Chapter 7 - The Final Ledger
In the autumn of 2027, one year later.
I sat in my corner office at the fully restored headquarters of Vance Logistics in Richmond.
My desktop monitor displayed the finalized financial reports for the fiscal year: revenue was up forty percent, our military transport contracts were fully renewed, and our humanitarian division had successfully delivered over fifty tons of emergency supplies to hurricane victims along the Gulf Coast.
A knock came at the door. My executive assistant, Sarah, stepped inside holding a small white envelope bearing an official seal from the Virginia Department of Corrections.
"This arrived in the morning mail for you, Major Vance," Sarah said softly. "It’s from Fluvanna Correctional Center."
I took the envelope. It was a letter from Patricia Whitaker, written from her cell in the state penitentiary.
I opened the letter and read the frantic, desperate handwriting:
Rachel, I am writing to you because the prison medical board has denied my request for transfer to a private facility. Daniel refuses to speak to me from his facility in Kentucky. I am alone, Rachel. My brother Thomas lost his license and his home. I am begging you to drop the civil restitution lien against my remaining personal jewelry and retirement account. Leave me something to live on when I am released. You were always a good girl, Rachel. Remember the family we used to be. Patricia.
I stared at the letter for a moment.
I remembered the cold rain drumming on the driveway six months ago. I remembered Patricia throwing my daughter’s clothes into plastic trash bags like garbage. I remembered her cold, hard face as she called me a cripple and pushed me down the porch steps.
I did not feel hatred. I did not feel malice.
I pulled my desk drawer open, pulled out a red stamp, and pressed it firmly onto the letter: DENIED.
May you like
I slid the letter into a legal folder to be forwarded directly to Eleanor Vance for enforcement of the federal court’s restitution order.
The world does not owe mercy to those who build their lives on the destruction of others. Justice had taken its course, and I had no intention of interfering with its completion.
