Chapter 13 - The Courthouse Corridor
The federal penitentiary holding facility was cold, smelling of bleach, damp concrete, and unexpressed despair.
Derek Vance sat on the edge of a bolted-down steel bunk inside Interview Booth 4, staring at his reflection in the smudged Plexiglas partition. His orange jumpsuit hung loosely over his frame; the stress, the lack of proper sleep, and the terrifying reality of his new environment had hollowed out his cheeks and dulled the arrogant spark in his eyes.
A heavy metal door banged open at the other end of the booth, and a guard escorted a visitor into the opposing seat.
Derek blinked rapidly, squinting through the smeared glass. It wasn't his mother. It wasn't a lawyer.
It was me.
I sat down slowly, adjusting the cuffs of my tailored wool coat, and picked up the heavy plastic telephone receiver. Derek hesitated for a moment before picking up his own receiver, his hand trembling as he pressed it against his ear.
“Dad?” Derek’s voice was a cracked, pathetic whisper, stripped of all its former bite. “How... why are you here? Did Arianne send you? Is she... is she okay?”
“Arianne is doing remarkably well, Derek,” I said calmly, my voice carrying clearly through the secure intercom system. “She woke up this morning, played building blocks with Gideon in our garden, and didn't mention your name once. You no longer exist in her world.”
Derek swallowed hard, a desperate tear escaping his eye and tracking down his gaunt cheek. “I made a mistake. I snapped. Business pressure... the stress of the market... it got to me. Please, Dad—you’re a wealthy man now, you have all the power in the world. You can buy the best appellate lawyers. You can get me out of here. I’ll go to therapy. I’ll never go near her again, I swear!”
I stared at him for a long, agonizing moment, letting the silence stretch until it became an unbearable weight on his shoulders.
“You didn't snap under business pressure, Derek,” I said quietly, leaning slightly closer to the glass. “You revealed your true nature. You believed that because you married my daughter, you owned her. You believed that because I wore a flannel shirt and drove an old truck, you could humiliate us without consequence.”
“I’m sorry!” Derek sobbed, pressing his forehead against the cold Plexiglas. “I’ll lose everything! I have nothing left!”
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“You never had anything real to begin with, Derek,” I answered, setting my receiver down on the console. “Enjoy your twelve years. Reflect on every single choice you made.”
I stood up, smoothed down my coat, and walked out of the booth, leaving him alone in the dark.
