The Underrated Son-In Law: I Am The World Richest Man

It was heavy winter in the cold tranquil, prison yard where I stood by the side of an impervious jailer whose hostile face held no joy.

Once he bent over to sign some documents, he gave me a nod that impinged me to do same.

“Today you are released from the four walls of this prison, Brian Patrick,” he called me softly and patted my fragile shoulders as though to be more emphatic.

I grinned, swallowed hard, lowered my gaze as if by any careless moves of my eyelids those tears would trickle.

I sniffed. Finally my tears trickled.

“You are going back to the society. Be of good behavior and stay off financial fraud,” his masculine voice groaned a warning.

I dared to fight back more tears as my shattered face brook no argument.

Behind the gigantic gate of the prison yard, I stood, waiting as the gate creaked and got opened for me to step out.

“So I was leaving this prison finally,” I intoned in my head.

A welcoming, chilled wind blew at me, leaving my long, unkempt hair fluttering behind my neck.

I threw a few steps forward and that marked the end of my stay in a fifteen- years-jail sentence. Confused about which way to take, I squatted and finally broke down in terrifying tears.

“Finally it is over, and I am free from this hell of a prison…”

The voice came once again reminding me that I had a family to return to, even though fifteen years might have denied them exact recognition of me. But I was free to return to a society that accused me of $15 billion company fraud.

Morgan Harris.

He could probably be richer and more influential now. Yes!

I sniffed and started walking down the lonely cold road as I thought of Morgan Harris; those names tuckered me out as pictures of that horrible morning flashed in my head.

How did a poor office cleaner like me get involved in a company fraud?

I had gotten imprisoned when I realized my boss; Morgan Harris had only used me to commit a financial fraud in the Community Central Bank. Who else would he have used if not me, Brian Patrick, the poorest and the least paid staff at Morgan Group?

My thumb print, signature and photos were all glaring in the exhibit presented by the jury. At the time Community Central Bank was still in search of their $15 billion and since the culprit was standing right before them, Morgan Harris handed me over to them to be tried and jailed.

Little wonder!

Fifteen years ago weren’t years I often relished. I had disappointed my family, my friends, and posterity.

Nobody believed I was innocent of the crime. Only my conscience reposed its honesty in me.

I halted on the road, shut my eyes, raised my gaze at the blue sky above and wondered which way to turn. On the road I noticed pedestrians kept their distance and stigmatized me. It was when I crossed the edge of a glass wall that my reflection struck in my head. Fifteen years of being bullied, starved and ridiculed in jail had stolen the better parts of me. The despicable treatment decked my thought that I barely could reason well.

I was looking shabby, unkempt dirty and ragged. When I stole a glance at a beggar by the road side, I noticed I wasn’t better off in appearance. First thing first! I needed to reunite with my family. But what would become of them now? My heartbeat had resounded in shame when I thought about my family.