Chapter 13 - THE WHISPER BEHIND BARSBack inside the maximum-security federal facility, Roman’s cell block was buzzing with a different kind of energy. Inmates whispered in the concrete corridors about a high-profile transfer arriving from a regional holding facility.
During the morning recreation hour, as Roman sat alone at a scarred metal picnic table pushing dry scrambled eggs around his tray, a shadow fell across him.
"Mind if I join you, Vale? Or are you still waiting for your high-society friends to send a limo?"
Roman looked up. Standing before him was Viktor Vance, a disgraced former hedge fund manager who had been serving a twenty-year sentence for international securities fraud long before Roman arrived. Viktor had a jagged scar running along his jawline and eyes that missed nothing.
"Leave me alone, Viktor," Roman muttered, not lifting his head.
Viktor pulled out the aluminum chair opposite Roman and sat down with a slow, deliberate thud. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "I heard about your spectacular fall, Roman. It’s quite legendary around here. A multi-billion-dollar empire dismantled in less than twenty-four hours by a quiet, unassuming wife who played you like a cheap fiddle."
Roman’s jaw tightened. The mention of Mara sent a sharp spike of white-hot rage through his veins, quickly swallowed by a bitter taste of defeat. "She was a nobody," Roman hissed defensively, his voice low. "An accountant's daughter who got lucky with a federal whistleblower tip."
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Viktor laughed—a dry, hacking sound that lacked any real amusement. "Lucky? Open your eyes, you arrogant fool. No one gets lucky against the Department of Justice’s elite forensic unit unless the investigator planned it from day one. Did you ever actually check her pre-marriage background checks, Roman? Or were you too busy admiring your own reflection in the boardroom glass?"
Roman froze. His spoon slipped from his fingers, clattering sharply against the tray. Forensic unit? The words echoed in his brain, connecting puzzle pieces he had deliberately ignored for three years. The quiet competence, the uncanny knack for corporate restructuring, the absolute precision with which she locked down the penthouse servers—Mara hadn't just been his wife. She had been the system's ultimate weapon.
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