Chapter 6 - The Visitor
Two days before Michael's formal sentencing trial, I received a request from the Suffolk County House of Correction.
Michael Lane had requested an emergency personal visit. The prison warden noted that Michael had refused to speak with his own defense council until he saw me one last time.
I didn't have to go. I owed him nothing. But a part of me—the part that needed to close the final chapter of a eleven-year book—knew I had to walk into that room one last time.
At 10:00 AM on Thursday morning, I sat on one side of a thick glass divider inside the high-security visitor room.
The heavy steel door on the opposite side buzzed open.
A guard led Michael in. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit, his hands cuffed at his waist. The slick, arrogant man who had once worn three-thousand-dollar suits and boasted about his social standing was gone. He was thin, pale, his eyes hollowed out by fear and sleepless nights.
He sat down heavily on the metal stool, picking up the black plastic telephone receiver with trembling, cuffed hands.
I picked up my receiver, holding it coolly against my ear.
"Evelyn..." he whispered, his voice dry and raspy through the electronic speaker. "You came."
"I have five minutes, Michael," I said calmly. "Say what you need to say."
Michael pressed his forehead against the cold glass, tears immediately pooling in his bloodshot eyes. "Please... Evie, you have to help me. Rachel lied to the feds! She told them I forced her to sign those shell invoices! She’s putting everything on me! The prosecutor is talking about fifteen years in federal prison!"
"You signed the documents, Michael," I pointed out remorselessly. "You took the money. You spent it on sports cars, private trips to Miami, and expensive jewelry."
"I did it for us!" Michael sobbed hysterically, his fingers clawing at the glass partition. "I wanted to build an empire for us! I felt so small next to you, Evelyn! You were always smarter, always richer, always better at everything! Every time I looked at you, I felt like a failure!"
I listened to his words, feeling a profound, quiet stillness inside my chest.
His betrayal had never been about Rachel. It had never been about passion, love, or desire. It had been about his own fragile, pathetic ego. He couldn't handle being married to a woman who was stronger, more successful, and more capable than him, so he had sought out a woman he could manipulate and control—and when that fell apart, he had turned to crime to fill the void.
"You were never a failure because of me, Michael," I said softly, my voice filled with a deep, tragic pity. "You were a failure because you let your insecurities dictate your honor. I would have given you everything I owned if you had simply been loyal."
Michael squeezed his eyes shut, thick tears spilling over his cheeks, streaming down his pale, hollow face. "Is there any part of you... any small part... that still loves me?"
I looked at the man sitting behind the glass. I looked at the dark circles under his eyes, the orange jumpsuit, the handcuffs cutting into his wrists.
I remembered the young man who had proposed to me under a canopy of autumn trees ten years ago. I remembered the laughter we had shared before ambition and greed rotted his soul.
"The man I loved died three years ago, Michael," I said quietly, my voice perfectly steady. "The night I walked into that bedroom with a bat. You are just a stranger wearing his face."
The guard tapped on the heavy steel door behind Michael, signaling that his five minutes were up.
Michael gripped the telephone receiver tightly, his voice cracking into a desperate scream. "Evie! Don't leave me! Please! Don't leave me in here alone!"
May you like
I slowly lowered my receiver, resting it back onto its hook.
I stood up, adjusted my coat, turned my back on the screaming man behind the glass, and walked out through the heavy steel doors into the bright, clear morning light.
