Chapter 7 - The Final Leverage
Three months later.
The modern glass-and-steel structure of the Cook County Department of Corrections looked grim against the grey November sky. I stood in the private visitor's sector, separated from the main inmate lines by a thick pane of bulletproof glass. I wasn't wearing my cheap thrift-store coat today; I wore a sharp, tailored navy-blue wool coat from a designer boutique, my hair styled in elegant waves, the Sterling family signet ring—the real one—shining on my right index finger.
The heavy steel door on the other side of the glass buzzed open.
Dominic walked into the booth, flanked by two armed prison guards. He looked entirely unrecognisable. His expensive suits and perfect haircuts had been replaced by a generic orange jumpsuit and a shaved head. He had lost twenty pounds, his shoulders bowed, his hands covered in small cuts from his daily labor assignment in the prison laundry unit.
He sat down on the metal stool, slowly picking up the black telephone receiver, his eyes locked onto my face with a mixture of bitter resentment and desperate pleading.
I picked up my receiver, holding it to my ear, my expression completely neutral.
"Vivienne," he croaked, his voice thin and cracked from the dry prison air. "You... you look different."
"I look like myself, Dominic," I replied calmly. "The woman you knew was a character I played to make you feel like a man. I thought if I stayed small, it would give you room to grow. But you didn't grow. You just became greedy."
Dominic slammed his free hand against the glass, his eyes wild with sudden, manic rage. "You ruined me! You and your brothers! You fabricated those tax documents! You set me up with the Vance family! I was an executive! I was about to change this city!"
"You were a money launderer for a second-tier mob syndicate, Dominic," I said, my voice cutting through his panic with the precision of a scalpel. "My brothers didn't fabricate anything. They just stopped hiding your mistakes from the IRS. The moment the Sterling shield came off your company, the state authorities saw exactly what you were. A fraud."
Dominic slumped back onto his stool, his head dropping into his hands, a low, pathetic sob escaping his chest. "Please, Viv... talk to Thomas. Talk to Victor. They have the power to drop the secondary charges. I can't survive ten years in here. The other inmates... they know who I am. They know I have no money left to pay for protection."
"You have exactly what you deserve, Dominic," I said, my voice entirely devoid of hatred, which made it far more terrifying to him. There was no emotion left for him to manipulate. "I didn't come here to negotiate your sentence. I came here to deliver these."
I tapped the glass, signaling the guard on my side of the booth. The officer slid a stack of legal documents through the heavy steel document slot beneath the window.
"Those are the final divorce papers and the permanent sole custody orders for Sophia," I said. "You will sign them today. If you refuse, Victor will release the financial records of your second family to the public tabloids. Julianna’s son... he doesn't know his father is a convicted felon, does he? He thinks you're just on an extended business trip in Europe."
Dominic looked at the papers, his hand shaking violently as he picked up the generic plastic pen provided by the guard. He looked up at me one last time, his eyes searching for any remaining trace of the quiet, submissive wife he had left in that kitchen for seven years.
He found nothing but a Sterling.
May you like
He signed the papers, his signature messy and broken against the white sheets, before pushing them back through the slot.
I stood up, smoothing down my tailored coat, and hung up the receiver without saying another word. As I walked out of the prison booth into the crisp autumn afternoon, I felt the last shadow of his existence fall away from my soul like dry leaves.
