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Vincent sat alone in the vast, empty conference suite, surrounded by the cold remains of five million dollars in stolen bank transcripts.
He slowly lowered his hands, looking across the table at the half-filled glass of water I had left behind on the coaster.
He reached out, his calloused fingers wrapping around the thin crystal, holding it as if it were the only holy relic left in the universe.
For eighteen years, he had believed he was a master of the universe, manipulating markets and crushing competitors with a single phone call.
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He had built a fortress of steel and gold in the center of the country, believing that power was the ultimate armor against regret.
Yet tonight, in a hotel room in Massachusetts, a boy in a twenty-dollar tie had stripped him of his dignity with six sentences.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, opening the secure family portal that contained his private estate documents.
