Chapter 19: The Federal Number
Arthur Hayes didn't get to fade away into a quiet, miserable apartment life for long.
The SEC investigation into Vanguard Financial had ripped the lid off decades of corporate fraud. Marcus Sterling, desperate to reduce his own sentence, handed the federal prosecutors a mountain of evidence against his biggest clients.
Arthur Hayes was at the top of the list.
I didn't go to his trial. I didn't need to. I watched the news anchors report the verdict from the comfort of my new office at the foundation.
Guilty on all counts.
Wire fraud. Embezzlement. Bribery of public officials. Tax evasion.
Because Arthur was in his late sixties, the fifteen-year sentence the federal judge handed down was essentially a life sentence.
Two days before he was transferred to a minimum-security federal facility in Pennsylvania, I received a call from the county jail. Arthur had requested a visitor. Me.
I went.
We sat on opposite sides of a thick pane of reinforced glass. He looked ancient. The stress of the last year had aged him two decades. His hair was completely white, and his hands trembled as he picked up the heavy black telephone receiver.
I picked up mine.
"Why did you come?" he rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves.
"Because I wanted to see it with my own eyes," I replied calmly.
He closed his eyes for a moment. "Your mother took a job as a receptionist at a dentist's office. She stands on her feet for eight hours a day. She cries herself to sleep."
"That sounds like an honest living," I said. "A lot of people do it."
Arthur leaned closer to the glass. "I was trying to build a dynasty, Evelyn. For all of you. Everything I did, I did to keep the Hayes name strong."
"The Hayes name is a punchline, Dad," I said, my voice steady and completely devoid of pity. "Your legacy isn't money. Your legacy is a son in a state penitentiary, a wife who hates you, and a daughter who had to tear you down to survive."
I stood up, leaving the receiver off the hook.
May you like
"Goodbye, Arthur."
I turned my back on him and walked out of the visitation room. I didn't look over my shoulder, but I could feel his eyes on me, watching the last piece of his family walk out of his life forever.
