“Victor Amsel,” he said, “You have the right to remain silent.”
He ran through all the rights. You know how it goes.
I chose to exercise my right to remain silent, but not before I snarled, “Fuck you, asshole.”
That seemed to amuse him. He sat back.
“You’re a big fish,” he said, staring me down. “Make my career.”
I said nothing. I knew at least that much. I wasn’t going to talk my way out of this, and the more I talked the more I’d mouth off and give them something to use against me. I’d find out what I was charged with later. Mom would be calling the lawyers now. We had people on retainer. I’d be out by morning.
I kept telling myself, I’d be out by morning.
As they booked me, I’d be out by morning.
As they fingerprinted me, I’d be out by morning.
As they took mug shots, I’d be out by morning.
As they took my clothes and made me put on an orange jumpsuit, I’d be out by morning.
As they locked me in a solitary holding cell on the four floor of the grim block of a jail house, I’d be out by morning.
By early afternoon the next day, I stopped lying to myself. I waited for the visit, for Eve and Mom to show up and tell me it was going to be alright, this was all a huge mistake, this would be taken care of and I’d take my graduation walk and get my birthright and marry the girl of my dreams. This was all just a temporary pit stop on the road to happily ever after.
Neither Mom, nor Eve, came to see me.
A federal prosecutor did.
They took me to an interrogation room. Later I learned they called it the fish tank. It was a square, ugly room of unadorned concrete with a steel table. In the middle was a ring, bolted to the metal. They put a pair of those long shackles on my wrists with the chain running through the loop on the table, so I couldn’t get away.
I named him Junior G-Man in my head.
“Ronald Powers,” he introduced himself.
“Go fuck yourself,” I replied, cheerily.
“That’s not a very good way to start our conversation.”
“You’re not here to help me. I’m not going to get out of this by talking to you. I have nothing to say.”
He sat down and made a cutting motion across his neck with his hand. I flinched, until I realized he was signaling someone on the other side of the bulletproof glass.
It meant stop recording.
That made me a little nervous.
“Off the record. Not so brave now, are you, you little prick?”
“What do you want?”
“When the mikes come back on, which has to be fast because we’re going to say it’s a technical error, we’re going to negotiate a plea deal.”
“I’m not talking to you without my lawyer.”
“Shut up and listen. You take the conviction. Plead out. We’ll give you a light sentence. Two years.”
Two years of my life for something I didn’t even do? I was about tell him what I thought about that, and him, and his ugly necktie, when he raised his hand.
“I know it’s a shitty deal. Here’s the other condition.”
He dropped a folder on the table. My chains rattled as I pulled it to me and spread it open.
Pictures of me and Brittany. At the pizza parlor. Surveillance stills of me walking into the vault after she did.
So what? Were they threatening her, or…
Oh.
Oh God.
“We show the girl the pictures. Proof you’ve been fucking another woman.”
“I didn’t,” I snap. “I never, this is a lie-“
“That’s not you?”
“It is. I was working with her to gather evidence on…” I trailed off.
“Working with her missionary, or bent over the desk?”
“Asshole,” I snarled. “Fuck you. I’m not taking any deal. You don’t have shit on me, I didn’t do anything illegal. So go fuck yourself.”
He made a gesture. The tapes were rolling again. I couldn’t tell, exactly, I could just feel it.
Christ.
“So,” he said, “Let’s talk deal.”
“Lawyer,” I said.
Four hours of pleading, yelling, threatening, arguing, reasoning, and then finally stony silence, and I never said another word.
I was one hundred percent certain that Eve would take my side, that she would never, ever believe a filthy lie about me cheating on her.
I didn’t figure on one thing.
I didn’t figure on Brittany backing up their bullshit.
Chapter Seventeen
Victor
It was a long six weeks in that solitary cell. Technically, it was a luxury, to protect the rich boy from general population. I was in jail, not yet in prison, where they house petty criminals serving short sentences along with people who’ve been arrested and charged but not yet tried, or are undergoing trial. Still, there were plenty of people there that would get off on teaching the rich boy a lesson. They let me out to eat lunch, at least, and I got an hour of exercise a day.
I spent that pacing in circles in a caged-in pen, by myself, watched by a guard who looked about as interested in me as I was in the cracks on the floor, which depending on the day could be not at all or very intensely. I had my lawyer in the first twenty-four hours. He was a friend of my Dad’s, a good guy named Morty Grieg. He brought with him a partner, a woman named Claire Barnes. Together, they promised me they would take care of all of this.
They didn’t.
The trial lasted for seventeen days. That translated to three weeks, since we skipped a Wednesday because a juror had a doctor’s appointment and the trial did not continue on Fridays. Everything was very stiff and formal. This was federal court, I was charged with federal crimes. Insider trading, wire fraud, and embezzlement.
