Chapter 12 - The Cell Block VisitorVisiting a maximum-security federal penitentiary required passing through three sets of heavy steel doors that slammed shut like iron guillotines behind you. The air smelled of cheap floor wax, sweat, and despair.
I sat across the thick plexiglass partition in the attorney-client consultation room, wearing a sharp charcoal blazer. I didn't look like the broken, bleeding girl he had left on the hospital floor months ago. I looked like his executioner.
A guard dragged Thaddius into the booth. He looked pathetic. His hair was cropped short, his skin had taken on the pasty, gray tone of institutional fluorescent lighting, and the expensive designer suits had been replaced by a bright orange jumpsuit that swallowed his frame.
When he saw my face through the glass, his eyes flared with a toxic mix of humiliation and lingering arrogance. He picked up the heavy plastic telephone receiver, and I slowly picked up mine.
"Mave," his voice crackled through the speaker, raspy and venomous. "You look proud of yourself. Enjoying playing mistress of a house that's about to be stripped away from under your feet?"
"You filed a contestation, Thaddius," I said calmly, my voice steady and unyielding. "You really think an outdated 1924 charter is going to save you from federal bankruptcy?"
"It’s not outdated, it’s federal law," Thaddius sneered, leaning close to the glass. "You think you can just erase my family name, take my home, and turn it into a charity commune? Drop the counter-lawsuits, Mave. Sign the asset release papers, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll let the prison board grant you a clean divorce without dragging your name through the mud."
I let out a low, cold laugh that made him flinch. "Thaddius, you still don't understand who you're dealing with, do you? You think you're holding a trump card. But you forgot something crucial."
"What?" he snapped, his eyes narrowing.
"I'm not here to negotiate," I whispered, pressing my hand against the cold plexiglass right over his face. "I'm here to deliver your final notice."
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I slid a single printed document through the security slot at the base of the partition. It wasn't a settlement offer. It was a federal indictment copy detailing a secondary, uncharged conspiracy: Thaddius had personally funneled embezzlement funds from the Henderson acquisition into a secret offshore account registered under his mother’s maiden name—the exact account currently funding his high-priced prison defense attorney.
His eyes scanned the paper, and the remaining color drained entirely from his face.
