Chapter 19 - THE UNOPENED LETTERIt was a crisp autumn Friday afternoon when my office assistant placed a single, stamped manila envelope on my desk.
"It came through the institutional mail forwarding service," she said apologetically. "From the federal penitentiary in Oregon."
I looked down at the familiar, jagged handwriting scrawled across the front of the envelope.
To: Naomi Lancaster. From: Inmate #849201 - Derek Lancaster.
I didn’t open it immediately. I sat back in my leather executive chair, spinning my silver fountain pen between my fingers, watching the golden autumn leaves drift down through the downtown traffic far below.
For three years, I had lived in fear of what Derek wanted, what my mother demanded, and what my family expected of me. I had let their voices dictate my self-worth, my bank account, and my future.
Now, the power dynamic had completely inverted.
I picked up a pair of heavy stainless-steel office shears, slid the blades under the taped flap of the envelope, and cleanly sliced the top edge off.
I pulled out the single sheet of lined institutional paper.
Naomi, it read in messy, hurried ink. Please. You have the power to petition the federal judge for a sentence reduction review. You know how Mom and Dad are—they're fading fast without me. If you just sign the hardship waiver, I can get transferred to a minimum-security facility closer to home. We’re family, Naomi. Blood is thicker than water. Please don't let me rot in here.
May you like
I read it twice.
Then, without a moment of hesitation, I picked up the papers, dropped them straight into the paper shredder beside my desk, and watched as the heavy steel blades chewed the words into fine, unrecognizable confetti.
