Victor’s Final Days in Prison
There was a quietness that came with long-term confinement — not just the absence of noise, but the absence of meaning.
Victor Fernando sat in a stark concrete cell, barely bigger than a broom closet. No windows. No colour. No shadows, even — the light above him flickered, steady and pale, robbing everything of depth.
Like him.
He had once controlled companies with a whisper. Orchestrated betrayal with a pen. Built empires on false names and falsified records.
Now his greatest luxury was the extra towel he bartered for with the younger inmate in 4B.
It wasn’t long after his sentencing that the world forgot him.
The news cycle moved on.
His old allies ghosted him. The accounts he kept in offshore banks had been frozen or seized. Every identity he’d craf
