Chapter 12

While the gala made front-page news across the Midwest, miles away in a damp, sub-zero basement apartment on the industrial outskirts of the city, Fiona stared blankly at a small, flickering black-and-white television screen.
The local evening news broadcast featured a sweeping, glowing segment on the newly established Sloan Foundation, flashing my face across the screen in brilliant high definition, smiling beside prominent corporate leaders and politicians.
May you like
Fiona let out a choked, desperate sob, her frail hands trembling as she pulled her moth-eaten cardigan tighter around her shivering shoulders. She reached out to smash the screen, but her hand dropped weakly to her side.
There was no one left to scream at. There was no wealth left to steal. There was only the freezing dark room, and the chilling realization that her own greed and cruelty had built the very cell she would rot in for the rest of her days.