Chapter 19 - The Final Closure
The harsh,
fluorescent lights buzzed loudly,
annoyingly in the cold,
sterile visitation room of the massive,
maximum-security federal penitentiary.
I sat calmly,
elegantly on the hard,
uncomfortable metal chair,
wearing a stunning,
immaculate white designer suit that stood out starkly,
brightly against the dreary,
gray concrete walls.
A heavy,
reinforced steel door opened loudly,
clanking sharply,
and Julian Mercer was led slowly,
shufflingly into the small,
cramped room by a massive,
unsmiling prison guard.
It had been exactly,
precisely three long,
difficult years since Julian had been completely,
lawfully stripped of his stolen,
fraudulent wealth and permanently,
rightfully locked away.
He looked completely,
utterly unrecognizable,
his once-handsome,
arrogant face now gaunt,
hollow,
and deeply,
heavily lined with absolute,
crushing despair.
His bright,
orange prison jumpsuit was faded,
worn,
and completely,
pathetically oversized on his thin,
malnourished,
and terribly weak frame.
He sat down slowly,
painfully on the opposite side of the thick,
smudged bulletproof glass,
picking up the heavy,
black plastic telephone receiver with a shaking,
trembling hand.
I picked up my own sleek,
clean receiver,
staring at him completely,
absolutely blankly,
feeling absolutely no anger,
no sadness,
and definitely,
certainly no lingering,
foolish pity.
"Clara,"
he croaked weakly,
pathetically,
his voice hoarse,
dry,
and completely,
utterly broken.
"Why did you finally,
unexpectedly come here after all these long,
miserable years?"
I looked at him coldly,
smoothly,
my bright,
piercing blue eyes completely,
utterly devoid of any basic,
human emotion.
"I am formally,
legally finalizing the absolute,
complete dissolution of your final,
hidden offshore trust fund,"
I stated clearly,
ruthlessly,
holding up a single,
crisp legal document.
"You foolishly,
arrogantly thought you had successfully,
secretly hidden a tiny,
pathetic three million dollars in a small,
obscure bank in the distant,
sunny Cayman Islands."
Julian's tired,
sunken eyes widened suddenly,
horrifyingly,
as the very last,
tiny shred of his secret,
hidden hope was completely,
brutally snatched away.
"Please,"
he begged loudly,
hysterically,
tears streaming rapidly,
uncontrollably down his dirty,
unwashed face.
"That was my only,
single hope for when I am finally,
miraculously released as a very old,
broken man!"
I smiled softly,
coldly,
a terrifying,
ruthless expression that completely,
absolutely mirrored my brilliant,
powerful mother's famous,
deadly boardroom glare.
"You are never,
ever getting out of this cold,
dark cage,
Julian,"
I whispered smoothly,
deadly.
"I have permanently,
legally donated every single,
stolen penny of that hidden,
secret fund directly to the large,
sprawling orphanage where you once,
arrogantly told me I rightfully,
truly belonged."
Julian dropped the heavy,
black receiver,
burying his pale,
sickly face in his dirty,
trembling hands,
sobbing loudly,
pathetically in the small,
sterile booth.
I stood up gracefully,
smoothly,
smoothing the front of my expensive,
immaculate designer jacket with a calm,
steady hand.
"Goodbye,
Julian,"
I said quietly,
softly,
even though he could no longer hear my clear,
confident voice through the thick,
soundproof glass.
I turned my back on him completely,
permanently,
and walked swiftly,
elegantly out of the dark,
depressing prison,
stepping joyfully,
happily back out into the bright,
beautiful,
May you like
and incredibly warm sunshine of my massive,
perfect new world.
