Chapter 8 - The Glass Partition
Two days later, I sat in the high-security visitor room at the Cook County Jail. The reinforced glass between us was scratched and thick, reflecting the harsh fluorescent glare of the institutional lights.
Vanessa—or Rachel—sat down on the opposite metal stool. The designer makeup was gone; her golden hair hung limp and unwashed around her hollow cheekbones. She wore an oversized orange jumpsuit, her wrists shackled to the chain around her waist.
She picked up the plastic telephone receiver. I raised mine to my ear.
"Did you come to gloat, David?" she asked, her voice flat, devoid of the melodious cadence she had used to disarm me for two years. "Come to see the trophy bride in chains?"
"I came to understand," I said. "You had a life of absolute luxury here. I gave you total access. I trusted you with my home, my legacy, and my heart. Why poison the well you were drinking from?"
A grotesque, mocking smile twisted her lips. "Luxury? You call this luxury? Sitting in your cold, silent mausoleum listening to you talk about metallurgy and supply-chain logistics? Watching you treat that wretched maid like she was royalty because she wiped your mother's forehead ten years ago?"
Her eyes flared with incandescent malice. "You were boring, David. Pathetic. A self-righteous boy masquerading as a titan. You thought I loved your intellect? Your ethics? You made me sick every time you touched me. The only thing tolerable about you was the size of your portfolio and the speed at which your heart was going to stop beating."
"You killed Arthur Pendelton the same way," I said evenly.
The smile vanished from her face.
"Julian has already signed a full proffer agreement with the United States Attorney’s Office," I continued, leaning closer to the glass. "He traded you for twenty-five years instead of life without parole. He handed over your foreign bank keys, the poison receipts from the dark web, and the exact dates you administered the scopolamine into my tea."
Her knuckles turned white against the plastic receiver. "Julian is a coward! He has nothing without me!"
"You're facing federal charges for theft of defense trade secrets, attempted first-degree murder by poisoning, aggravated kidnapping, and extortion," I said, placing the receiver down on the shelf. "You will never walk out of a prison yard again as a free woman, Rachel."
May you like
I stood up, buttoned my coat, and walked toward the exit door without looking back once at the screaming monster banging her fists against the bulletproof glass.
***
