Chapter 8 - THE RECKONING BEHIND BARSThree weeks later, the cold fluorescent lights of the county detention facility buzzed monotonously overhead.
In the high-security visitor's booth, sitting behind thick, reinforced ballistic glass, was Margaret Sterling. Gone was the crimson silk blouse, the designer skirts, and the immaculate silver coiffure. In their place hung a drab, orange jumpsuit, her hair unstyled, her face lined with the harsh, unforgiving reality of a fallen queen.
The heavy steel door on the opposite side of the glass opened.
Ethan walked in alone, holding a single manila folder. He sat down slowly in the metal chair, picking up the heavy black telephone receiver.
Margaret’s eyes lit up with desperate hope. She grabbed her receiver with trembling, age-spotted hands and pressed it to her ear.
"Ethan! My boy!" Margaret sobbed, pressing her palm against the glass. "Thank God! You came! You talked to the lawyers, didn't you? You told them this is all a terrible misunderstanding—"
"I didn't come to bail you out, Mother," Ethan interrupted, his voice calm, steady, and utterly devoid of emotion.
Margaret froze. Her breath hitched in her throat. "What... what do you mean?"
"The trial begins next month," Ethan said, opening the manila folder and sliding a single piece of paper against the glass for her to see. "The prosecution has airtight evidence. The mechanic you paid to sabotage Ava's car has confessed to everything in exchange for a reduced sentence. Uncle Marcus has turned state's evidence to save himself. You’re looking at a minimum of twenty-five years without parole."
Margaret stared at the document, her lower lip trembling violently. The formidable, untouchable matriarch dissolved right before his eyes into a broken, terrified old woman.
"I did it for you, Ethan!" Margaret screamed, her voice cracking as she slammed her fist against the glass. "I built this empire for you! I made you a billionaire! How can you do this to your own mother?!"
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"You didn't build an empire, Mother," Ethan said softly, standing up from his chair and looking down at her through the glass for the very last time. "You built a prison. And today, the doors finally locked."
He hung up the receiver, turned on his heel, and walked out of the visitation room without looking back once.
