Chapter 5 - The Confrontation at FDC Seatac
Two weeks later, I received an official request from the Federal Public Defender’s Office.
Neil wanted to see me.
Against Clara’s advice, I agreed to go. I needed to look him in the eye one last time—not as his wife, not as a victim, but as the mother who had saved our son from his family's horror.
The visiting room at the Federal Detention Center in Seatac was cold, sterile, and smelled of heavy industrial floor cleaner. Long rows of steel tables separated by thick glass dividers stretched across the room.
When the heavy green door opened, Neil walked out accompanied by a female guard.
He was wearing a bright orange jumpsuit. His head had been shaved, his skin was pale and sallow, and he had lost at least fifteen pounds. He looked like a ghost of the man who had stood in my kitchen screaming that he would never forgive me.
He sat down across from me, picking up the heavy black plastic phone receiver.
I picked up mine.
"Adriana," he whispered through the glass, his voice trembling. "Thank you for coming. Please... please tell me how Micah is. Is he okay? Is he eating?"
"Micah is thriving, Neil," I said, my voice steady and completely devoid of warmth. "He gained two pounds this month. He’s laughing. He’s healthy. Because he never drank a single drop of your mother’s poison."
Neil flinched as if I had slapped him across the face. He buried his forehead against the thick glass frame.
"I didn't know, Addie," he sobbed, his hot breath fogging the glass. "I swear on my life, I didn't know about the warehouse in Tacoma! I didn't know she was selling those tins online! I thought... I thought she was just buying cheap imported stuff from grey-market vendors!"
"You tried to burn the evidence, Neil," I reminded him coldly. "When I showed you the warnings, when you saw the red hazmat symbols with your own eyes, your first instinct wasn't to protect your son. Your first instinct was to run into the backyard with an incinerator bin to protect your mother."
"I was terrified!" Neil wailed, tears spilling onto the metal ledge. "She’s controlled me my whole life! She told me if I let you go to the police, she would cut me out of the trust, take our house away, and ruin my career! I panic-burned those tins because I was trying to keep the family together!"
"You didn't have a family, Neil," I said, leaning closer to the glass. "You had an owner. And you were her loyal dog."
Neil looked up at me, his eyes filled with raw, desperate agony. "Addie... please. My lawyer says if you testify as a character witness for me, if you tell the federal judge I was just a passive victim of my mother's coercion, I can get probation instead of five years in federal prison. Please... for Micah’s sake. Don't let his father go to prison."
I stared at the man across the glass.
I remembered the night I fell down on my knees in our kitchen, crying because Whitney had insulted my family at Thanksgiving, while Neil stood by the window sipping his wine, telling me I was being dramatic.
I remembered him standing in our hallway, gripping my son's car seat, threatening to sue me for custody if I threw away his mother’s gift.
"Micah doesn't need a father who stands by while his mother poisons him, Neil," I said softly. "He needs a mother who fights for him. And that’s exactly what he has."
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I set the black phone receiver back onto its wall cradle.
Neil screamed my name, slamming his hands against the heavy glass, but I didn't turn around. I walked out through the heavy steel doors into the crisp, clean rain of the Pacific Northwest, leaving Neil Duncan and his toxic legacy behind forever.
