Chapter 23 - The Concrete Tomb
Two hundred miles away, the Federal Supermax Penitentiary stood as a bleak, miserable fortress of gray concrete and razor wire, surrounded by miles of barren desert.
Daniel sat on the edge of his thin, uncomfortable cot. He wore a shapeless, bright orange jumpsuit. His cell was exactly six feet wide and eight feet long. The only natural light came from a tiny, frosted slit of glass near the ceiling.
The heavy steel door of his cell buzzed loudly, echoing with a metallic, soul-crushing finality.
A prison guard slid a small, plastic tray of tasteless, gray food through the slot in the door.
"Eat up, billionaire,"
The guard sneered, rapping his baton against the steel bars.
Daniel did not respond. He stared at the concrete wall, his mind completely consumed by a dark, toxic, obsessive rage.
He didn't regret trying to kill his wife. He didn't regret the attempted murder of his unborn child. He only regretted that he had failed. He hated Mateo with a burning, vicious intensity that bordered on absolute madness.
"I am not going to die in here,"
Daniel whispered to the empty, freezing cell, his voice scratching like dry sandpaper.
May you like
He pulled a tiny, smuggled piece of graphite from beneath his mattress. He began to meticulously scratch a complex series of routing numbers onto the concrete wall behind his toilet.
He still had loyalists on the outside. He still had access to dark money hidden in offshore, untraceable accounts. And he was going to use every single cent to tear his brother's new life completely apart.
