Chapter 15 - The Visit to Cell 402
The prison smelled of floor wax and despair.
It was a far cry from the first-class cabin of a private jet.
I walked through the metal detectors,
the guards checking my ID with a level of scrutiny that would have offended the old me.
But I didn't mind.
I wanted to see the process.
I wanted to feel the weight of the doors closing behind me.
I was led to a small,
windowless room divided by a thick pane of plexiglass.
I sat down and waited.
A few minutes later,
the door on the other side opened.
Carter walked in,
wearing a shapeless,
orange jumpsuit.
He looked skeletal.
His hair was shaved close to his scalp,
and his skin was a sickly shade of grey.
He sat down and picked up the telephone receiver.
I did the same.
“You look terrible,
Carter,”
I said,
my voice echoing in the small space.
“Is the food not up to your standards?”
He let out a dry,
hacking laugh.
“You won,
Samantha.
You have the company.
You have the house.
You have my mother in some hellhole in Nebraska.
Are you happy now?”
“Happiness is a complicated word,”
I replied,
leaning forward.
“But I am… satisfied.
Especially after reading your 'Black Ledger'.”
Carter’s eyes widened,
a flash of the old fear returning to his gaze.
“The ledger… you found it.”
“I found everything,
Carter.
The 'Project Phoenix.'
The plan to have me committed.
The doctor you bribed.”
I watched as he slumped in his chair,
all the remaining air leaving his body.
“I was desperate,”
he whispered.
“The company was failing.
I needed the trust money to keep things afloat.”
“No,”
I corrected him.
“You needed the money to keep your lie afloat.
You could have come to me.
You could have asked for help.
I would have given it to you.
I loved you,
remember?”
“I know,”
he said,
a single tear tracking through the dirt on his cheek.
“I’m sorry,
Sam.”
“Don't call me that,”
I snapped,
the sound like a whip crack.
“The person who let you call her 'Sam' died on that tarmac.
I’m here today for one reason,
and it’s not to hear an apology I know is fake.”
I pulled a single sheet of paper from my bag and pressed it against the glass.
It was a copy of the final judgment.
“Twenty-five years,
Carter.
No possibility of parole for the first fifteen.
And because of the evidence of the 'Phoenix' plot,
you’ve been classified as a high-risk offender.
You won't be going to a 'club fed' prison.
You’re staying right here.”
Carter stared at the paper,
his hand trembling as he touched the glass.
“Fifteen years?
I’ll be an old man when I get out.”
“If you get out,”
I said,
standing up.
“Oh,
and one more thing.
Khloe?
She’s working at a diner in a small town in Oregon.
I made sure she knows that if she ever tries to sell her story,
the lawsuit I have ready will take every tip she ever earns for the rest of her life.”
I hung up the receiver.
I didn't wait for him to respond.
I didn't want to hear his voice anymore.
As I walked back through the prison gates,
the cool evening air felt like a benediction.
I looked up at the sky.
The stars were bright,
clear,
and cold.
They belonged to no one,
yet they illuminated everything.
I got into my car and drove toward the city.
The lights of the skyline were shimmering,
a million points of data waiting to be organized.
My life was finally my own.
The architect had finished the demolition.
Now,
it was time to build something that would never,
ever fall.
I pressed a button on my dashboard.
“Call the architecture firm,”
I said to the AI.
“Tell them I want to start the plans for the Vance Memorial Science Center.
And tell them to put my father’s name on the top.”
The engine hummed as I sped into the night.
May you like
The past was a ghost.
The future was a machine.
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