Chapter 11 - The Trapped Rats and Desperate Moves
The visiting room of the high-security County Detention Center was a stark, depressing chamber of reinforced concrete, flickering fluorescent lights, and thick plexiglass dividers.
When the heavy steel door buzzed open, Shiaoza was led in by two armed corrections officers.
The transformation was shocking.
The man who had stood in Boardroom 1 this morning wearing a ten-thousand-dollar Brioni suit now wore a coarse, oversized orange prison jumpsuit. His hair was greasy and uncombed, dark purple bags hung heavily beneath his bloodshot eyes, and his hands were shackled to a heavy chain wrapped around his waist.
When he saw me sitting on the other side of the plexiglass, looking immaculate, untouchable, and sovereign, his knees nearly buckled.
He sat down heavily on the cold metal stool, picked up the plastic telephone receiver with shaking hands, and pressed it against his ear.
I lifted my receiver, looking at him with calm, detached eyes.
“Elena...” he wept, pressing his forehead against the scratched plexiglass. “Elena, please... you have to get me out of here. You have to post bail. The prisoners in here... they know who I am. They’ve been threatening me. I can’t survive a single night in this cage!”
“You should have considered the accommodations before you embezzled forty-eight million dollars, Shiaoza,” I replied, my voice chillingly even.
“It was Tong Tong! She manipulated me, Elena!” Shiaoza pleaded hysterically, tears and snot running down his pale face. “She threatened to expose our affair if I didn't fund her lifestyle! She forced me to sign those procurement contracts! I swear to God, Elena, I was a victim! I never wanted to hurt you or the company!”
I let out a soft, freezing chuckle through the receiver.
“A victim?” I asked. “Did she force you to buy a twelve-thousand-square-foot villa in Miami with an infinity pool? Did she force you to put your mother in a twelve-million-dollar Virginia equestrian estate? Did she force you to hand her the limited-edition Patek Philippe I bought for your mother, while you watched her humiliate me in the elevator?”
Shiaoza choked on his words, his face contorting in pure, agonizing shame.
“Elena... ten years...” he whispered, his voice cracking into a desperate croak. “We loved each other once. Doesn't that count for anything? If you drop the criminal charges and allow me to plead to a civil settlement, I will give you everything. I will sign whatever you want!”
I reached into my leather briefcase, pulled out a thick document bound in dark blue leather, and pressed the signature page flat against the plexiglass.
“This is the irrevocable marital dissolution agreement and unconditional share forfeiture deed,” I said calmly. “Under this agreement, you surrender all remaining claims to Vane-Shiao Global Holdings, forfeit all joint marital assets, and accept sole, personal liability for the thirty-two million dollars in tax penalties owed to the Internal Revenue Service.”
Shiaoza’s eyes bulged as he read the summary terms through the glass. “You... you’re leaving me with nothing? I will be bankrupt! I will spend the next fifteen years in federal prison and come out with zero dollars to my name!”
“You will come out with exactly what you brought into this marriage ten years ago, Shiaoza,” I stated with absolute, merciless clarity. “Nothing.”
I lowered the document.
“If you sign this right now, I will instruct Victoria Sterling not to pursue secondary criminal charges against your mother for receiving stolen property. If you refuse, I will ensure Beatrice spends her seventy-first birthday in a women’s federal correctional facility for felony money laundering.”
Shiaoza’s breath hitched in his throat. He looked at the document, then looked into my eyes.
He saw no pity. No lingering affection. No hesitation.
He was looking at the woman who had built an international empire while he was playing king in a glass tower. He knew that any resistance would only result in the total, absolute annihilation of everything bearing his family’s name.
With trembling, shackled hands, Shiaoza picked up the ballpoint pen slid through the document slot by the guard, pressed the blue leather binder against the cold metal counter, and signed his name on the dotted line.
Shiaoza Shiao.
The legal signature that had once authorized multi-million-dollar corporate deals was now the final stroke sealing his total destruction.
I pulled the signed document back through the slot, inspected the signature with clinical precision, and placed it neatly back inside my briefcase.
I stood up from the metal chair, smoothing the fabric of my tailored suit jacket.
“Goodbye, Shiaoza,” I said softly into the receiver.
May you like
“Elena! Wait!” he screamed, banging his shackled fists against the glass as the guards moved in behind him. “Elena! Please look at me! Just tell me you loved me once!”
I didn't answer. I hung up the plastic receiver, turned my back on the weeping prisoner in orange, and walked out through the heavy steel doors into the crisp, clean midnight air.
