Triumph Of The Belittled Son-in-law

CHAPTER 3

Paul arrived at the New York City Police Precinct. The Police officers all had mean faces. He was directed to sit in the reception area but he had been waiting for almost 3 hours without anyone attending to him despite his polite requests to officers who were passing by to know why he was summoned.

He knew that they were very aware that he was waiting because they were whispering words to each other and stealing glances at him. They must be gossiping about me, he thought.

But why would they be having a chatter about him? 

He checked the wall clock and it was already 10 pm but since he didn't have anywhere he would have slept the night anyway, he kept mute for a few more minutes until he finally voiced out. 

“Am I being kept here purposely? Why is no one answering me? Can I leave now or is there still an arrest? His voice was tinged with worry as he cleaned the sweat off his face with his elbow. He had had one hell of a day.

A few minutes later, an officer approached him. He had a stern eye and his hands clasped behind his back. He had rough feather hair and seemed to be around his late 40s.

Paul noticed the tag on his uniform and recalled that it was the same name as the one the officer who called him introduced himself with.

“Officer Hall, right?” he asked and the officer responded with a slight nod. 

“You mentioned on the phone that I am under arrest for a Ponzi scheme. I only worked as a bartender under the Winston Corporation until I was forced to leave. It seems you might have gotten the wrong person,” Paul explained, his posture hunched over. He was determined to clear his name.

The officer had a smug smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Are you Paul Leonard?” he asked, looking at a file in his hand.

“Yes, it's me”

“Well, then there is no mistake. Hands behind your back please,” the officer’s voice was firm and authoritative as he brought out a cuff from behind his belt.

Paul was lost. His eyes widened and his jaw slacked. He couldn't believe what he was witnessing. Was he really about to be arrested for something he didn't know about? 

“I swear there is a mistake. You can't do this to me. You have the wrong person. I own no business neither do I have the capacity to commit the offense you are alleging that I committed,” Paul grunted as he struggled to free himself from the handcuff which was now hooked on him. Sweat was dripping off his brow and his face was red. 

He thought of his ex-wife, Sarah Winston, whom he was forced to divorce. Perhaps she could help me even though we parted on an ugly note, he reasoned. He didn't want to believe that she wouldn't care that much to the extent of not batting an eye if he was mistreated by the police. There was no one else who could come to his aid. 

Officer Hall led Paul swiftly to a room, his leather boots stamping noisily as they marched on.

***

Paul’s eyes blinked thrice. He had slept the entire night in the interrogation room despite having been cuffed.

It was early in the morning but the air was hot and smelly. It was a medium-sized room without windows. The walls were stained as if covered with ashes and the tables and chairs were looking old. There was a dim reflection from the lightbulb hanging on the ceiling. 

Paul looked up and Officer Hall was unlocking his handcuffs. A lady officer was seated across from him. Paul’s eyes were still glassy and his gaze was unfocused. He checked his pockets for his cell phone and realized that it was no longer where he kept it.

“Errm! My cellphone. I am looking for it, do you know….?” He asked, his eyes darting around anxiously.

“You are in an interrogation room. Why on earth would you think that you should be with your cell phone?” Officer Astrid, the female officer, shook her head, smiling mischievously.

At that moment, it dawned on Paul that his cell phone must have been taken off him while he was asleep.

“Take a look at these documents,” Officer Astrid said, tossing a stack of files and stapled papers over the table one after the other.

Paul was dumbfounded as he scanned through the documents. His heart was beating so fast that it felt like it would pop out of his chest any minute. His sweat trickled down the documents as he scampered through the pages.

They were copies of emails, memos, and financial statements of Winston Construction Corporation. He could recognize some of the documents from the time he worked with Lord Winston in brokering some contract deals but others seemed very strange to him.

Another round of files were tossed over to Paul and this time, he could see that his signature was being forged on all of them. 

Paul’s skin turned pale. He knew immediately that he had been framed. 

Since Lord Winston’s death, his first son, Frank Winston took the mantle of leadership especially when it came to the very technical areas of business while Lady Winston controlled the area of finding new investors. 

When they realized that the corporation’s financial numbers were declining and reaching an all-time low since Lord Winston’s death, they both secretly ran a Ponzi scheme.

Lady Winston would ensure that new investors were promised high returns but they were only feeding off the funds of the previous investors. They continued like that for a few months until the skeletons in their cupboard started being exposed little by little.

New investors stopped doing business with Winston Corporation and since they relied on the new investors to pay the previous investors, they were in huge debt.

Three big companies across the city had threatened to sue Winston Corporation and that they would expose their illegal scheme to the public if the perpetrator or perpetrators didn't come out plainly and submit themselves to the law.

The last thing that the Winstons wanted was their reputation tarnished. They knew that as grievous as it was that their finances were falling, it was possible to bounce back from it but an allegation as serious as a Ponzi scheme meant their graves were being dug.

They needed a scapegoat and found Paul - Lord Winston’s favorite puppet as the perfect person to take the bullet for them. They were determined to make it seem like it was a joint effort between Paul and the late Lord Winston.

“What?!” Paul's cheeks flushed red, a look of disbelief in his eyes. “I didn't sign any of these. I have been framed”

“Gosh! I have been framed.”