Blood covered the courthouse steps before I even understood I was falling. One second, I was eight months pregnant and begging my husband’s mistress to leave me alone; the next, I was tumbling down thirty marble stairs while my older brother—the most feared lawyer in Pennsylvania—watched me hit the landing.

Thirty miles away, in the cold, windowless holding cells of the Montgomery County Correctional Facility, Richard Harrington was coming to the horrific realization that his golden life was over.

He was stripped of his bespoke navy suit, his expensive leather shoes, and his Patek Philippe watch. In their place, he wore an oversized, bright orange jumpsuit that smelled of cheap detergent and industrial floor cleaner.

He sat on a cold concrete bench, staring at the rusting steel toilet in the corner of his six-by-eight cell.

"Lawyer! I need my lawyer!" Richard screamed, slamming his palms against the heavy iron bars of his cell door. "I am Richard Harrington! Do you know who I am? I know the District Attorney! Call Arthur Vance immediately!"

A burly guard with graying hair walked slowly down the corridor, holding a ring of heavy keys. He stopped in front of Richard's cell, looking at him with absolute disgust.

"Shut up, Harrington," the guard said flatly.

"You can't keep me here!" Richard yelled, his face turning red with frustration. "My wife had an accident on the courthouse steps! This is a family tragedy! I have a right to bail!"

"Your bail hearing was held thirty minutes ago," the guard replied, leaning against the bars. "Special magistrate session."

Richard's heart dropped into his stomach. "What? Without me present? What was the bail?"

"Denied," the guard said smoothly. "Fifty million dollars cash bond, or held without bail pending grand jury indictment for attempted murder, aggravated assault, and corporate racketeering. Your lawyer, Mr. Vance, tried to argue. The judge threatened to throw him in the cell right next to you for contempt."

Richard staggered backward, clutching his chest. "Fifty million? That's impossible! That's insane! Who was the judge?"

"Judge Jonathan Sterling," the guard said, a smirk touching his lips. "Former senior partner at Cole, Vance & Sterling. Looks like your brother-in-law has some very powerful friends, Harrington."

Richard collapsed onto the hard concrete bench, his head in his hands, his breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps.

Across the hallway, in the women's holding wing, Vanessa Kensington was screaming.

She was locked in a solitary cell, her crimson coat replaced by the same humiliating orange jumpsuit. Her designer makeup was smeared across her face in black, ugly streaks, her manicured nails broken and bleeding from where she had clawed at the heavy steel door.

"Let me out of here!" Vanessa shrieked, her voice hoarse and raw. "I didn't push her! She slipped! The stupid bitch fell on her own! She's trying to frame me!"

A female officer walked by, slapping her wooden nightstick against the metal door frame. BANG!

"Quiet down, Kensington!" the officer barked. "Save it for the grand jury!"

"I have a baby!" Vanessa lied frantically, clutching her stomach through the orange fabric. "I'm pregnant! You can't keep a pregnant woman in jail!"

"We ran your medical intake bloodwork an hour ago, Kensington," the officer said, looking at her clipboard with a cold sneer. "You're not pregnant. You never were. The tox screen did come back positive for high levels of cocaine and unprescribed pharmaceuticals, though. So add possession and filing a false medical claim to your docket."

Vanessa froze. Her lie shattered instantly, leaving her completely exposed, vulnerable, and terrified. She sank down to the cold concrete floor, pulling her knees to her chest, sobbing hysterically as the harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

Two hours later, Arthur Vance was permitted a fifteen-minute attorney-client visit with Richard in a cramped, glass-partitioned meeting room.

Vance looked shaken. His sleek, arrogant posture was gone, replaced by a nervous, twitching demeanor. He sat down across from Richard, setting his briefcase on the metal table.

"Arthur!" Richard gasped, leaning against the partition. "Get me out of here! Pay the bail! Use the commercial properties as collateral!"

"I can't, Richard," Vance whispered frantically, checking over his shoulder to ensure the guards weren't listening. "Harrison Cole went to the federal court in Philadelphia two hours ago. He secured an emergency freezing order on every single asset connected to your name, your businesses, and your shell companies. You are completely locked out."

"What about the Cayman accounts?" Richard pleaded, his eyes wide with desperate terror. "The Nevis trusts? There's twelve million dollars sitting in Nevis!"

"The FBI seized those accounts thirty minutes ago, Richard!" Vance snapped, sweating through his shirt collar. "Harrison didn't just find the money—he brought the Department of Justice into the case! They are opening a full RICO investigation into your development firm for money laundering and wire fraud!"

Richard stared at his attorney, his vision swimming, his chest constricting so tightly he thought he was having a heart attack.

"What about Vanessa?" Richard stammered.

"Vanessa is facing first-degree attempted murder," Vance said flatly. "And frankly, Richard, her legal team is already talking to the prosecutors. They're trying to cut a deal to turn state's evidence against you in exchange for a reduced sentence on the assault charges."

"She's turning on me?" Richard yelled, his voice cracking. "She was the one who pushed Khloe!"

"And you were the one who hired her, moved the money with her, and stood there while it happened," Vance said, standing up and packing his briefcase. "Richard... I’m withdrawing as your lead counsel."

Richard slammed his hands against the glass. "What? You can't abandon me, Arthur! I paid you a hundred thousand dollar retainer!"

"That retainer was drawn from an account that was frozen by federal marshals an hour ago," Vance said coldly, turning toward the door. "I don't work for free, Mr. Harrington. And I certainly don't stand in front of Harrison Cole when he's out for blood. Good luck. You're going to need it."

The heavy steel door clicked shut, leaving Richard alone in the cold room, staring at his reflection in the glass.

For six years, he had believed he was untouchable. He had believed he was the smartest, most powerful man in every room he entered. He had treated his wife like an inconvenient object, a broken vessel to be discarded when her utility expired.

Now, sitting in an orange jumpsuit, abandoned by his mistress, betrayed by his lawyer, and stripped of every dollar he had spent his life stealing, Richard Harrington finally understood the truth.