Chapter 20 - Behind Closed Doors
The fluorescent hum of the federal holding facility in West Virginia buzzed relentlessly. Linda Porter sat at the stainless-steel table in the visitation room, her orange jumpsuit ill-fitting, her hair graying at the temples. She had aged a decade in two years, her high-society arrogance stripped away by endless hours of mandatory labor and institutional monotony.
The heavy steel door clicked open, and Marcus Sterling—disheveled, sweating through his custom Italian suit—was escorted in by a correctional officer. He slammed his briefcase onto the metal table, glaring across the plexiglass partition at her.
"Your stupid little vendetta just cost our backers three million dollars in legal fees and triggered a direct SEC asset freeze on our primary shell accounts in Delaware," Sterling hissed through the small intercom speaker, his voice dripping with venom.
Linda’s eyes flared with a desperate, manic flash of her old self. "Don't talk to me about money! You promised me you could crush her! You promised me that girl would never wear that uniform again!"
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"The girl is a decorated combat major backed by a three-star general and the United States Department of Justice!" Sterling shouted back, slamming his palm against the glass. "She isn't some helpless kid you can hit with a folding chair anymore! She beat us, Linda. The syndicate is finished, your husband isn't answering anyone's calls, and you are going to spend the next five years staring at these concrete walls until your sentence is up."
Sterling grabbed his briefcase, spun on his heel, and marched out of the room, leaving Linda alone in the sterile silence of the booth, finally realizing that the cage she had built for everyone else had permanently locked around her.
