Chapter 12 - The Descent into RealitySixty miles away, at the federal holding facility in Middlesex County, Grant Miller was experiencing a very different kind of morning.
Stripped of his tailored Brioni suits, his imported silk ties, and his inflated sense of corporate superiority, Grant sat in a stark, fluorescent-lit holding cell wearing a standard-issue orange jumpsuit. The man who had stood before high-society executives raising a glass of Dom Pérignon had completely vanished.
According to Marcus’s preliminary updates from the U.S. Attorney’s office, Grant had spent the entire night screaming at his court-appointed public defender, demanding to know why his bail request had been summarily denied.
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When he learned that Nolan Voss had already signed a sweeping cooperation agreement with federal prosecutors—offering up every detail of Grant’s financial complicity in exchange for shaving two years off his own sentence—Grant had reportedly broken down in tears, pounding his fists against the stainless-steel table until the guards subdued him.
They had trusted a criminal who had spent six years in prison, believing they could use him as a tool to steal my father’s legacy. Instead, Voss had used them as a shield, leaving Grant and his family holding the entire bag of federal felony charges.
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