Part 4
Three months later, Grant again saw Arthur Sterling through a mail slot covered by a thick shield of glass.
At this point, the Metropolitan Correctional Center had stripped him of everything except for the truth. His hair had grown unevenly and lifelessly, his face was hollow, and the orange prison uniform made him look gray. He woke every day to the sound of metal doors crashing open, guards yelling orders to each other, and with the realization that he had not simply put on hold his previous life.
It had burned to cinders.
His public defender, Mara Higgins, was physically worn out and brutally honest with him in that way that often occurs with overworked people.
“The evidence against you is overwhelming,” she told him on their second meeting. “Offshore bank accounts, false divorce documents, altered accounts payable reports, sham vendors – you’re facing twelve to fifteen years.”
Grant laughed but it sounded cracked and broken.
“12 years? For money?”
“For theft, fraud, laundering money, and obstruction of justice,” she replied. “And because you tried to frame your spouse during a divorce proceeding while you were doing it all.”
“I didn’t frame her.”
Mara stared at Grant over the rim of her glasses.
Grant was the first to look away.
When a guard escorted him into the legal visitation room on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, Grant figured that there would be another pile of paperwork waiting for him from Mara.
Instead, Arthur Sterling sat behind the glass barrier.
He was still wearing the same tweed jacket.
Grant felt hatred towards him because he hasn’t changed.Grant was not victorious.
Instead, he was immobile and felt as if he was being crushed by the weight of the world around him.
Grant watched as Arthur raised the telephone receiver.
“Did you come here just to watch me die alone?”
“No,” Arthur replied, raising his own receiver.
“Then, what are you here for?” Grant asked.
“Natalie wanted me to tell you something,”
When Grant heard Natalie’s name, he felt a knot form in his throat.
“How is she?” he asked.
“She’s better,” Arthur said, with an icy look.
“Does she hate me?” Grant asked, leaning forward against the glass.
“No, Arthur replied, “that would require more energy than she has.”
Grant winced at the sound of Arthur’s voice.
Arthur reached inside his jacket and pulled out a picture of Grant, when he was younger and cleaner-looking, and a man named Daniel Silas. Daniel Silas invested $50,000 into Grant’s consulting startup three years ago, which he claimed would change the way regional shipping was done.
Grant looked at Arthur with a frown on his face. “What do you want with that picture?”
“Daniel Silas works for me.”
Grant’s expression changed to confusion.
“Natalie told me that you felt trapped in your job at Vanguard and had ambition, ideas and wanted to build your own company and that no one took you seriously.”
Grant continued to look at the picture without saying anything.
“I gave you that money,” Arthur said.
The room felt much smaller.
“No,” Grant said in a whisper.
“Yes, I did it through Daniel.”“No strings attached—no fanfare. Just wanted to see how you’d react if someone opened a door for you behind the scenes.”
Grant pictured the money vividly.
And the thrill it appeared to provide.
He had the intention of building the company at first—at least that was what he told himself. Then Jessica came into the picture, followed by a leased Porsche, extravagant dinners, a diamond-studded watch and a suite in Miami. In due time, the intended business model was sitting in a drawer gathering dust.
“You were trying to see what I’d do,” Grant said, bitterness in his voice.
“I was affording you an opportunity,” Arthur replied coolly.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Grant’s voice grew heavier with anger as the weight of his shame pressed against him. He could only lash out.
“You tried to sabotage me from the beginning. The mortgage clause! The investor! The secrecy! You were just waiting for me to fail!”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t,” answered Arthur.
Grant said nothing in response.
Arthur leaned closer toward the window.
“If you had used the money for its intended purpose, I would have introduced you to my family, I would have invited you to Wyoming and I would have assisted you in building a successful company. With your talents and Natalie’s wisdom, you could have had a life that most men can only fantasize about.”
Grant’s mouth opened slightly.
Arthur continued on.
“You could have become part of the family.”“You did lose because I had the money; what you lost was created by you.”
That was more like a dagger cutting into Grant’s soul than a threat of harm.
Arthur lowered the picture and held it at arm’s length.
“While you treated kindness as if it were weakness, you also treated loyalty as if it were boring, and you treated your wife like a temporary object to get rid of when you believed that there were better opportunities.”
Grant put his hand over his face.
Grant had spent months convincing himself that Arthur Sterling had destroyed him.
But, for the first time, Grant knew for sure, that Arthur hadn’t destroyed him.
Arthur had just shown Grant who he truly is.
Arthur softly stated, “Natalie is telling you that you did not lose because I had money; you lost because of your own character.”
Grant’s eyes were filled with pain.
“Can I write her?” Grant asked Arthur.
“No.”
“Can I apologize to her?”
“Any person who wishes to apologize needs to be a better man, one who understands that no person has to accept his or her apology.”
Grant slowly brought his hand down.
Arthur put his flat cap back on his head and stood.
“She is making something beautiful now. Something very important. Something that is going to help women who have been looked down upon and thrown away. She is becoming who she was before she became smaller than you for five years.”
Grant swallowed hard. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
Arthur stopped beside the door.
“I think one day you may very much be sorry; but at present, you are primarily sorry that the door closed before you got to walk through it.”
The guard escorted Grant to his cell.
Grant did not sleep that night.
His thoughts were focused on doors.
The doors Natalie opened for him each time she forgave him.
The door Arthur opened for him when he gave him $50,000.
The door Vanguard opened for him when they promoted him.
The door the courtroom closed for him when the judge hit the gavel.
Grant had mistakenly thought that when he went through an open door, he deserved what waited for him there.
Never did he stop and ask himself if he had actually earned the key to the doors before opening them.