Chapter 18 - THE RECKONING AT THE FEDERAL PENITENTIARY
Two weeks after receiving my mother’s letter, Marcus informed me that Chad had requested a formal, legal meeting through his court-appointed public defender.
He wasn't asking for money or an early appeal. He simply wanted to hand over the final, missing piece of documentation regarding a secondary offshore tax shelter that could trigger secondary liens against Brenda’s family.
I decided to go. Not out of lingering affection, not out of a desire for revenge—but because I needed to close the book with my own hands.
The federal correctional facility in the desert outside Phoenix was a brutal landscape of razor wire, concrete, and sterile fluorescent lights. Dressed in a sharp charcoal pantsuit, I sat across a heavy steel mesh divider in the secure visitors' room.
A moment later, a guard escorted Chad into the room.
He looked unrecognizable. The immaculate custom suits, the arrogant smiles, the expensive colognes—all gone. He wore a coarse orange jumpsuit, his hair was unwashed and thinning, and his eyes carried the hollow, beaten stare of a man who had finally realized the true cost of his own shallow ambitions.
He sat down slowly, staring down at his cuffed hands before lifting his gaze to meet mine.
"Genevieve," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I... I didn't think you'd actually come."
"I have work to do, Chad, so let's make this brief," I said, my voice steady, cold, and entirely devoid of emotion. "Your lawyer said you have documents regarding the secondary accounts."
Chad swallowed hard, a pathetic, desperate look crossing his face. "Gen... I deserve every single day in this hellhole. I know that now. I traded my family, my freedom, and my dignity for numbers on a screen that I never even got to touch." He paused, tears welling in his eyes. "Is... is Toby doing okay?"
"Toby is thriving," I answered, leaning slightly forward. "He is happy, safe, and surrounded by people who actually love him. He doesn't even remember your name, Chad. And as far as the law is concerned, you no longer have any legal right to ever ask about him."
Chad flinched as if he had been struck across the face, but he didn't argue. He slowly slid a manila folder containing the offshore routing codes across the metal table toward my side of the barrier.
"Here," he choked out. "Take it. It’s... it’s the last thing I can do."
I picked up the folder, slipped it into my briefcase, and stood up from my chair.
"Goodbye, Chad," I said quietly, turning toward the heavy metal door.
"Gen—wait!" he cried out, clutching the mesh screen. "Will you ever... can you ever forgive me?"
I stopped at the threshold, looking back over my shoulder one last time.
May you like
"Forgiveness requires remorse, Chad," I said smoothly. "What you feel isn't remorse—it's just regret that you got caught. Live with it."
The heavy steel door slammed shut behind me, locking him away in the silence he had earned.
