Chapter 11 - The Walls Close InZ
The cold mountain wind howled against the heavy reinforced concrete of the Denver Women’s Correctional Facility. Deep inside cell block D, the fluorescent lights buzzed with a relentless, maddening hum that never ceased, day or night.
Victoria Vance sat on the edge of her narrow steel cot, clutching a thin, scratchy wool blanket around her frail shoulders. In just twelve months, her body had withered. Her once-voluminous hair was now entirely gray, clipped short to conform to prison regulations, and her hands shook constantly from severe arthritis and chronic anxiety.
Every morning at five o’clock, she was awakened by the harsh clang of steel bars and the shouting of guards. There were no designer silk robes, no artisanal breakfasts, and no servants to command. Her daily reality consisted of eight hours of mandatory labor in the institutional laundry facility, folding coarse bedsheets in a humid, deafening basement that constantly reminded her of the very heat trap she had built for Maya.
A heavy mechanical buzzer sounded, and the cell door slid open with a jarring metallic crash.
“Vance, 108492,” a stern female guard barked from the doorway. “Legal mail and a visitor request. You have five minutes in the non-contact booth.”
Victoria’s heart skipped a desperate beat. Her eyes widened with a pathetic, sudden surge of hope. Ethan, she thought feverishly, scrambling to her feet and smoothing down her faded khaki jumpsuit with trembling hands. It has to be Ethan. He finally realized his mistake. He’s coming to beg for my forgiveness.
She was marched down the sterile, linoleum-tiled corridor, her plastic slip-on shoes squeaking against the floor. When she was escorted into the non-contact visitation cubicle, she rushed to the metal stool and grabbed the heavy black telephone receiver.
Sitting on the other side of the scratched, double-pane bulletproof glass was not her son.
It was Richard Sterling, her former private defense attorney. He wore an expensive bespoke coat, looking entirely out of place in the bleak institutional setting. He held a thin leather briefcase in his lap, his expression detached, professional, and completely devoid of warmth.
Victoria’s face fell, her voice shrill and cracked as she spoke into the receiver. “Where is Ethan?! Why didn’t Ethan come?! I wrote him fourteen letters this month!”
“Ethan had the Department of Corrections place a permanent, non-negotiable inmate block on your profile, Victoria,” Sterling replied flatly through the receiver. “Every letter you send to his address is immediately intercepted, marked as rejected, and returned to the prison mailroom. He will never read them.”
“That’s illegal!” Victoria shrieked, slamming her palm against the glass. “I am his mother! He cannot abandon his mother!”
“He can, and he legally has,” Sterling said, opening his briefcase and pulling out three crisp, stamped legal documents. “I am not here on a courtesy call, Victoria. I am here to serve you with the final judgment from the Colorado Supreme Court regarding your appeals.”
Victoria held her breath, leaning closer to the glass. “The appeal... did they grant the retrial? Did they look at the prosecutorial misconduct?”
“The Colorado Supreme Court dismissed your petition with prejudice in a unanimous seven-to-zero decision,” Sterling stated without an ounce of emotion. “They found the evidence against you overwhelming, the jury instructions flawless, and the sentence fully justified under state sentencing guidelines. Every state-level avenue of appeal is permanently exhausted.”
Victoria shook her head frantically, tears of bitter denial spilling over her hollow cheeks. “Then take it to the Federal District Court! File a habeas corpus petition! We have the money in the trust!”
Sterling looked at her through the glass with profound disdain. “There is no trust, Victoria. Have you not listened to anything over the last year? The federal receivership liquidated every single offshore account in Grand Cayman. Every dollar of that money was seized under civil asset forfeiture and transferred to Maya Hayes and the Jacaranda Foundation to compensate for your grand larceny and intentional infliction of emotional distress.”
“Maya... that thief! That peasant stole my life!” Victoria spat, her face turning an ugly, mottled purple.
“Maya didn’t steal anything,” Sterling corrected coldly. “She reclaimed what you systematically embezzled from her for four years. Furthermore, my firm has placed a formal legal lien against whatever personal property you left behind to cover your outstanding six-figure defense balance. You are completely indigent, Victoria. You will never have private counsel again.”
Sterling stood up, closing his briefcase with a sharp, decisive click.
“You will serve every single day of your thirty-seven-year minimum sentence in this facility. You will grow old here, and you will die here. Do not contact my office again.”
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“Richard! Richard, you can’t leave me here!” Victoria screamed, banging both fists against the heavy glass as the attorney turned his back and walked through the security door. “Arthur! Ethan! Somebody help me!”
Two guards immediately entered the booth, grabbing Victoria by her upper arms and hauling her backward off the stool. She kicked and wailed, her voice echoing pathetically down the concrete hall as they dragged her back to her isolation cell, where the door slammed shut with a final, echoing crash that sealed her inside her own permanent, self-inflicted prison forever.
