Chapter 9 - The Holding Cell
The following evening, the basement holding facility at the Federal Courthouse in downtown Austin was cold, sterile, and smelled of industrial floor wax and stale coffee.
Arthur Mercer sat on a narrow metal bench inside Cell 4, wearing a gray, ill-fitting orange jumpsuit provided by the U.S. Marshals. His polished Italian shoes were gone, replaced by standard slip-on canvas shoes. His hair was messy, his face pale and sunken, his posture entirely defeated.
Across the corridor in Cell 2, Trevor sat with his head buried in his knees, whimpering quietly every time a guard walked past.
A guard tapped his wooden baton against the iron bars of Arthur's cell. "Mercer. You've got a visitor."
Arthur jumped off the bench, his eyes widening with a sudden, pathetic spark of hope. "Is it my lawyer? Did he secure the bail bond?!"
The heavy steel door swung open, and I stepped into the holding corridor.
I was accompanied by two Secret Service agents. I was still wearing my service uniform, my posture straight, my presence filling the small concrete room.
Arthur stopped dead in his tracks, staring at me through the iron bars.
"Kate..." he whispered, his voice raspy, stripped of every ounce of its former corporate grandiosity. "You... you came."
"I am here in my official capacity to confirm the transfer of classified corporate records, Arthur," I said, standing three feet from his cell door.
Arthur fell to his knees on the concrete floor, reaching his trembling hands through the bars, his eyes filled with a desperate, breaking rage.
"Why, Kate?!" he wept, tears streaming down his hollow cheeks. "Why would you do this to your own family?! I built that company! I built everything so our family name would mean something in this country!"
"You didn't build it for a family, Arthur," I said, looking down at him with quiet, absolute pity. "You built it for your own ego. You discarded me twenty-six years ago because I refused to be an accessory to your vanity."
"I offered you half the company!" Arthur screamed, his fingers clutching the cold steel bars. "I offered you the inheritance!"
"You offered me money, Arthur," I replied softly. "You never offered me honor. You never understood that the uniform I wear cannot be bought, sold, or compromised."
In the adjacent cell, Trevor looked up, his face streaked with tears. "Kate... please... I didn't know about the chips! Dad made all the procurement decisions! Tell them to let me go!"
"Shut up, Trevor!" Arthur snapped weakly, before turning back to me, his voice dropping into a pathetic, broken plea. "Kate... please. Talk to the prosecutor. Don't let me die in a federal penitentiary."
I looked at the man who had called me a "mall cop" two nights ago at the White House gate.
May you like
"The U.S. Attorney is offering a plea arrangement," I told him flatly. "Full asset liquidation, complete forfeiture of all defense patents, and fifteen years in federal custody. I suggest you take it."
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