Chapter 12 - The Ghost in the CellFive hundred miles away, inside the sterile, fluorescent-lit visitor’s block of a federal correctional facility in West Virginia, Victor Whitmore sat with his head in his hands.
His orange jumpsuit hung loosely on a frame that had grown hollow and gaunt over the last few months. The bravado that had once fueled his laughter on that rainy Charlotte night was entirely gone, replaced by a dull, permanent despair.
A guard tapped a heavy nightstick against the metal partition. “Ten minutes, Whitmore. Wrap it up.”
Victor didn't look up. He didn't have anyone left to talk to anyway. His parents refused his calls; his former coworkers pretended he never existed; and Madison Hughes—after serving a brief stint in a minimum-security holding facility—had long since skipped town, cutting all ties the moment the money dried up.
Then, a guard approached his table, holding a manila envelope stamped with the prison mailroom's inspection seal.
“Legal mail for you, Whitmore. Sign here.”
Victor numbly scribbled his inmate number on the clipboard. The guard dropped the envelope and walked away.
With shaking, calloused fingers, Victor ripped open the top. He pulled out a single sheet of legal paper bearing the letterhead of Evelyn Vance’s law firm, alongside a certified copy of the trust default settlement.
His eyes scanned the paragraphs, his breath catching in his throat as the numbers registered.
One point five million dollars.
The grandfather trust fund. The ultimate safety net he had guarded like a dragon guarding gold. And because of the default terms triggered by his own criminal actions, it was now transferred in full to his ex-wife.
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“No…” Victor choked out, his voice cracking into a pathetic, ragged sob that echoed off the concrete walls. “No, no, no…”
He had thought she was trapped. He had thought she would cry, scream, forgive him, and stay. Instead, she had walked away with everything he ever owned, leaving him with nothing but cold steel and endless regret.
