Chapter 6 - Behind Iron Bars
The Los Angeles County High-Security Detention Center was a stark, depressing place of concrete walls, bulletproof glass, and fluorescent lights.
Christopher sat at a cold steel table, wearing an orange jumpsuit that hung loosely off his shoulders. In just forty-eight hours, he looked as though he had aged ten years. His suave, groomed appearance was completely gone, replaced by bloodshot eyes, disheveled hair, and stubble.
The heavy steel door buzzed open, and I walked in.
Christopher instantly leapt from his seat, rushing toward the glass wall, clutching the plastic telephone receiver with white knuckles.
"Vivian! Vivian, thank God you came!" he pleaded, his voice distorted through the small speaker. "You have to help me! The lawyers said you petitioned the judge to deny my bail! They're treating me like a violent criminal!"
I picked up the black receiver, resting it calmly against my ear. I sat down opposite him, separated by inches of reinforced glass.
"You tried to poison me, Christopher," I said, my voice completely flat. "You put chemical sedatives in my food night after night, hoping my mind would deteriorate enough that you could commit me to a psychiatric facility and gain full control of my estate."
"No! That wasn't my idea! It was Brenda!" Christopher shouted desperately, tears filling his eyes. "She manipulated me, Vivian! She told me you were planning to divorce me and leave me with nothing! She threatened to leak private company files if I didn't go along with it!"
"Brenda is currently in the cell three blocks down from you," I replied smoothly. "And funny enough, she told the District Attorney the exact same thing about you. She claimed you forced her to steal my clothes, my jewels, and my identity under threat of firing her."
Christopher’s face turned pale white. "She's lying! She wanted your life, Vivian! She envied you! She wanted to be Mrs. Albright!"
"And you gave her my gown," I said, my voice cutting through his panic like a scalpel. "You let her wear my grandmother's bracelet. You walked her into a charity gala full of our friends and let her take my name while I was lying unconscious in my bed."
"I made a mistake!" Christopher sobbed, banging his fist against the glass. "I was weak! I was foolish! But we built a life together, Vivian! Twenty years! Think of Luke! Think of our family!"
"Luke was the one who handed the financial evidence to the FBI, Christopher," I said, watching him flinch as if struck. "He was the one who set up the live stream feed. He saw through you long before I did."
Christopher sank back into his steel chair, his hands covering his face as silent tears streamed down his cheeks. The realization that his own son had executed his absolute destruction crushed whatever remaining arrogance he had left.
"What do you want, Vivian?" he whimpered softly.
"I want what’s mine," I answered. "You will sign the uncontested divorce settlement. You will surrender all rights to any property, stock, or intellectual rights associated with Albright Global. In exchange, I won't press additional civil damages that would bankrupt your elderly parents' retirement fund."
Christopher looked up, his eyes empty, completely broken. "And if I sign... will you drop the criminal charges?"
I smiled slightly—a small, cold smile that felt entirely alien yet incredibly empowering.
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"No," I whispered into the phone. "The criminal charges belong to the State of California. And you are going to serve every single day of your fifteen-year sentence."
I hung up the receiver, stood up, and walked out of the visitor room without looking back.
