Chapter 15 - Echoes from Behind Bars
The federal correctional facility in northern Idaho was a bleak, monolithic fortress of gray concrete and razor wire, standing stark against the desolate winter wasteland.
In cell block 4B, Rachel Vance sat on the edge of her narrow steel bunk, staring at the peeling green paint of the wall across from her. Her designer clothes were gone, replaced by standard-issue orange cotton scrubs. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, completely devoid of makeup or styling.
The heavy steel door clanked open, and a female guard tapped her baton against the bars.
“Vance, R. Visitor in booth three. Move,” the guard barked.
Rachel’s heart skipped a beat with sudden, desperate hope. *Mom,* she thought instantly. *Mom came. She couldn't leave me here. She’s going to post bail or hire a team of Supreme Court lawyers.*
She scrambled off the bunk, hurrying down the bleak hallway into the visitation booth area. She sat down eagerly at booth three, grabbing the heavy plastic telephone receiver with shaking hands and looking through the scratched Plexiglas.
It wasn't her mother.
Sitting on the other side was Harrison Vance, looking immaculate in his charcoal-grey bespoke suit, holding a manila folder with absolute professional detachment.
Rachel’s face fell instantly, her lower lip trembling violently. “It’s… it’s you. Where’s my mother? Why didn't she come?”
“Your mother is at home on the farm, Rachel,” Harrison said calmly, his voice echoing clearly over the secure speaker. “She asked me to deliver a final set of legal documents regarding your remaining personal belongings stored in the valley warehouse.”
“I don’t want belongings! I want my mother!” Rachel sobbed, pressing her hands against the glass partition. “Tell her I’m sorry! Tell her I didn't mean to hurt her! Marcus made me do it! He tricked me!”
Harrison sighed softly, opening the manila folder and sliding a single legal paper toward the glass on his side.
“Rachel, stop blaming Marcus,” Harrison said firmly. “You were forty years old. You chose your path when you decided your mother’s life savings belonged to you simply because you shared DNA.”
“You’re a monster!” Rachel screamed, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks, drawing angry glances from the guards nearby. “You’re just milking her dry just like everyone else! You want the rest of the estate!”
“The estate was placed into a charitable trust for agricultural education and battered women’s shelters six months ago, Rachel,” Harrison replied without raising his voice. “There is nothing left to milk. Your mother gave you everything for forty years, and you repaid her with a cracked rib and a forged signature.”
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Harrison stood up, buttoning his jacket. “Sign the release form for your storage unit by Friday, or the county will auction off your designer clothes to pay for your prison commissary debt. Goodbye, Rachel.”
He hung up the phone, turned his back, and walked out of the visitation room, leaving Rachel pounding her fists against the glass until the guards dragged her screaming back to her cell.
