Chapter 15 - THE VISITOR IN THE RAINTwo weeks after the broadcast, the warden’s office at the federal facility received an anonymous request for a private legal visitation.
Michael was pulled from his cell block at 6:00 AM without explanation. He was dragged through three sets of heavy security doors and pushed into a sterile, windowless visitation room.
Sitting across the metal table wasn't a federal prosecutor. It wasn't a parole officer.
It was Richard Sterling.
Michael stopped dead in his tracks, staring at his former father-in-law. Richard looked twenty years older; his hair was stark white, his posture was hunched, and his expensive suit had been replaced by cheap, off-the-rack civilian clothes.
"Richard?" Michael whispered, stepping forward. "What... what are you doing here?"
Richard slowly raised his head. His eyes were dead, filled with a cold, unforgiving malice. He didn't stand up. He just pointed a trembling finger at the metal chair across from him.
"Sit down, boy," Richard spat, his voice raspy.
Michael hesitantly pulled out the chair and sat down, his hands trembling. "I'm sorry... about everything. Cassandra... how is Cassandra?"
"Cassandra is broken," Richard said coldly. "She spends twelve hours a day washing floors while you rot in this hole. And it’s all because of your arrogance. Because you couldn't control your bride, and because you thought you could outsmart Robert Whitaker."
"I was manipulated!" Michael hissed, a flash of his old temper flaring up. "Your daughter was the one who slapped my mother! She started the whole thing!"
Richard slammed his fist onto the metal table with a loud BANG, making the guards outside the glass door step forward instantly.
"Don't you dare blame my daughter for your spineless cowardice!" Richard roared, his face turning purple. "You stood right there and shoved your own mother into a wall! You were the man of the house—supposedly—and you let your greed blind you to the blood that raised you!"
Michael flinched, shrinking back under Richard’s fury.
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"I came here today," Richard whispered, leaning across the table until his face was inches from Michael’s, "not to offer comfort. I came here to tell you that the Sterling family name is dead, our wealth is gone, and my daughter will never look at another man again. And it is entirely your fault."
Richard stood up, straightening his cheap jacket, and walked out of the room without looking back once, leaving Michael completely alone in the silent, suffocating darkness.
