The silence that followed my voice was total, suffocating, and absolute.

At 2:00 PM, I walked into the visitor center of the Twin Towers Correctional Facility.

The room smelled of stale floor wax, cheap bleach, and industrial disinfectant. I sat on one side of a thick acrylic glass partition, waiting quietly.

A moment later, the heavy metal door on the inmate side opened.

Corrine was pushed into the room by a female guard. The transformation was staggering. The tailored silk suit she had worn the night before was gone, replaced by a oversized, coarse orange jumpsuit. Her styled blonde hair was messy, her makeup was smeared, and her hands were cuffed to a heavy chain around her waist.

She collapsed into the plastic chair opposite me, her eyes bloodshot, her face twisted in a mixture of rage and desperation.

She grabbed the plastic telephone receiver with her cuffed hands and slammed it against her ear.

I picked up my receiver, holding it to my ear with calm detachment.

“You evil, ungrateful monster!” Corrine’s voice exploded through the earpiece, shrill and distorted by the cheap phone line. “How dare you leave me in this place with... with criminals! I spent six hours in a holding cell with homeless women! Look at my hands! Look at what you’ve done to me!”

“You look like what you are, Corrine,” I said coldly. “An inmate.”

“Get me out of here!” she screamed, slamming her cuffed hands against the glass. A guard stepped forward, resting a hand on his nightstick, and Corrine backed down slightly, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Call your lawyers! Tell the police it was a family misunderstanding! Tell them you made a mistake!”

“I didn't make a mistake,” I said smoothly. “The 4K video I provided to the District Attorney was reviewed by a grand jury two hours ago. They returned a formal seven-count indictment against both you and Sloan.”

Corrine’s breath caught in her throat. “A... a grand jury?”

“Felony burglary, assault with a deadly weapon, grand larceny, wire fraud, identity theft, child endangerment, and attempted extortion,” I listed the charges with clinical precision. “The District Attorney is prosecuting this as a hate crime and home invasion due to Alora’s pregnancy. You are looking at a mandatory minimum sentence of twenty-five years in state prison.”

“No...” Corrine whispered, the color draining from her lips until they looked as white as her pale skin. “No! You wouldn't do that to your mother! I’m fifty-eight years old, Thane! Twenty-five years is a life sentence!”

“Then you had better get comfortable in orange,” I replied.

“Thane, please!” Corrine slammed her palms flat against the glass, tears finally bursting from her eyes—not tears of remorse, but tears of pure, unadulterated self-pity. “Sloan is only twenty-four! She has her whole life ahead of her! She only did what I told her to do! If you won't help me, at least pay Sloan’s bail! She can't survive in here!”

“Sloan forged my digital signature on three international bank transfers,” I said, leaning closer to the glass, my eyes locking onto hers with terrifying intensity. “She wielded a sledgehammer over my wife’s head. She laughed while you dragged Alora by her hair. Sloan isn't an innocent bystander, Corrine. She is your apprentice. And she will share your fate.”

“You monster!” Corrine shrieked, her voice cracking. “You loved me! You paid for my life!”

“I paid for your life out of respect for my late father’s memory,” I said softly. “I thought if I kept you comfortable, you would leave me alone to build my family. But you mistook my generosity for weakness. You thought because I share your blood, I would tolerate your cruelty. You were wrong.”

I stood up from my chair, smoothing the front of my suit jacket.

“Where are you going?!” Corrine screamed, frantically pounding on the glass as the guard stepped in to escort her away. “Thane! Don't leave me! Who is paying for my legal defense?!”