Chapter 11 - THE VISITATION ROOM
Against my better judgment, I agreed to see Evelyn one last time.
It was Saturday afternoon. Victoria had arranged it with the Cook County sheriff’s department so that we could have a non-contact conference through the glass partition before the federal indictment was officially unsealed on Monday.
I sat down on the cold metal stool in the cramped visitation booth.
The heavy steel door on the other side clicked open, and a female guard ushered Evelyn inside.
She looked horrifying. The orange jail scrub top was three sizes too large for her, hanging off her frail frame. Her blonde hair had completely unraveled, showing deep gray roots. Her face was pasty, her eyes sunken and bloodshot from crying.
She grabbed the telephone receiver with trembling hands, her knuckles white.
I picked up my receiver and held it to my ear. I didn’t say a word.
“Lauren... oh God, Lauren, look at me!” she sobbed into the phone, her voice tinny and distorted through the cheap speaker. “You have to stop this! They have me in a cell with women who have committed murder! They stole my shoes! The guards don't care that I have a heart condition! I haven't had my blood pressure medication in two days!”
“Your medical chart was transferred to the jail clinic on Thursday, Evelyn,” I said, my voice completely flat. “They gave you the generic equivalent of your beta-blockers. You’re just refusing to take them because they aren't the brand-name pills you like.”
Evelyn’s face twisted in desperate rage. “Generic? I get migraines from generic! Lauren, please! I am your mother! How can you sit there in your nice clothes and watch me rot in this dungeon? Tell the judge it was an accident! Tell them Calvin misunderstood what he heard!”
“Calvin didn't misunderstand anything,” I replied. “And neither did the four-K camera that recorded you telling Ross to leave my children in the snow so he wouldn't embarrass himself in front of the Sterlings.”
Evelyn slammed her open palm against the scratched plexiglass.
“He is your brother!” she screamed, her voice cracking with hysterical venom. “He was building an empire! You always had everything, Lauren! You were smart, you were a doctor, Daddy always loved you best! Ross had nothing! This was his one chance to marry into real wealth, to be somebody! Why couldn't Calvin and Molly just endure a few hours of discomfort for their family? Why do they have to be so selfish?!”
I sat there, listening to the words coming out of my mother’s mouth.
*A few hours of discomfort.*
My daughter had been dead on a gurney for forty-five seconds. Her heart had stopped beating. Her little chest had been scorched by defibrillator pads.
And to Evelyn Vance, that was merely "discomfort" that should have been endured so her thirty-year-old parasite could marry an heiress.
“You’re right, Evelyn,” I said quietly into the receiver.
She froze, a sudden flicker of sick hope lighting up her eyes. “You... you mean it? You’ll post the bail?”
“No,” I said.
I leaned forward until my face was an inch from the glass.
“I mean you’re right that Ross has nothing. Because as of this morning, your condo is sold. Ross’s car is back at the dealership. His club memberships are revoked. The federal government has seized every shell account you and he used to steal my father’s money. And Arthur Sterling has personally hired three private investigation firms to ensure that every single business Ross ever touched is audited by the IRS.”
Evelyn’s mouth fell open. She looked like a fish suffocating on a dry dock.
“You... you destroyed him,” she whispered.
“He destroyed himself,” I said. “The moment he locked that door. And you destroyed yourself the moment you walked away from the glass.”
“Lauren, please!” she wailed, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks as I stood up from the stool. “Don't leave me here! I’ll die in here! Lauren! I’m your mother!”
I hung the receiver back on its metal cradle.
May you like
I didn’t look back as the heavy steel door closed behind me.
***
