Why Do We Fall?

Why Do We Fall? The first time I was arrested and transferred to the Tombs in downtown Manhattan, I was met with the harsh reality of a place that seemed designed to bury not just bodies, but hope. The Tombs, as it’s infamously known, is a New York City jail, its nickname coming from its resemblance to Egyptian burial tombs. One of the most jarring moments was crossing the “Bridge of Sorrows.” This narrow, suspended walkway gave prisoners a fleeting view of the outside world. For a second — and just a second — I was no longer an inmate but a man, seeing the city that had once pulsed with life and opportunity all around me. But before I could grasp it, the world I had known disappeared again, replaced by cold steel and concrete, where time was no longer a guarantee, and freedom was a distant dream with no deadline. The experience was agonizing, especially as I still fought for my innocence. I was a businessman caught in the crossfire of a white-collar real estate investment ...