Chapter 8 - The Ghost of a Husband
The federal correctional facility in upstate New York was a bleak, imposing fortress of concrete and razor wire. The air inside the visitation room smelled of stale bleach and absolute despair.
I sat at a cold metal table, wearing a stark white designer trench coat, looking entirely out of place in the dreary surroundings. I didn't have to wait long.
Gavin was escorted into the room by a heavily armed guard. The arrogant, impeccably groomed executive who used to dictate my wardrobe and control my finances was completely gone. He was wearing an oversized orange jumpsuit, his hair was thinning, and he looked at least ten years older. He looked pathetic.
He sat down across from me, his eyes wide with desperate shock. "Elena. You came. I... I knew you wouldn't just abandon me."
"I didn't come here for a reunion, Gavin," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. "I came for a transaction."
His face fell, the desperate hope instantly curdling into his familiar, toxic resentment. "Of course. You always were a cold, calculating bitch."
"And you are a convicted felon serving fifteen years," I replied smoothly, not even blinking. "Let's skip the insults. Richard Sterling is using the fifty-million-dollar loan you forged to stage a hostile takeover of Summit Crest."
Gavin let out a bitter, hollow laugh. "Good. I hope he rips your precious company to shreds. You took everything from me, Elena. Why would I ever help you?"
"Because, Gavin, you are currently residing in general population," I said, leaning slightly forward, lowering my voice to a lethal whisper. "And according to my very well-connected attorneys, you have exactly zero dollars in your commissary account. You can't afford protection, you can't afford decent food, and you are currently appealing your sentence with a public defender who barely remembers your name."
Gavin swallowed hard, the reality of his miserable existence flashing in his eyes.
"I know Richard funded that loan with dirty money," I continued. "I need the offshore routing numbers you used to receive the transfer. Give them to me, and I will wire fifty thousand dollars to your commissary account today. I will also authorize my legal team to file an amicus brief supporting your request to be transferred to a minimum-security white-collar facility."
He stared at me, his jaw working silently. He wanted to refuse. He wanted to maintain some illusion of control over me. But the brutal, terrifying reality of his prison sentence crushed whatever pride he had left.
"It was a bank in Cyprus," Gavin whispered, his voice trembling in absolute defeat. "The account was registered under a shell company called Apex Logistics. The routing number was embedded in an encrypted email he sent me the night before the arrest."
"Give me the password to the email server," I demanded.
He rattled off a complex alphanumeric string. I memorized it instantly, standing up from the metal table.
"Elena, wait," Gavin pleaded, reaching out as if to grab my hand, but stopping short when the guard stepped forward. "Please. Just... tell Mia I love her."
I looked down at the broken man who had spent a decade trying to convince me I was nothing. "Mia doesn't even know you exist, Gavin. And she never will."
I turned on my heel and walked out of the prison, the heavy steel doors locking behind me with a satisfying, permanent finality.
May you like
I called Elias the moment I got into my car. "Apex Logistics. Cyprus. Check your secure server for the password."
"Got it," Elias’s voice crackled over the line, vibrating with dark excitement. "Give me twenty-four hours, Elena. I’m going to rip Richard’s digital vault wide open."
