PART 19: THE MATRIARCH’S PRISON
PART 19: THE MATRIARCH’S PRISON
The visitor’s room of the Coffee Creek Correctional Facility was cold, smelling of industrial bleach and stale floor wax.
I sat behind the thick glass partition, waiting quietly with my briefcase on my lap.
The heavy steel door on the other side opened, and Eleanor Whitmore was led into the room by an armed guard.
She wore a plain orange jumpsuit. Her silver hair was no longer coiffed; it hung loose and grey around her lined face. Her diamond brooch was gone, replaced by a stenciled serial number across her chest.
She sat down heavily, picking up the plastic telephone receiver.
I picked up mine.
"You look old, Eleanor," I said calmly.
She stared at me through the glass, a faint spark of her old, venomous arrogance flickering in her eyes before dying out.
"You think you’ve won everything, Claire," she rasped through the line. "But you’re just sitting in my chairs. Managing my empire."
"It was never your empire, Eleanor," I replied softly. "You built it on stolen land and forged signatures. I didn't take your kingdom. I just returned it to its rightful owners."
She looked down at her wrinkled hands, her lips tightening into a thin, bitter line.
"Daniel tells me you bought his company," she muttered.
"I did. He's a good dispatcher. He sees his children every weekend. They are happy, Eleanor. They are safe. And they will never know the fear you tried to bring into their lives."
Eleanor didn't answer. She slowly lowered the receiver, turning her back on the glass as the guard led her back toward the dark cell block.
I hung up the phone, picked up my briefcase, and walked out into the bright afternoon sun.
May you like
The gates of the prison closed behind me with a heavy, final clang.
But I didn't look back.
