Chapter 7 - The Shadow in Cell Block BWhile the bistro flourished under its new worker-owned cooperative model, life inside the federal detention facility was a brutal wake-up call for Victor Carter.
Stripped of his designer suits, expensive watches, and constant ego-stroking, Victor was just inmate #88412-054. The other inmates didn't care about his former status as a successful restaurateur; in fact, word had spread through the prison yard about how he had treated his wife—forcing her to work seventy-hour weeks while denying her basic medical care and framing her as a "pack mule."
Inmates have their own code of ethics, and cowardice combined with domestic cruelty is at the very bottom of the respect hierarchy.
One afternoon during recreation hour, Victor sat alone on a concrete bench in the prison yard, staring miserably at the chain-link fence. His hair was unwashed, dark circles shadowed his bloodshot eyes, and his shoulders were permanently slumped in defeat.
A heavy shadow fell across him.
Victor looked up to see a towering inmate with broad shoulders and a cold, impassive stare—Marcus’s former cellmate, a man who happened to have local ties to our town and had read every detail of the viral scandal online.
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"So you're the big-shot restaurant owner who called his wife a pack mule," the inmate said, his voice dropping an octave as he crossed his arms. "Let me tell you something about mules, Carter. Mules don't break. But the people who ride them? When they buck, they kick hard enough to shatter every bone in your body."
Victor shrank back against the concrete wall, opening his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He swallowed hard, trembling as he realized the profound truth of those words. He had spent twenty years believing he was the master of his domain, only to discover too late that without the person doing the actual heavy lifting, his entire world was nothing more than a house of cards built on sand.
