Chapter 11 - THE GHOST OF LEAVENWORTH
Z
The concrete walls of the United States Disciplinary Barracks at Fort Leavenworth smelled of damp limestone, industrial floor wax, and decades of silent regret. Heavy iron doors echoed with every step as the armed guard escorted me down Corridor C. I wore my full Army Service Uniform, the silver medals on my chest catching the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights.
Six months had passed since the snows of Lake Lugano. Vanguard Logistics was fully restructured under a clean board of trustees, Maya’s physical and emotional wounds were finally healing in our restored home in Virginia, and Baron Von Stauffen’s syndicate was being systematically dismantled by international law enforcement. But one open wound remained.
The guard stopped outside Visitation Room 4, swiped his keycard, and pulled open the heavy steel door.
"Ten minutes, Major Vance," the guard said crisp. "No physical contact across the partition."
I stepped inside. Sitting behind a thick pane of bulletproof glass was Julian.
The arrogant, slicked-back young man who had worn my leather jacket and poured my father's whiskey was gone. In his place sat a hollow shell in an orange jumpsuit. His hair was cropped short, his shoulders slumped, and a fresh, jagged scar ran from his ear down to his jaw—a souvenir from his first week in general population.
Julian lifted his head slowly, his bloodshot eyes widening in a mixture of shame, disbelief, and a flash of old, bitter resentment. He picked up the plastic telephone receiver attached to the wall.
I sat down on the metal stool across from him and picked up my phone.
"You look terrible, Julian," I said, my voice measured and completely devoid of heat.
Julian let out a rasping, dry laugh that turned into a cough. "What did you expect, Daniel? A country club? They don't give you hand-tailored suits in Leavenworth. They give you a aluminum tray and two minutes to eat before someone tries to take your shoes."
"You chose this path," I replied. "Every document you signed, every lie you told, every time you struck my wife—you chose it."
Julian’s face twisted into a scowl, his knuckles whitening around the plastic phone. "Mother told me it was my turn! Dad always looked at you like you were made of gold, and I was just the extra mouth to feed! When you deployed, Mother said we were just taking what belonged to the family. She said you were too weak to run a real business!"
"And where is Mother now?" I asked quietly.
Julian flinched. Victoria Vance was currently serving a fifteen-year sentence at the Federal Correctional Institution in Danbury, stripped of every asset, every pearl, and every friend she had ever bought.
"She doesn't write to me," Julian whispered, his voice cracking as his bravado instantly evaporated. "She blames me for getting caught. She tells her lawyers it was all my idea." He pressed his forehead against the cold glass partition. "I'm facing thirty years without parole, Daniel. Thirty years. I'm going to die in this place."
"You're alive, Julian," I said, leaning closer to the glass. "That's more than you granted our father."
Julian’s eyes snapped up, wide with genuine terror. "I didn't know about the poison! I swear to God, Daniel! Arthur told me Dad died of a heart attack! I didn't know Mother and Arthur were feeding him that stuff until... until two weeks before you came home!"
"It doesn't change the outcome," I said. "You covered for them because you wanted his chair."
Silence stretched between us, heavy and unyielding. The overhead light hummed softly.
"Why did you come here?" Julian asked, his voice barely audible over the phone line. "To gloat? To watch me rot?"
"I came here to tell you that Vanguard is liquidating every asset associated with your name," I said calmly. "The house in suburban Virginia has been sold. Maya and I are moving. The money from your seized accounts has been placed into a trust fund for victims of corporate domestic abuse."
Julian stared at me, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. "You stripped me of everything."
"I took away your weapons," I corrected. "Now you have thirty years to sit in this room and figure out who you are without my father's money and my wife's blood on your hands."
I set the telephone receiver back onto its hook and stood up, smoothing the front of my military jacket.
"Daniel! Wait!" Julian hammered his hand against the glass, his face pressed flat against the partition, tears spilling over his bruised cheekbones. "Daniel! Please! Don't leave me here alone! You're my brother!"
I paused at the heavy door, looking back over my shoulder one last time.
May you like
"My brother died the day I went overseas," I said softly.
The guard pulled the steel door shut, locking Julian's frantic screams behind two inches of reinforced oak and lead, leaving me to walk out into the crisp, clean morning air of Kansas.
