Chapter 9 - The Final Shift
Three years later—Autumn 2030.
The morning sun was rising over the wide concrete bays of the new distribution center I now managed on the north side of the city.
At thirty-four years old, I oversaw a team of forty warehouse operators, earning a salary that had allowed us to buy a beautiful three-acre property in the countryside, complete with a garden, a small orchard, and a playground for our children.
Toby was four now, a energetic, bright little boy who loved building wooden cars in my workshop, while his little sister, Maya, was two, running around the yard with the same fierce, independent spirit her mother possessed.
My phone buzzed on my desk.
It was an official notice from the State Board of Pardons and Paroles.
Inmate Eric Miller was scheduled for a conditional parole hearing the following week, having served his minimum three-year sentence. As the primary victim and reporting party, I was invited to submit a written statement or appear via video conference to offer testimony.
I looked at the notification for a long time.
I picked up my pen, pulled a piece of official company letterhead from my drawer, and wrote three short sentences:
To the Board of Paroles:
I have no interest in attending this hearing, nor do I seek additional punishment beyond the sentence handed down by the court. My family has moved forward, built a safe life, and cleared the past from our home. I trust the board to make a decision based strictly on the law and public safety.
Sincerely, Marcus Miller.
May you like
I signed my name, folded the paper, sealed it in a white envelope, and dropped it into the outgoing mail tray on my desk.
I didn't hate him anymore. I didn't pity him. He was simply a stranger who carried my last name—a cautionary story from a past life that no longer had any power over my present.
