Chapter 11 - The Secret Cellmate
The concrete walls of the Querétaro federal holding facility were damp, cold, and smelled permanently of old rust and despair. David sat on the edge of his narrow bunk, staring blankly at the chipped green paint of the cell door. His expensive watch and wedding ring had been confiscated hours ago, replaced by an orange inmate uniform that hung loosely over his slumped shoulders.
The cellblock was eerily quiet except for the heavy clank of metal doors echoing down the corridor.
"You're making too much noise breathing, rookie," a raspy voice grated from the upper bunk across the aisle.
David didn't look up. He had spent the last twenty-four hours paralyzed by the speed at which his entire life had disintegrated. The bank accounts were frozen; San Lucas Holdings had been dissolved by federal auditors; and his lawyer had already dropped his case after realizing there was no retainer left to steal.
The heavy steel door at the end of the block creaked open, and a corrections officer walked down the row, stopping directly in front of David's cell.
"Medina," the guard barked, unlocking the squeaky latch with a sharp metallic snap. "Pack your blanket. You're being transferred to maximum security."
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David stood up slowly, his legs feeling like lead. "Transferred? Why? My trial hasn't even started."
"Orders from higher up," the guard muttered, grabbing David by the shoulder and shoving him out into the corridor. "Seems like someone in federal intelligence wants you tucked away where ordinary lawyers can't reach you."
