Success, Opulence and Power, Hebru Young [inspirational novels .txt] 📗

branches had a legit front. On the surface, things appeared legitimate, with all branches generating a reasonable amount of legal revenue. However, it was the criminal activities that generated the most funds. The funds were then laundered through multiple investments around the world.

In my organization, employees who were involved in the underhanded parts of the business were handsomely paid. Lower-level employees from the legit side of the business wouldn’t be privy to the shadier parts of the business. Such employees would be on a regular pay packet. Only a select few from mid-level staff were trusted with specific pieces of information about the shady side of the business. Key employees and members of the Assembly were assigned financial advisors. This was to ensure that everyone’s finances were managed in a way that wouldn’t raise red flags whenever the authorities ran audits. Employees who didn’t heed financial advice were considered a risk and would more than likely be relieved of duty—permanently.

After waiting an hour and a half, the cell intercom came on. It was one of the cell enforcers. “Mr. Dominguez, your bail has been processed. It’s time to transfer you to the exit block. Please approach the door and stand behind the red line, extending your left arm towards the monitoring enforcer. A biometric GPS tracker will be fitted on your wrist, and shortly after you will be asked to exit your cell.” My cell door opened, and on the other side was the monitoring enforcer. I’m not entirely sure why the red line had been placed there—it’s not as if it would stop an inmate from attacking the guy.

The tracker was equipped with three layers of security. Once fitted, the biometric band would analyse my DNA and cross-reference it with the counterpart that was stored on the UNEA’s database. It did this, every ten seconds, to ensure that I was the person actually wearing the bracelet at any given time. The band also included a sensor that monitored my pulse, again to ensure that I was wearing the bracelet at all times. The GPS would track my exact location, and this was the part that would cause real problems for me. In the coming weeks, I would need to attend meetings with business associates, and the last thing that I needed was the authorities monitoring my movements. “Mr. Dominguez, it will take a couple of minutes for this to synchronize. When it beeps, we’re done here.” These guys were robots, showing no emotion, and like the inmates, they were unpredictable. The tracking bracelet beeped, and I was asked to remain in my cell for a few more minutes.

While I was waiting, the door opened, and another enforcer appeared. In his hand was an air-tight vacuum storage bag. The bag contained my personal items, including my Army-style overcoat by Tranchard & Co. London, bespoke navy-blue Bellucci suit, Barzetti shoes, canary diamond cufflinks, an upgraded Avant Mécanique gold watch that had belonged to my dad before he died, and my wedding ring. My personal communicator had been left on a side table at the office when they arrested me. It was a good thing none of the enforcers noticed this at the time. I wouldn’t have had anything incriminating on it. However, I’m still glad that they didn’t find it, because it’s difficult to know what they could conjure up to use as evidence.

Shortly after, I rid myself of my horrible yellow prison attire and put on my own clothes. I was starting to feel like myself again. The intercom came on. It was the cell enforcer again. “Mr. Dominguez, it’s time for you to vacate your cell. Please step into the hallway, turn left, and follow the yellow luminous light all the way to the exit block. When you arrive at the exit block, an enforcer will direct you to one of the waiting rooms.”

I could already smell the fresh air, and couldn’t wait to get out of this hellhole. As I walked along, I could see the other inmates in their cells, people from all walks of life. Some looked like they didn’t belong in there, and others looked like complete psychopaths that deserved to be in there forever. I had to keep to the left side of the corridor between a red line on the floor and the concrete white windowless wall. There were LED prompts that flashed from the floor and walls that read “Stay inside the red line.” This must have been for times when groups of prisoners needed to be escorted from one end of the facilities to another. This would keep the prisoners separated from staff or something. There were also the yellow flashing arrows that pointed to the exit block.

As I approached the corridor junction, in front of me was a projected signpost that pointed right to the infirmary and left to the exit block. As I turned left, I could see an enforcer booth in the distance. Before I reached the booth, I was instructed through the intercom to step into waiting room E314. Not more than ten minutes later, a woman’s voice came through the intercom in room E314. This was the only female voice that I’d heard during my visit to the corrections facilities. “Mr. Dominguez, it is time for you to vacate DC Corrections. Please exit the waiting room and go straight to door number eight. Wait for the buzzer, and the door will open automatically. On the other side of the door, you will find a walkway. Proceed through the walkway. At the end of it you will see a gate. The gate will open automatically as you approach. At that point, you’ll be free to go.”

Music to my ears, I was a few minutes from freedom, sort of. I could not understand what was going on with the whole “Mr. Dominguez” thing. I was under the impression that once you became a prisoner, you automatically lost your name and