Chapter 9 - The Final Severance
Two months later, I sat in the high-security visitor room of the state penitentiary where Julian had been transferred to await his federal trial.
Between us stood a thick panel of scratch-resistant plexiglass. Julian sat on the other side, wearing a faded blue inmate uniform. His hands were uncuffed, but two guards stood directly behind him, their batons held at their sides.
He picked up the heavy plastic telephone receiver on his side. I waited a moment, smoothing the lapels of my charcoal blazer, before picking up mine.
"You came," he said. His voice through the receiver was tinny, hollow, stripped of all the haughty resonance it once possessed. "I thought... I thought you wouldn't come."
"I’m not here for you, Julian," I said calmly, placing a set of legal documents flat against the glass so he could see the title.
*PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE AND TERMINATION OF PARENTAL RIGHTS.*
Julian flinched, pulling back from the glass. "No. I won't sign that. You can divorce me, Clara, but she’s my daughter. She carries the Vance blood. She’s the only heir left. My father... he had a stroke in prison last week. He can't speak. He can't walk. I’m the only one left."
"There is no Vance empire, Julian," I said, my voice level and unhurried. "The court approved the final liquidation yesterday. The estate has been sold to a medical research institute. The offshore accounts have been confiscated for victim restitution. Your mother is living in a one-bedroom subsidized apartment in Cleveland, surviving on social security."
Julian’s eyes welled with tears—not of remorse for me, but of sheer, pathetic self-pity.
"I loved you, Clara," he wept, pressing his greasy forehead against the partition. "At the beginning... remember how happy we were? When we heard the heartbeat? I just got confused... my father put so much pressure on me to produce an heir, and Chloe... Chloe was whispering in my ear..."
"Stop," I commanded, and something in my voice made him freeze.
"You did not love me," I told him, looking directly into his tear-streaked eyes. "You loved having a competent woman do your father's dirty work. You loved having a wife you could diminish so you could feel powerful. And when you realized you couldn't control me, you punched an unborn child."
I tapped the paper against the glass.
"You will sign these papers, Julian. Because if you contest the termination of parental rights, my attorneys will submit the high-definition security footage of the shower into the public record of your trial. The federal prosecutor has agreed to recommend twenty years instead of thirty if you execute a complete, uncontested relinquishment of all parental claims today."
Julian looked at the papers, his hand trembling. "And if I don't?"
"Then you will die in prison an old man, and Maya will still never know your name," I replied without hesitation. "Sign the papers, Julian. Let the last act of your miserable life be one of silence."
He sat frozen for an eternity. The guards watched him with cold, bored eyes. Finally, Julian reached for the pen that had been left on his table. His hand shook so badly he could barely form the letters, but one by one, he signed the documents: the waiver of service, the consent to divorce, and the permanent surrender of all parental rights with prejudice.
The guard took the papers through the side slot, examined the signatures, and handed them through the security hatch to my attorney, who stood beside me.
I stood up, buttoned my blazer, and set the telephone receiver back onto its metal cradle.
Julian grabbed his receiver, tapping desperately on the glass with his knuckles, his mouth moving, begging for something—a word, a glance, a shred of recognition.
May you like
I did not pick up the phone. I turned my back on the man I had married, walked through the heavy steel security doors, and stepped out into the crisp, clean morning air.
***