The biggest piece of evidence was the papers in my attache, and all the papers in the vault with my fingerprints on them. Brittany wasn’t watching Martin, she was setting me up. She showed me paper after paper, even had me sign stuff, and I didn’t realize what I was doing. The vault recorded every time I was in and out and there were signatures from the sign-in books, and they brought in people to testify that I’d been seen more frequently in the office for the last six weeks or so. I just sat there and absorbed it. My lawyers would tear them apart. It didn’t mean jack shit, there was no proof I actually did anything, only that I knew. I was waiting for the big Perry Mason moment when my lawyers would turn and dramatically accuse Martin where he sat in the gallery with Mom and Eve.
Any comfort that thought might bring me turned to ashes in my mouth when I saw her. Eve looked like somebody died. Her eyes were always red, and there were tracks burned in her cheeks from crying. She looked like a drowned rat in ill fitting clothes, staring down at the floor most of the time with my mother’s arm around her, listening.
They had other evidence. It was all bullshit but they had it.
They spun a story and it went like this: Some three years ago when I started sleeping with Martin’s daughter, I began scheming to get rid of him, because he could catch me at my games. According to the prosecution, I’d been running the company behind the scenes for two full years while Martin was in the dark, trying to put out my fires without knowing the cause. His main concern was maintaining the trust and my family’s accounts, and his wife.
I wanted to throw up.
My instrument to achieve this was Brittany. She lied to me, she hadn’t been working with the company for a few weeks, she’d been working at Amsel since she graduated from college herself, almost four years ago.
According to them, it was two years ago when we started the affair.
Immunity. They gave her immunity to testify against me.
The rest of it was a blur, but I remember the day she said her piece with crystalline, focused clarity.
She sat in the witness box in a dark suit, like she was going to a funeral. Her frizzy hair was smoothed, boun
d in a severe bun. She looked twice as old as she did the day I met her, but she had a childlike vulnerability that must have absolutely wowed the jury. She sat primly in the box and waited.
Ronald Powers asked the questions himself.
“Can you tell us your full name?”
“Brittany Lynne Andrews.”
They had her swear in. No book or So Help Me God like TV, it was all very formal.
When she was done with that he looked over at me and said, “Can you identify that man, please.”
“His name is Victor Amsel.”
“Thank you. Can you describe the nature of your relationship with him?”
She cleared her throat, and turned red. It was very, very convincing. I would have been fooled myself. She looked guiltily at the jury, looked past me at Eve, and never once set her eyes on me. She swallowed hard and said, “For the last two years, he and I were engaged in a sexual affair.”
You could hear a pin drop, except for the soft sound of weeping. Eve.
I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t make myself.
Stop it, I thought. I was starting to get angry with her. How dare she believe this bullshit. My hands clenched into fists.
Morty grabbed my arm. “Quiet,” he murmured.
“That’s not at issue here,” Powers said, slyly. “What else can you tell us about your relationship?”
“It is an issue,” she said, calmly. “That’s how it started. I didn’t know he had a girlfriend. I’m older, dedicated to my career. I didn’t get out much, and the heir to the company was showering me with attention, but he was just using me.”
“How was he using you?”
She sniffed and scrubbed at her eyes. “He needed me to cover his tracks. He’s been stealing money from the company and running bust-outs on some of the companies Amsel bought into for over two years now. I kept notes.”
“You did?”
“I did. I thought… I thought he was going to… propose to me,” she said, sighing. “He bought an engagement ring. He took me with him to look at it, but it was for her. Then he came to me with this plan. He was going to blow everything open and blame his stepfather. He needed to get rid of him. Everything we did was a constant game of cat and mouse, avoiding Martin Ross catching us in the act. I was terrified. When I wanted to stop, he threatened me.”
“Threatened you?”
“Yes. He said I was nothing to someone like him, he could make me disappear with a phone call and no one would care. I was scared, so I started putting together a file. Like insurance. I started getting material to tie him to his crimes. Then I found out he was going to propose to Martin’s daughter. He… he hit me,” she broke down, “he said if I told anyone about us he’d kill me himself, and-“
“Objection,” Morty snarled, “This is all hearsay, and-“
“Overruled,” the judge said, calmly.
I blinked. It wasn’t supposed to work like that. I mean, the whole objection-overruled thing is a TV schtick, right? They usually go talk in the judge’s office and shit. What the hell was this? Morty was purple, beside himself with fury. His partner leaned over and whispered.
“Let them. This is all fodder for the appeal. They don’t have anything on you, Vic. They have no evidence. What they do have points to Martin!”
There was a commotion behind me. Mom and Martin led Eve out of the gallery. She was sobbing, her shoulders shaking. She was completely breaking down and there was nothing I could do. I was chained to the fucking floor. The bailiff gave me the stink eye if I even thought about getting up, like he just knew.
The rest of Brittany’s testimony was boring. Dates and places we met, half of them fabricated.
It went on for almost five hours. There was a lot of information.
That evening, I was led out of the holding cell. Morty and Claire were waiting for me in the fish tank, with Powers. The guards sat me down, chained me to the table, and stepped out.
“We’re here for a plea bargain,” Morty said to me, his voice heavy with doubt.
