Chapter 6 - The Grudge of Richard Vance
While Jake Miller was soaring to unprecedented heights of corporate influence, back in the Kane County detention center, life had taken a decidedly miserable turn for Richard Vance.
Denied bail due to being a severe flight risk and facing a staggering federal indictment carrying up to thirty years in a maximum-security penitentiary, Vance sat in a sterile, fluorescent-lit holding cell, staring blankly at the gray cinder-block walls.
The bespoke Italian wool suit had been replaced by a coarse orange jumpsuit; his salon-styled hair was uncombed, and the arrogant, sneering smirk that had terrorized salesmen for a decade was gone, replaced by a twitchy, paranoid scowl.
The heavy steel door swung open, and a public defender stepped in, dropping a thick stack of federal discovery files onto the metal table.
"The prosecution has submitted their final witness list, Richard," the attorney said tiredly, adjusting his glasses. "The forensic audit is air-tight. Your offshore accounts in the Bahamas have been completely frozen, and the three assistant managers you tried to blackmail have accepted federal immunity deals to testify against you. You're looking at maximum time."
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Vance buried his face in his calloused hands, the bitter, crushing weight of his own arrogant cruelty finally destroying him. He remembered snapping at the old man in the canvas jacket. He remembered firing Jake Miller on the showroom floor. He had traded his humanity for kickbacks and corporate tyranny, and in doing so, he had walked straight into a billionaire’s master-level trap.
He was broke, disgraced, and utterly ruined—not by bad luck, but by his own small-minded hatred.
