Chapter 13 - The Prosecutor's Visit
At precisely two o'clock, a sleek black sedan crunched up the gravel driveway of the estate. Sarah Chen stepped out of the vehicle, wearing a light trench coat and sunglasses that she pushed up into her dark hair as she surveyed the expansive, sunlit property. Gone was the severe, charcoal courtroom suit; today, she wore a simple silk blouse and tailored trousers, looking more like a university professor than the federal prosecutor who had put Tyler Vance away for twenty-five years.
I walked down the wide stone steps to meet her, wiping a speck of dirt off my hands after helping Julian reinforce his cardboard doghouse fortress.
"Captain Mercer," Sarah said, offering a warm, professional smile. "I must admit, this setting is a significant upgrade from the federal building's secure briefing rooms."
"It's quiet, and the perimeter is secure," I replied, shaking her hand firmly. "Welcome to our home, Sarah. Please, come inside—or stay out here in the sun. It's entirely up to you."
"Out here is fine," she said, looking across the lawn where Julian and the golden retriever puppy were currently engaged in a high-speed game of tag around the oak trees. "He looks completely different from the psychological intake reports we reviewed three months ago."
"Children are resilient," I said, watching my son sprint across the emerald grass with a brightness in his eyes that had been absent for years. "As long as they know the environment is safe, the ghosts fade pretty quickly."
Sarah turned her gaze toward me, her expression turning serious. "I received the final confirmation from the federal penitentiary in Florence this morning. Tyler Vance exhausted his last preliminary motion for a sentence reduction. His legal team tried to argue that his corporate forgery charges should be classified as non-violent white-collar crimes, which would have opened the door for a future parole hearing."
I didn't blink. "And?"
"The federal judge dismissed the motion with prejudice," Sarah said flatly. "Tyler is locked down for the full twenty-five years. No parole. No early release. His assets have been permanently seized under the federal civil forfeiture acts, leaving him legally indigent. When he gets out—if he lives that long—he won't even own the clothes on his back."
A cold sense of finality settled into my chest. It wasn't triumph; it was simply the closure of a chapter that should never have been opened. Tyler had chosen greed over honor, and the system had ground him down into dust.
"What about my mother?" I asked quietly.
"Beatrice is serving her ten-year sentence at Dublin," Sarah replied, folding her arms across her trench coat. "She tried to petition the warden for family visitation rights last week, specifically asking to see you and Julian."
My jaw tightened. "And the warden's response?"
"Denied," Sarah said without hesitation. "Under federal guidelines and the protective orders still active on your household, any direct contact from incarcerated family members requires your explicit consent. Which, I assume, you have no intention of granting."
"Never," I said coldly. "They crossed a line that can never be uncrossed. You don't lock a child in a freezing shed while you pour champagne inside the main house and expect a family reunion down the road."
Sarah nodded slowly, her eyes reflecting a deep, professional understanding. "Some bridges aren't meant to be rebuilt, Captain. Sometimes, burning them down to the bedrock is the only way to ensure nothing toxic ever grows there again."
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Just then, Elena walked out onto the stone patio carrying a tray of iced tea and fresh lemonade, breaking the heavy tension in the air with her bright, welcoming smile.
***
