Part 3 – The courthouse steps were inundated with photographers. Grant envisioned a secluded corridor, an unnoticeable backdoor where he could retreat from public humiliation, but Arthur Sterling was aware that the impact of penalties occurs in secret, and therefore, it is inevitable that the consequence would happen out in the public eye, Grant experienced his demise during broad daylight. Upon receiving his verdict, Grant felt the initial jolt of cameras as the courthouse doors were opened.
“Mr. Reynolds did you embezzle from Vanguard Logistics?”
“Is it correct that your wife is the recipient of an inheritance from Sterling Copper?”
“Did you utilize company funds on your mistress?”
Despite the pressures to view the charges levied against him through a lens of justice, all Grant could provide was a downward stare as he was prevented from responding to these inquiries. Although Grant had previously possessed the attributes of an affluent gentleman with the appearance of sophistication, elegance, and the mental acuity to operate his business affairs effectively, the final moments of his career ended with the flashing of camera bulbs, leaving nothing to be remembered by except for his walk down the courthouse stairs.
In his peripheral view, he caught sight of Natalie and Arthur emerging from behind him, and although the majority of reporters had shifted their attention to them, the majority of the reporters at this time were not pursuing this story with an exaggerated level of aggressiveness. Arthur was able to diffuse the crowd by lifting his arm. A cab pulled off from the side and the driver of the vehicle exited and opened the door of the car for Natalie. Natalie hesitated for a moment contemplating whether to turn back and provide Grant with an explanation of her actions, however she chose not to do so.
As she entered the vehicle, the tinted windows concealed her visage from his view. As Grant entered the precinct, he lost all of the visible items that had once brought him a sense of accomplishment; his belt, tie, watch, and cellphone.The officer bagged his cuff links and shoelaces in evidence bags the same way a coroner bags body parts after a disaster.
The smell of disinfectant, sweat, and stale fear enveloped him as he sat in the holding cell.
He sat on a concrete bench with his elbows on his knees and kept telling himself over and over again,
I can fix this!
Men like me get through scandals. Men like me hire better lawyers. Men like me work out settlements. Men like me find loopholes, leverage, allies. Men with money aren’t broken by courts. They make deals.
Then he remembered.
He wasn’t a man of wealth.
She was.
Realization hit him hard with nausea.
Three hours later, an officer came into the holding area and handed him his phone call.
Grant already had a clear idea of who he was going to call.
Not his mother in Ohio, who would only sob and ask what had happened.
Not Baxter, who had already turned away from him.
Jessica.
Jessica Vane had been his fantasy escape for the last eighteen months; a twenty-six-year-old, blonde, sharp-tongued, always dressed like a woman who frequented hotel bars where married men came to lie easily. She made him feel as if he were admired, dangerous, and alive.
She had also been given access to one of his offshore accounts.
Not the largest one but still enough.
Almost four hundred thousand dollars.
Enough for bail.
Enough for a criminal defence attorney.
Perhaps enough to disappear.
On the fifth ring, the call connected.
“Grant?” Jessica said with a shaky, breathless voice as he heard the sound of zippers moving in the background.“Jess, thank god,” he said softly, gripping the phone. “You have to listen to me very carefully. I’ve been arrested. It’s unbelievable. Sterling set me up. I need you to access the Cayman account and wire funds to my lawyer.”
There was a pause.
“You’re on television,” Jessica said.
“I don’t care about television.”
“You look terrible.”
“Jessica.”
“I’m being honest. They aired footage of you sobbing at the courthouse.”
“I wasn’t sobbing,” he snapped. “Just send the money.”
There was another pause.
Then the sound of zippers again.
“I can’t do it.”
Grant closed his eyes tightly. “What are you talking about ‘can’t’?”
“The account has been frozen.”
His fingers became numb from gripping the phone so tightly.
“That’s impossible.”
“I guess when Arthur Sterling makes it his mission to ruin someone, nothing is impossible.”
“Don’t give him that much power.”
“He practically has it!” Jessica insisted. “My attorney warned me that if I touch that account I will be charged as an accessory. They are investigating my apartment lease. They are reviewing all my credit cards. Grant, I’m getting calls from federal agents.”
“Baby, just calm down.”
“Don’t call me baby.”
Then he heard something else. The sound of wheels rolling on tile.
Luggage.
“Where are you?” he whispered.
“O’Hare.”
The floor felt like it was shifting beneath him.
“O’Hare?”
“I’m flying to Cancun. Maybe Tulum after that. My sister has a lot of people there.”
“You’re going?”
“Yes.”
Grant put his forehead to the wall. “I did all of this for us.”
Jessica laughed once; her laugh cut him deeper than he had imagined because it sounded so much like his own laughter in court.
“No, Grant.The reason you did what you did is because you felt that you were better than everyone else. I liked the smart looking nice jewelry and the nice fine dining experiences. I liked travelling and staying in luxurious hotels. But I don’t want to spend the majority of my twenties waiting on a broke guy sitting in a federal prison.
“I am not broke.”
“You owe a billionaire $1.2 million, your company is filing for bankruptcy, and your wife is richer than God. You are not just broke; you are radioactive.”
“Jessica, please.”
“Goodbye, Grant.”
“If you hang up on me, I swear…!”
“If you call me again, I will call the FBI and report the safe deposit box in Jersey.”
Dial tone.
For what felt like hours, he stood holding the empty telephone receiver while the uniformed policeman eventually took it away from him.
The next morning, Grant lay awake on the cold concrete bench, staring at the ceiling.
Sleep didn’t come.
Instead, his memory began replaying itself, one memory at a time.
Natalie wrapped up leftovers in aluminum foil because he had come home late from work.
Natalie rubbed his shoulders when he complained about the stress he was under (work-related).
Natalie quietly asked him one rainy night: “Would you still love me if I lost everything?”
He answered “yes” without taking his eyes off his mobile phone.
Now he remembers the painful, sad smile that she gave him afterwards; as if his response confirmed something that was painful to her.
At that time, he thought she was just being overly emotional.
He now realizes that at that moment, she was giving him one final opportunity.
He failed, but didn’t even know that he was failing until it was too late.
When he woke up, the man who had laughed at the courtroom no longer existed.He was a prisoner now, dressed in wrinkled clothing, without an attorney of any kind to represent him, a woman, friends, or even a place to live.
Only the sound of his own laughter bounced back to him as if it were a curse.