Chapter 4 - The Golden Boy's Fall
The holding cell at the Westchester County Department of Corrections smelled of cheap industrial bleach and cold metal.
Ethan Vance sat on the narrow concrete bench, still wearing his bespoke Italian wool blazer—now rumpled, stained, and missing two buttons. His platinum watch had been confiscated, along with his leather belt and shoelaces.
For the first twelve hours, Ethan had sneered at the guards, repeatedly shouting that his grandmother would have their badges by morning. But as the sun rose and the morning chill set in, the bravado began to curdle into sheer terror.
A heavy iron door rattled open.
“Vance! Visitor,” a guard barked.
Ethan scrambled up, desperate. “Is it my lawyer? Is it Grandma?”
He was led down a secure corridor into a glass-divided visitation booth. Sitting on the other side of the partition was not Richard Sterling, nor was it his mother.
It was Dean Charles Bradley, the formidable head of Harvard Law School, accompanied by two stern-faced administrative officers.
Ethan’s eyes lit up with false hope. He grabbed the plastic receiver. “Dean Bradley! Thank God! Did Richard send you? You have to tell the prosecutor this is all a massive misunderstanding! My aunt is mentally unstable, she’s trying to ruin my 3L year!”
On the other side of the glass, Dean Bradley picked up his receiver. His expression was carved from granite.
“Mr. Vance,” Bradley said, his voice cold and devoid of warmth. “I did not fly down from Boston to assist your legal defense.”
Ethan paused, a cold knot forming in his stomach. “Then… why are you here?”
“This morning at 6:00 AM, the university received an official briefing from the Westchester County District Attorney’s Office, accompanied by a sealed grand jury indictment,” Dean Bradley said, reading from a manila folder. “Additionally, we were provided with security camera footage from your family’s residence.”
Ethan swallow hard. “The… the video?”
“We watched you assault an eight-year-old girl in cold blood, Mr. Vance,” Bradley said, disgust leaking into every syllable. “We watched your mother kick the child’s shattered bone. And we watched you casually sip wine while your cousin screamed in agony.”
“It’s not what it looks like!” Ethan cried, slamming his hand against the glass. “She provoked me! She threw papers at me! I have an exemplary academic record! I’m on Law Review!”
“Not anymore,” Dean Bradley replied. “The Executive Disciplinary Committee convened at 7:30 AM. Under Section 4 of the University Code of Conduct, violent criminal acts constitute grounds for immediate, summary expulsion. As of eighty minutes ago, Ethan Vance is no longer a student at Harvard University.”
The words hit Ethan like a physical blow. The air rushed out of his lungs. “Expelled? No… no, you can't expel me! I’m three months away from graduation! Latham & Watkins gave me an offer!”
“Latham & Watkins rescinded their offer thirty minutes ago,” Bradley said coldly. “The legal community is tight-knit, Mr. Vance. Word travels fast. Furthermore, the bursar informed us that your Apex Foundation scholarship has been terminated due to breach of moral turpitude clauses. You currently owe the university ninety-two thousand dollars in retroactive tuition and housing fees for the current academic year. If that balance is not settled within thirty days, it will be turned over to collections.”
“No! No! Please!” Ethan sobbed, tears finally spilling down his cheeks, smearing dirt across his pale face. “My grandmother has money! We can pay it! Just let me take my final exams!”
“Your grandmother’s accounts have been frozen by federal investigators looking into tax fraud connected to your mother’s business,” Dean Bradley said, closing the folder. “You threw away a brilliant future because you believed your wealth made you untouchable. You are not a lawyer, Mr. Vance. You are a violent offender. And you will face the law you so arrogantly claimed to represent.”
Bradley hung up the receiver, stood, and walked away without looking back once.
May you like
Ethan pounded his fists against the reinforced glass, screaming until his voice tore, but nobody listened. The guard stepped forward, grabbed him by the shoulder, and dragged him back toward the cold, dark holding cell.
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