Chapter 9 - The Final Reckoning
Three years later.
The high-security women’s correctional facility on the outskirts of the state was a dreary, grey concrete structure surrounded by barbed wire.
Vivian Harrington sat in a cold visitation room, wearing a worn, faded denim prison uniform. Her hair was streaks of grey, her face lined with deep wrinkles, and her hands rough from daily prison labor. She had spent the last three years in total obscurity, stripped of all her comforts, her social standing, and her vanity.
The heavy steel door unlocked, and a guard stepped in. "Harrington. You have a legal review visitor."
Vivian looked up, a sudden spark of hope igniting in her chest. Had her appeal finally been processed? Had someone taken pity on her?
She hurried over to the visitor booth, sitting down behind the thick glass partition.
The door on the other side opened, and a woman stepped in.
It was me.
I was dressed in a pristine, tailored emerald-green silk coat, looking radiant, powerful, and utterly timeless. I picked up the small telephone receiver and waited for Vivian to pick up hers.
With shaking hands, Vivian grabbed the phone, her voice raspy and desperate through the speaker. "Evelyn... Evelyn, please! Have you come to release me? Have you dropped the remaining civil charges? I’m an old woman! I can't survive in this place!"
I looked at her calmly through the glass. "I didn't come to release you, Vivian. I came to close the final ledger."
Vivian wept, pressing her forehead against the cold glass. "Why are you doing this to us?! Graham is breaking in prison! He’s doing hard labor! We have paid for our mistakes! Isn't eight billion dollars enough for you to show some mercy?!"
"Mercy is earned, Vivian," I replied smoothly. "You showed none to two newborn infants who had done nothing to you. You called them bastards. You threw us into the freezing cold because you thought we were worthless."
I pulled a photograph from my leather handbag and pressed it against the glass.
It was a photo of Leo and Oliver on their fourth birthday. They were thriving, handsome, healthy young boys with bright, happy smiles, standing in a sunny garden alongside Julian and me.
Vivian stared at the photo, her eyes welling with bitter, painful tears. "They... they look so much like..."
"They are safe," I interrupted firmly. "They are loved, protected, and raised by people who understand the true value of family. They do not know your name, Vivian. They do not know Graham’s name. As far as the world is concerned, their story began the moment I walked away from your porch."
"Please..." Vivian whispered, her spirit completely broken. "Just... tell me Graham will get out someday."
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"Graham’s parole review was denied last week," I informed her coldly. "He will serve the full sixteen years. And when he gets out, he will have a permanent criminal record, zero assets, and no family waiting for him."
I placed the telephone receiver back on its hook. I didn't wait for her to respond. I stood up, smoothed my coat, and walked out of the visitation room, leaving Vivian crying hysterically against the glass, surrounded by the cold, silent concrete walls of her self-made prison.
