Chapter 7 - The Witness in the Cell
A week before the final sentencing hearing for the criminal charges, Leo made a request that surprised everyone, including Mr. Hale. He wanted to visit Victoria Vale in the federal detention center.
"Leo, I don't think that's a good idea," Mr. Hale advised, his brow furrowed with concern. "She is a bitter, desperate woman who has lost everything. She will not give you the closure or the apology you deserve."
"I don't want her apology, Mr. Hale," Leo said, his gray eyes showing a maturity that far exceeded his twelve years. "I just want her to look at me one last time when she isn't behind a car door or a lawyer."
The visiting room of the detention center was cold, sterile, and divided by a thick plate of bulletproof glass. When the guard led Victoria inside, Leo almost didn't recognize her. The diamonds were gone, her hair was tied back in a messy knot, and she wore a plain, orange jumpsuit that made her skin look dull and gray.
She sat down heavily, picking up the telephone receiver on her side of the glass. Leo did the same.
"Did you come to gloat?" Victoria hissed, her voice hollow, her fingers clawing at the plastic phone. "You destroyed my life. You took my company, my home, my reputation. You ruined everything I spent forty years building."
"You built it on a lie, Victoria," Leo said, his voice perfectly calm, completely devoid of the anger that had defined him on that rainy night at the hotel. "My mommy died because you didn't care about a human life. You thought you could buy her silence, and you thought you could empty the trust fund because I was just a poor kid who wouldn't know how to fight back."
"You're a monster," she whispered, tears of pure, selfish rage welling in her eyes. "You have my blood, but you're nothing like me."
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"Thank God for that," Leo replied softly. He lifted the old photograph against the glass—the one showing the nineteen-year-old girl holding her newborn baby. "Look at this face, Victoria. This was the last time you were actually human. The four words you wrote on the back—'Please forgive me'—were the only true things you ever said. But I'm not here to forgive you. I'm here to tell you that Marianne Cole won."
He set the receiver down, stood up from his chair, and walked out of the room without looking back, leaving the wealthy woman staring at her own reflection in the cold glass.
