Chapter 8 - The Plea in the Visitor Room-8
The visitor room at the Cook County Department of Corrections was cold, sterile, and smelled faintly of industrial floor cleaner and stale coffee.
Sitting behind a thick pane of reinforced safety glass was Diane Miller.
In just ten days, she appeared to have aged ten years. Her hair was unwashed and pulled back into a messy bun, her face was gaunt, and she wore a faded orange inmate jumpsuit. Her hands trembled constantly as she clutched the plastic telephone receiver attached to the wall.
On the other side of the glass, Ethan sat down slowly, picking up his receiver.
"Ethan..." Diane’s voice squeaked through the earpiece, wet with tears. "Ethan, thank God you came... thank God... you have to help us, Ethan! You have to talk to the prosecutor!"
Ethan held the receiver to his ear, his face completely expressionless. "I didn't come here to help you, Diane."
"How can you say that?!" Diane sobbed, pressing her forehead against the cold glass. "I’m dying in here, Ethan! The food is terrible, the bed is iron, and my cellmate screams all night! Brooke is in the women's wing crying herself to sleep every night! Jason is facing decades in prison!"
"They committed federal crimes, Diane," Ethan said coldly. "Actions have consequences."
"We are your family!" Diane wailed, her voice echoing in the small visitor stall. "We made a mistake! We shouldn't have taken the food, we shouldn't have gone to Mexico—I admit it! I was wrong! But you can't leave your mother to die in prison!"
"You didn't just take food, Diane," Ethan stated, his voice calm and precise. "You stole two hundred and sixteen thousand dollars from me over six years while I worked eighty hours a week in Europe. You helped Jason launder illegal gambling money. And you watched Brooke try to destroy my career with forged corporate documents."
"Brooke was just desperate!" Diane defended frantically. "She was worried Jason's debts would ruin them! She thought if you came home to fight a lawsuit, you’d give us money to settle things!"
"She tried to ruin my life," Ethan said. "And you stood in my kitchen while my wife was recovering from a major surgery, took the blanket off my eleven-day-old baby, and told Claire she could survive on dry noodles."
Diane flinched, pulling back from the glass as if struck.
"Do you know what the doctor told me when he examined Claire that night?" Ethan continued, his eyes locking onto his mother's terrified gaze. "He said if I had arrived forty-eight hours later, Claire would have developed a severe, life-threatening infection from malnutrition and stress. She could have died, Diane."
"I... I didn't know..." Diane stammered, fresh tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
"You didn't care," Ethan corrected. "Because in your mind, I was never a son. I was an automatic teller machine. A tool to pay for your luxury vacations, your daughter's lifestyle, and your son-in-law's gambling debts."
"Ethan, please!" Diane begged, holding up her hands in prayer. "I’ll sign anything! I’ll give up my share of the Evanston house! I’ll sign over my rights to everything! Just tell the prosecutor to drop the criminal charges! Don't send me to state prison!"
Ethan looked at the woman sitting behind the glass—the woman he had loved, respected, and supported for his entire adult life—and felt a profound, absolute sense of closure.
"The Evanston house is already sold, Diane," Ethan informed her smoothly. "Your share of the proceeds has been seized by the state court to pay back the stolen funds. The rest is going into a trust for your grandson."
Diane’s eyes widened in horror. "You... you sold my house?!"
"I sold my house," Ethan corrected. "And as for the prosecutor... I told him this morning that we will accept no plea bargains. You will stand trial next month."
"You monster!" Diane suddenly screamed, her grief turning into pure, venomous rage as she slammed the plastic receiver against the glass. "You ungrateful, heartless monster! I gave birth to you! I raised you! You belong to this family!"
Ethan did not flinch. He slowly hung up his telephone receiver, stood up, and buttoned his wool coat.
May you like
"Goodbye, Diane," Ethan said quietly through the thick glass.
He turned and walked out of the visitor room, leaving his mother screaming his name until the heavy steel security doors closed behind him.
