Chapter 12 - The Prison Visitor
The visiting room at the state correctional facility smelled of industrial bleach, stale coffee, and suffocating despair. The heavy glass partition separated the inmates from the outside world, distorting voices through a crackling metal intercom.
I sat upright in the bolted metal chair, my hands folded neatly in my lap. I hadn't come here out of forgiveness or pity. I came because the federal prosecutor had explicitly asked me to verify if Brandon knew the location of a missing safe-deposit box containing family heirlooms belonging to our late father.
The heavy steel door at the far end of the room clicked open.
Brandon shuffled in, wearing an orange jumpsuit that hung loosely on his frame. His hair was unkempt, his face hollowed out, and the arrogant, smug smirk that had once defined his expressions was completely gone. The reality of a twelve-year federal prison sentence had aged him by a decade in just three months.
He sat down heavily on the other side of the glass, picking up the heavy plastic telephone receiver with trembling hands. I mirrored his action, lifting the receiver to my ear.
"Chloe..." Brandon’s voice croaked through the speaker, thin and desperate. "I knew... I knew you would come. You've always been the responsible one. The savior."
"Save the dramatics, Brandon," I said, my voice completely devoid of warmth. "I'm here for one reason only. The federal trustee wants to know the exact location of the safety deposit box holding Dad's vintage watch collection and Mom’s heirloom jewelry. Hand over the key, and I won't block the prosecutor from filing a minor sentence review for cooperation."
Brandon’s eyes darted nervously around the room before locking onto mine behind the smudged glass. "About that... Vanessa was the one handling the physical keys. She hid them right after we moved into Mom's house. But... but she told me she would trade them if you agreed to hire a high-priced defense attorney to appeal her conviction."
A cold, humorless laugh escaped my lips. "An appeal? Vanessa is looking at a decade behind bars for elder abuse and wire fraud, and you think I'm going to spend a single dime helping her? You're both delusional."
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"Chloe, please!" Brandon slammed his palm against the glass partition, his face twisting in panic as two correctional guards immediately took a step toward him. "She's threatening to tell the federal agents about some old tax loopholes we used together! If she goes down completely, she’ll drag me down with her for twenty years instead of twelve!"
"Let her," I said softly, standing up and placing the heavy plastic receiver back onto its cradle. "You made your bed, Brandon. Now lie in it."
