Chapter 9 - Justice Served ColdThe Georgia State Penitentiary was quiet on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. The visitors’ room was drab, smelling of floor wax and stale vending machine coffee.

Seated at the farthest table, wearing his faded orange jumpsuit, was Caleb Whitmore. He had lost thirty pounds. His hair was streaked with gray, his shoulders slumped forward under the crushing weight of twenty-five years without parole.

When the heavy security door opened and I walked into the room, wearing a sharp charcoal pantsuit and dark sunglasses, Caleb’s head snapped up.

He scrambled out of his chair, rushing toward the glass divider, his eyes wide and bloodshot. He pressed his palms against the thick pane, mouthing my name through the intercom.

I didn't rush. I walked slowly, gracefully, my heels clicking rhythmically against the linoleum floor. I sat down in the steel chair on the opposite side of the glass, removed my sunglasses, and looked at him.

“Elizabeth...” Caleb choked out, his voice cracking with desperation. “You... you came.”

“I had business in the area, Caleb,” I said calmly, my voice steady and completely devoid of emotion. “I wanted to deliver something to you in person.”

His face lit up with a pathetic flicker of hope. “A pardon? Did your father’s contacts... did they find a way to get me out?”

I opened my leather briefcase, pulled out a crisp, official document, and pressed it flat against the glass so he could read the bold header.

DIVORCE DECREE: FINAL JUDGMENT. PETITIONER: ELIZABETH VANCE. RESPONDENT: CALEB WHITMORE. PROPERTY DIVISION: 100% TO PETITIONER. ASSETS FORFEITED.

Caleb stared at the paper, his mouth dropping open, his breath fogging up the glass. “You... you divorced me? While I was in here?”

“Caleb, our marriage ended the moment you raised your hand against me in our kitchen,” I said, my voice as cold as ice. “The court simply made it official.”

“You took everything!” Caleb screamed, slamming his fists against the glass. “The house, the cars, the bank accounts, my reputation! You left me with nothing!”

“No, Caleb,” I corrected him softly, standing up and buttoning my jacket. “You left yourself with nothing. I just helped you pack.”

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As the correctional officers rushed over to pull a sobbing, hysterical Caleb away from the glass, I turned around and walked toward the exit without looking back.

The heavy steel door buzzed open, and I stepped out into the bright, warm afternoon sunlight, taking a deep breath of the fresh, unclouded air.