The Love Of Money - Episode 308
01-09-25 (04:51)
Apparently, her escort didn't feel the same way about
uncomfortable silences.
"These are some of the slowest elevators I've ever
been on," the guard finally said.
"Yes, well… this used to be a hospital, you see," Amber
said, staring at the floor indicator above the door. "I
believe it went bankrupt about ten years ago and was
bought out by another company. They refurbished it as
a prison."
The man's eyebrows climbed up his head as he looked
at her. "What does that have to do with the elevators
being slow?"
"At the time, in the state of Colorado, there was a local
ordinance that required slow elevator speeds in
hospitals due to health issues. The law was repealed
twelve years ago, but the hospital was constructed
eleven years prior to the removal." Amber's eyes hadn't
once drifted away from the floor indicator.
Before the officer could reply, the doors slid open, and
the pair left the elevator, took a right, and headed
down a corridor well-lit in a warm, incandescent glow.
It was much different than the cold florescent lights of
regular prisons, and the hallways of those didn't have
pleasant classical music piped through speakers in the
walls. If one must go to prison, this was the way to do
it.
The guard stopped in front of a door and opened it.
"Officer Estes should be here in a few minutes with Mr.
Castor.
Nodding her head once, Amber walked into the room
and looked around, unbothered as the door shut behind
her. The spacious lounge would have been impressive if
such things had impressed Amber. As she stood there,
she took in the sight of cucumber water, lounge chairs,
a large-screen television, a comfortable-looking full-
sized bed, and a bar filled with snacks and drinks. It
was hardly a drab place where' people went to think
about their crimes in remorse and sorrow.
Instead of enjoying one of the loungers, Amber went to
the small square table and sat in one of the seats. She
pulled out her pen and notepad, set it on the table,
folded her hands on the paper, and simply waited as
she stared around the room.
Almost fifteen minutes had passed before the door
she'd walked through opened, and in walked a man
who appeared to be in his early to mid-fifties. He had
short salt-and-pepper hair and a five-o'clock shadow.
He was wearing cargo pants and a button-down short-
sleeve shirt, making it look more like he was on a
beach vacation than serving a sentence in prison.
"You're not Bianca," he said, stopping short as he looked
at her in confusion. The prison door swung shut behind
him.
"No," Amber said, rising out of her chair. "I certainly am
not."
The man's easy manner was replaced by a look of
nervousness; his dark eyes darted around the room as
if looking for someone else. He suddenly looked like a
man being hunted for sport.
"Please," the lawyer said, gesturing to one of the other
chairs at the table. "Have a seat. You're not in any
danger. Your name is Phillip Castor, correct?"
The man eyed the seat warily but didn't move. "Who
sent you? What do you want?"
Turning back to the table, she reached into her bag,
pulled out several sheets of paper, and laid them on the
surface. "My name is Amber Bell, and I represent
Brantwood Holdings. They've expressed an interest in
filling the void left by your partner's… ehm… demise."
"Thanks," Castor said, still not moving. "I'm good."
"Nonsense," Amber said. "Everyone can always be
made better."
"Not me. Everything I need's taken care of."
"You... did hear that Colin Gerrard died, yes?" Amber
said.
"Yes, but my deal still holds."
Amber gave him a doubtful look. "For now, but
Gerrard's grandson has inherited his estate and has a
different set of principles that guide his actions. He's
already begun the first steps of reforming his flagship
company."
Castor's eyes wandered across her features uncertainly.
"That… shouldn't matter, right?"
"Normally, no," Amber said. "However, in your case, the
legality of your agreement with the late Colin Gerrard
is… tenuous at best. I'm afraid if you were to challenge
any change or discontinuation of the deal you made, it
would attract untoward attention. I'm sure your family
would not appreciate having their income or security
ripped from them, and I wonder how long you would
last in a prison…" She looked around the room as if
trying to grasp the right words, then leveled her gaze
back at Castor. "With less amenities."
Phillip visibly tensed, approached the woman, and sat
at the table to her right. "Are you threatening my
family?"
Amber retook her seat, trying to puzzle out how best to
respond to the man. "Not at all, Mr. Castor. My firm is
interested in continuing the relationship between you
and Mr. Gerrard. Your deal would continue as-is with no
difference."
"First, how does your firm know about the deal, and
why would they be interested in continuing it?"
"Because you have something they want," Amber said,
pushing the papers toward the man along with the pen.
"The ledger you stole from Mr. Gerrard."
"Christ," Castor guffawed. "You're not asking for much."
"It's the payment Brantwood requires for their…
generous offer," Amber said. Don't forget to leave a Comment 
