Chapter 6 - The Visitor in Cell Block C
The visitor's room at the San Francisco County Jail was separated by heavy bulletproof glass.
Adrian sat on the metal stool on the other side of the partition. He looked hollowed out. His hair had been cropped short, he wore a generic grey jumpsuit, and the arrogant glint in his eyes had been completely extinguished by five days in a holding cell.
He picked up the phone. I picked up mine.
"Claire," he said, his voice coming through the small speaker, tinny and weak. "You came. I knew you’d come."
"I came to deliver these," I said, sliding a thick manila envelope through the document slot beneath the glass.
Adrian pulled out the contents. It was the final decree of divorce, along with a total forfeiture agreement regarding all Vanguard assets and the Pacific Heights estate.
"Claire... please," Adrian begged, his eyes filling with tears. "My father was arrested today. They froze all our accounts. I can't even afford my private lawyer anymore. Mercer dropped my case this morning because the retainer bounced!"
"I know," I said flatly.
"You can stop this!" Adrian slammed his palm against the glass, though there was no force behind it. "Tell the DA you dropped the charges! Tell them it was a private argument! We can sell the condo! We can move somewhere else and start over!"
"Start over?" I let out a soft, dry laugh. "Adrian, you struck me in the head with a porcelain plate because I refused to let your mother steal my home. You sat there while your family discussed my money like it was meat on a bone."
"I was under pressure!" he whimpered. "My father forced me! He told me if I didn't get your money, he’d remove me from the company trust!"
"You chose your father’s approval over your wife's life," I said, leaning closer to the glass. "You thought I was weak because I kept my voice quiet. You thought because I didn't shout back at dinner, I was obedient. But silence isn't weakness, Adrian. It’s preparation."
Adrian stared at me through the glass, realization finally dawning on him: there was no negotiation, no apology, no amount of groveling that would ever restore his old life.
"What am I supposed to do?" he whispered, his hands trembling.
"You're going to plead guilty," I said calmly. "Arthur negotiated a deal with the prosecutor. If you plead guilty to felony domestic assault today, they will recommend a three-year sentence instead of seven. If you fight it, Maya and I will testify, and we will make sure you serve the maximum."
Adrian slumped over the metal ledge, his forehead resting against the cool glass, weeping openly.
"Sign the papers, Adrian," I said. "It’s the only choice you have left."
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He pulled a pen from his pocket with shaking fingers and signed his name at the bottom of the divorce decree.
I gathered the signed documents, slipped them back into my handbag, and hung up the phone. I didn't look back as the guard opened the steel door to lead him away.
