Chapter 7 - The Desperate Plea
Two weeks before Christmas, I received a formal request from the county jail defense office.
Colton’s court-appointed attorney requested an emergency visitation meeting between Colton and me in the attorney consultation room at the Wake County Detention Center.
Eleanor advised me against going. “You owe him nothing, Meredith. Let him sit there.”
“I need to go, Eleanor,” I replied gently. “Not for him. For me. I need to close the door myself.”
On Wednesday morning, I walked through the heavy security doors of the county facility. The air smelled of industrial floor cleaner and stale cold coffee.
I sat on one side of a thick plexiglass window in a small, stark booth.
A minute later, the heavy metal door on the opposite side opened, and Colton was led in by a correctional officer. He wore an orange jumpsuit. His hair was shaved short, his face was gaunt, and his hands were cuffed to a chain around his waist.
He sat down heavily on the stool and picked up the telephone receiver.
I picked up mine.
“Meredith...” Colton’s voice was thin, raspy, and stripped of every drop of his former corporate polish. “Thank you for coming. Please tell me you brought news about bail.”
I looked at him calmly. “I didn't come to talk about bail, Colton.”
“Meredith, you have to help me!” he begged, pressing his bound hands against the glass. “Marlo turned on me! Her lawyer is trying to cut a plea deal with the prosecutor by claiming I forced her to sign those shell company papers! She’s putting everything on me!”
“You did steal the money, Colton,” I pointed out softly. “She helped you, but you chose to take it from your own children.”
“I was stupid! I was confused!” tears began streaming down his hollow cheeks, leaving dirty tracks on his pale skin. “She seduced me, Meredith! She came into our home and manipulated me! She told me you didn't love me anymore! I was out of my mind!”
I watched him weep—this man who had sat at my anniversary table four months ago, set his fork down with rehearsed arrogance, and told me he was taking my future.
“You weren't confused, Colton,” I said, my voice steady and unyielding. “You were greedy. You thought I was quiet, so you assumed I was weak. You thought because I took care of this home and loved our children, I didn't know how the world worked.”
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, pressing his forehead against the cold glass. “I’m so sorry, Meredith. Please... don't let me die in here. Think of the kids. What will people say when they grow up and know their father went to prison?”
“People will say,” I replied, looking directly into his eyes, “that their mother protected them from a thief.”
He froze, his breath catching in his throat.
“I have finalized the court paperwork,” I continued calmly. “The children’s legal last names are now Vance. The house is entirely secured in their trust. Your parental rights have been formally suspended pending your criminal trial.”
“Meredith, please—”
May you like
“Goodbye, Colton.”
I hung up the phone, stood up from the stool, and walked out of the consultation room without looking back once.