“This is what happens,” said Powers, seating himself across from me. “You had your shot, rich boy. You sign the papers now and take this plea agreement. If you do not, tomorrow we will call Evelyn Ross to the stand and ask her several very pointed questions.
“About what?”
“Where you were, what you were doing, and where you told her you were on several key dates.”
“This is bullshit,” Claire declared, firmly. “Don’t take anything, don’t sign anything, Vic.”
“How long?” I rasped.
“Six years. Five with good behavior.”
“Their case is a joke,” Morty said to me. “This is a formality. Don’t take the deal.”
“If I don’t take it, you call Eve to testify,” I said.
“That’s right,” Powers said, softly. “What do you think about that?”
“Six years. Five with good behavior.”
I slid the papers over to Morty. “Read this and make sure he’s not lying about what it says.”
“Vic…” Claire said, pleading with me.
“Just do it.”
Morty gave me a sad look. “For the sake of the love I bore your father, don’t sign this.”
“Is it legit?”
“Yea. You’ll be pleading to lesser chargers, they agreed to drop a couple.”
“It doesn’t matter. I could go to jail for a week and I still lose my inheritance.”
“Prison,” Powers corrected. “Jail is for pre-trial detention. Your inheritance. Oh no, we couldn’t have you lose that.”
“I don’t give a fuck about my inheritance. Just leave Evelyn alone.”
I signed the papers. I signed my life away.
I couldn’t let them put Eve up there. I had to find another way. I just needed to talk to her.
Things proceeded. Eve did not attend the trial after that. It wasn’t much of one. The judge read over the agreement, approved it. Words were said. I was remanded to custody.
I went to prison.
First thing, it wasn’t like the movies. There wasn’t a whole thing with a bunch of guys shouting fresh fish, nor was I going to a hardcore supermax. In fact, I was going to medium security, one step above let-you-out-on weekends. They were not letting me out on weekends. I had to go through the whole procedure again, get a new uniform, still bright orange.
It was pretty late when they led me into my cell and I met my cellmate. I didn’t know what to expect. He was on the bottom bunk, reading a book propped open in the biggest, hairiest hands I’ve ever seen. Every part of him was hairy except for his shiny bald egg head. I thought he was fat at first but he was all mass, moving with a strange grace when I walked into the cell carrying an armful of cheap, stiff linens. My mattress looked more like a blanket. It didn’t matter. It could be a king-size memory foam whatever and it would be the worst bed in the world without Eve. It was starting to sink in that it was all over, that I would never be waking up next to her again. I must have just stood there for a while.
“Vitali,” my cellmate announced, thrusting out his hand.
I dropped my things on the top bunk and took his hand. He gave me a firm, almost brutal shake.
“Victor.”
“I know who you are. I have pulled strings to make sure you are bunked here. You are Victor Amsel. They call me Vitali the Hammer.”
Oh shit. That Vitali.
“What are you doing here?”
I probably shouldn’t have shown fear, but at that moment I was scared shitless. This was the Vitali that Brittany was always talking about, the one I was supposed to be setting up to take a fall along with Martin.
“You are afraid I am going to kill you.”
I blinked a few times. “Yeah.”
“I would not kill you. I would have someone else kill you. I am not wanting to go to supermax.” His Russian accent started poking out, rounding out his vowels, making him sound a little harsh. “No. I bring you here because I a
m wanting to be your friend.”
“I’ve been told not to make friends here,” I said.
Actually, no one told me that. I saw it in a movie. Also, it made a hell of a lot of sense. Vitali was not the kind of guy I wanted on my speed dial.
“Five years will be a long time,” he said, folding his hands between his legs. “I have been here for two already, and I am looking at six more. I am behaving but they will be strict with me.”
“I see,” I said. “Well, good luck with that.”
I climbed up on that top bunk.
“If you will not let me help you, I will have to use you.”
I froze, sitting there. There wasn’t much room. My head brushed the ceiling and I flopped down.
“Use me how?”
“You will help me destroy Martin. You can do this and gain from it, or you can be forced.”
“I’m not doing anything that’s going to keep me in here longer, and I don’t want to have any trouble with you, but I’m not going to put myself in your debt either.”
He sighed. “You should hear me out. You wouldn’t want this Eve to have an accident, would you?”
I sat up. “What?”
I also hit my head on the ceiling, and went crashing back down. Fuck. I was out of the bunk and on my feet in seconds, seeing red. I didn’t care if I spent the rest of my life in this shithole, nobody was going to use Eve against me. Nobody was going to threaten her.
Vitali sat up.
“You are hotheaded. I was like this in my youth.”
“Listen, fuckhead. You put one hand on Eve and I’ll fucking kill you. You have to sleep sometime.”
“I won’t put a hand on her. Friends of mine will do that, and more. After what Martin did to me, I should feed him her liver, but I don’t think he would care. Martin is not like other men. He does not feel. I would be more frightened of him in this room than all your youthful bluster. In any case, if you threaten me again, Eve will suffer the consequences. Now sit down and we will talk.”
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