Chapter 9 - The Reckoning
Conrad Voss sat in a windowless room at the federal detention center, dressed in an orange jumpsuit that clashed violently with his aristocratic silver hair.
The door buzzed and swung open.
Conrad looked up, expecting his public defender—the private lawyers had all withdrawn their representation within an hour of Roman Vance Mercer’s arrival.
Instead, Roman entered.
He was unaccompanied by guards. The feds had cleared the corridor; when a man like Roman Mercer requested ten minutes with a prisoner, prison wardens found reasons to inspect the boiler room.
Roman sat down across the metal table. He placed nothing on the steel surface.
Conrad swallowed hard. The arrogance was entirely gone, replaced by the wild, hollow-eyed terror of a caged dog.
“Julian told them everything,” Conrad said, his voice a dry rasp. “My sister’s son. He was weak. I should have… I should have sent him to Europe.”
“Your sister’s son is going to spend twenty-five years in an upstate maximum-security facility,” Roman said. “You will spend the rest of your life in an administrative maximum unit. You will not have access to a tennis court. You will not have access to single malt whiskey. You will have one hour of sunlight every twenty-four hours in a concrete yard.”
Conrad lunged forward, the chains around his wrists rattling against the table. “Mercer, listen to me! I have money! I have seven million in a private vault in Liechtenstein! Untraceable bearer bonds! I will sign them over to you. Every cent. Just get the hit-and-run charge reduced to manslaughter. Please. I won't survive state prison!”
Roman looked at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated boredom.
“Do you think I need your seven million dollars, Conrad?”
Conrad stopped, his mouth hanging open.
“You stole thirty million from an educational fund,” Roman said, leaning in. “My firm makes thirty million dollars every eleven hours while I am asleep. Your entire life’s ambition, your entire criminal empire, is an accounting rounding error on my quarterly report.”
Roman stood up. He smoothed the lapels of his suit.
“I didn't come here to negotiate,” Roman said. “I came here to tell you that Evelyn is renaming the humanities wing after Nathan Mercer. Every time a poor boy walks through those doors with a full ride, Nathan’s name will be the first thing he reads.”
Conrad slumped back into the chair, the chains pulling his wrists down. “She’s a fool. She’ll run that school into the ground.”
Roman stopped at the door. He turned his head just enough for Conrad to see the cold, dead curve of his smile.
“My sister is a Mercer,” Roman said. “She has our mother’s grace, and our father’s iron. But unlike me, she has a conscience. That makes her the most dangerous thing on earth.”
May you like
The heavy steel door slammed shut, leaving Conrad alone in the fluorescent glare.
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