Chapter 9 - The Price of Treason
Two miles away, inside the central holding facility of the Southern District of New York, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the plush leather of Wall Street.
The visitor room was cold, lit by buzzing fluorescent bulbs, smelling of industrial bleach and old grease.
Grant Mercer sat behind a thick sheet of bulletproof plexiglass, wearing an oversized orange jumpsuit. His jaw was heavily bandaged where Owen had struck him the night before, and dark violet bruises encircled his tired, hollow eyes.
Across from him sat Sloane Hart. She was dressed in the same orange jumpsuit, her left wrist locked in a hard plastic splint. Her vanity had completely vanished; her eyes were wild, her hair unwashed and tangled.
A small telephone receiver hung between them on the wall. Sloane picked up her side, slamming it against her ear.
“You coward!” Sloane shrieked through the small perforated holes in the glass. “Your lawyers were supposed to post my bail two hours ago! Why am I still in this cell?!”
Grant picked up his receiver slowly, his voice raspy and deadened. “There is no bail, Sloane. The prosecutor added corporate espionage, arson, and attempted murder to the charge sheet. The judge classified us both as flight risks.”
“Tell them it was Vance!” Sloane hissed, pressing her face against the glass. “Tell them Arthur Vance forged my signature on the Cayman transfers! You owe me, Grant! I gave up everything for you!”
Grant let out a hollow, pathetic laugh. “You didn’t give up anything for me, Sloane. Evelyn showed me the private trading accounts. You were shorting Mercer Global stock three days before you pushed her into the forge. You didn’t want me. You wanted the payout when I went to prison for her murder.”
Sloane’s face twitched. For a fraction of a second, the mask slipped, revealing the cold, calculating strategist underneath.
“So what if I did?” Sloane whispered into the phone, her voice dropping into a sinister chill. “You were weak, Grant. You spent five years living off her family’s legacy while whining about how cold she was in bed. You were too stupid to realize she was building a trap for you the entire time!”
“She didn’t build a trap,” a calm, clear voice echoed from the heavy steel door behind them.
The guards unlocked the entry gate.
Evelyn walked into the visitor room, flanked by two federal marshals. She wore her elegant dark coat, carrying her quiet dignity like armor in the bleak detention center.
Grant’s hand tightened on the phone receiver. He looked at Evelyn through the glass, his eyes filling with a pathetic, desperate mix of regret and fear.
“Evelyn...” Grant breathed against the glass, his voice trembling. “Evelyn, please... talk to the federal prosecutor. Tell them it was an accident. Tell them Sloane tricked me! I was confused... I was under so much stress with the company’s debts—”
Evelyn didn’t pick up the phone receiver on her side. She didn't need to. Her voice carried clearly through the visitor barrier.
“I didn’t come here to listen to your excuses, Grant,” Evelyn said, her expression entirely unreadable. “I came to drop off the final divorce papers.”
She signaled to her attorney standing by the door, who slid a thick packet of legal documents through the clerk’s pass-through slot beneath the window.
“You signed over all parental rights to our unborn child in our prenuptial agreement contingent clause,” Evelyn stated, her voice icy and precise. “She will never bear the Mercer name. She will never know your face. And she will never spend a single second wondering if her father loved her—because I will make sure she knows you chose greed over her life.”
Grant slammed his hands against the plexiglass, tears running down his face. “Evelyn! Please! Don’t leave me like this! I’m your husband!”
Evelyn looked at Grant, then turned her eyes to Sloane, who was staring at her with pure, silent venom.
“You both thought the fire would consume me,” Evelyn said softly, placing her uninjured left hand over her pregnant stomach, feeling the steady kick of life inside her. “But all it did was burn away the trash.”
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Without waiting for another word, Evelyn turned on her heel and walked out of the detention room, the sharp beat of her heels echoing through the quiet halls of justice.
Behind her, the steel doors slammed shut with a heavy, final CLANG.
