The metallic clang of the cell door echoed like judgment. Brandon sat on the edge of the narrow cot, elbows on his knees, staring at the cold concrete floor. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, a single harsh note in an otherwise suffocating silence. His hands still smelled faintly of ink from the fingerprint station. Each print, each form, felt like a mark of how far he’d fallen.
The headlines had been merciless. Corporate Criminal. Hughes Scion Arrested. They didn’t care about truth—only blood.
He rubbed the back of his neck, jaw tight. It wasn’t fear gnawing at him. It was something worse—regret. For every decision that had led here. For every time he’d thought pride could shield him.
The door creaked open. “Visitor.”
Julia stood behind the glass partition, her hands trembling as
