshore accounts your father established in the Cayman Islands.”
Camille swallowed hard, her throat dry. “I do. I have the account numbers. I know where the money is. I’ll give you everything, but you have to transfer me out of maximum security. You have to guarantee me a reduced sentence. I can’t survive in here.”
The prosecutor looked at her for a long, silent moment before sliding a heavy, sealed folder across the counter toward the glass.
“I’m afraid you overestimate your value, Miss Prescott,” the prosecutor replied coldly. “Three days ago, Hawthorne Industries’ forensic accounting team—funded personally by Julian Hawthorne—hacked those offshore accounts. The funds have already been seized by the federal government and are being redistributed to the victims of your father’s syndicate. We don’t need your information.”
Camille’s face drained of all color. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. The last remaining shred of leverage, the final hope she had clung to in the dark, terrifying silence of her cell, vanished into thin air.
“Your trial begins next month,” the prosecutor continued, standing up and buttoning his jacket. “Given the severity of the racketeering and conspiracy charges, the Department of Justice is seeking a consecutive life sentence without the possibility of parole. I suggest you make your peace with your current accommodations.”
May you like
The prosecutor turned and walked away, leaving Camille staring blankly through the plexiglass, the heavy black receiver dropping from her trembling fingers to dangle by its metal cord.
The Prescott empire, built on decades of blood, manipulation, and cruelty, had finally collapsed into dust.
