Chapter 7 - The Depths of Prison
The visiting room at York Correctional Institution smelled of industrial floor stripper, cold metal, and despair.
Nathan sat behind the thick plexiglass partition, his hands folded on the laminate counter. He wore a simple navy sweater and dark jeans. He looked healthy. His color had returned, the dark circles beneath his eyes were fading, and for the first time in years, the tension that usually held his jaw rigid had vanished.
A heavy steel door buzzed open on the other side of the glass.
A female guard led Victoria into the booth.
Nathan barely recognized her.
The immaculate, golden-haired socialite who wore thousand-dollar silk blouses and red-soled shoes had been completely erased. In her place was an inmate in a faded, ill-fitting orange jumpsuit. Her hair, stripped of its expensive salon treatments, was dull, greasy, and pulled back in a sloppy bun. Her skin was sallow, breaking out under the harsh fluorescent lights, and her manicured nails had been clipped down to the raw quick.
She sat down heavily on the metal stool, picked up the receiver with trembling hands, and pressed it to her ear.
Nathan picked up his phone. He didn't speak. He just waited.
"Nathan," Victoria choked out, her voice rasping as if she hadn't spoken in days. "Nathan, thank God. Thank God you came. You have to get me out of here. Please. You have no idea what it's like in this place. The women here... they know who I am. They know what I was charged with. They stole my shoes, Nathan. They spit in my food. I haven't slept in two weeks."
"You look like you belong here, Victoria," Nathan said, his voice flat, devoid of anger, pity, or warmth.
Victoria flinched as if she had been slapped again. Tears welled up in her bloodshot eyes. "Nathan, I made a mistake! I was sick! I was under so much pressure from the debts—I wasn't thinking clearly! It was a psychotic break, my lawyer can prove it! If you go to the district attorney and tell them you want to drop the charges, they'll reduce it to probation! I can go to a private rehab clinic in Switzerland! Please, Nathan, we're blood!"
"Blood didn't stop you from putting your heel on my pregnant wife's chest," Nathan said coldly. "Blood didn't stop you from pouring misoprostol into her water cup."
Victoria’s breath hitched. She looked around frantically, leaning closer to the glass. "That wasn't... I didn't want to hurt her! I just wanted the baby to go away so we could be a family again! It was supposed to be you, me, and Mother! Just like it used to be before you brought that trash into our lives!"
"Listen to yourself," Nathan whispered, shaking his head in disgust. "Even sitting in a prison jumpsuit, facing twenty years behind bars, you still don't feel a single shred of remorse. You don't care that you almost killed Clara. You don't care that you almost murdered your own nephew. You only care that you got caught."
"I am a Vance!" Victoria screamed, slamming her palms against the plexiglass. The sudden loud bang caused the armed guard in the corner to take a sharp step forward, resting his hand on his baton. Victoria shrank back, sobbing hysterically. "I am a Vance! I don't belong in a cage with animals! Nathan, please! Talk to Mother! Tell her to pay the bail!"
"Mother can't pay your bail, Victoria," Nathan said calmly.
Victoria froze. "What do you mean? Mother has millions."
"Mother is bankrupt," Nathan replied, delivering each word with brutal precision. "When the federal authorities raided your art gallery, they uncovered the cross-collateralization loans you took out using Mother’s forged signature. The bank seized the Greenwich mansion yesterday afternoon. The sheriff served the eviction notice at noon."
Victoria’s jaw dropped. "The... the Greenwich house? Our home?"
"It’s gone," Nathan said. "The Hamptons estate is gone. Mother’s personal accounts have been frozen by the Department of Justice pending the fraud investigation. She is currently living in a rented two-bedroom apartment near Hartford, surviving on her social security check and whatever jewelry she managed to stuff into her purse before the marshals locked the front gate."
"No..." Victoria gasped, clutching her head. "No, no, no! Grandmother’s trust! What about Grandmother’s trust?! That's five hundred million dollars! Mother can draw from the interest!"
Nathan leaned in close to the glass, his eyes piercing through hers.
"Grandmother revoked that trust three days before she died," Nathan said.
Victoria stared at him, uncomprehending. "She... what?"
"Grandmother knew what you were," Nathan continued. "She knew you were a parasite. She transferred every single penny—all four hundred and eighty million dollars—into a private foundation. And the sole executor, with complete legal control over every dime, is Clara."
Victoria’s face twisted into an expression of such pure, unadulterated agony that it looked barely human. Her mouth opened, but only a dry, rattling wheeze came out.
"Clara?" Victoria whispered, the name tasting like ash on her tongue. "The... the waitress?"
"My wife," Nathan corrected firmly. "The mother of my son. The woman who holds your entire future in the palm of her hand. And do you know what Clara decided to do with your trust fund, Victoria?"
Victoria stared at him, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks.
"She’s donating sixty million dollars of it to fund a brand-new maternal-fetal trauma center at Mercy General," Nathan smiled, a cold, beautiful smile. "Right on the fourth floor. In the exact wing where you tried to kill her. And every single year, on your birthday, a copy of the hospital’s annual charity report will be mailed directly to your prison cell."
Nathan stood up from the stool.
"Nathan! NO! NATHAN, DON'T LEAVE ME!" Victoria shrieked, throwing herself violently against the partition. She beat her fists against the glass, her screams echoing off the concrete walls. "NATHAN! PLEASE! I'M YOUR SISTER! FORGIVE ME! TELL CLARA I'M SORRY! TELL HER I'LL BEG ON MY KNEES!"
The two prison guards grabbed Victoria by her arms, twisting her around and forcing her onto the concrete floor. She thrashing and screamed, kicking her bare feet as they dragged her backward through the heavy steel door.
*CLANG.*
The door slammed shut.
May you like
Nathan turned his back on the glass. He hung up the telephone receiver, smoothed down the front of his sweater, and walked out into the crisp, clean autumn sunshine without looking back.
***
