Chapter 10 - Shadows Behind Bars-10-
The gray concrete walls of the Western Massachusetts Maximum Security Penitentiary echoed with the heavy, depressing clang of steel doors slamming shut. The air smelled of industrial bleach, damp concrete, and unwashed despair.
In Cell Block C, deep in the isolation wing, David Vance sat on the edge of a narrow steel bunk, staring mindlessly at the blank cinderblock wall opposite his cell. His designer charcoal suit had long since been replaced by an orange prison jumpsuit that hung loosely over his visibly thinner frame. The manicured hands that once signed multi-million-dollar corporate acquisitions were now calloused and dry, his hair unwashed and matted against his forehead.
He wasn't the powerful executive anymore. He wasn't the untouchable scion of Boston society. Here, among hardened criminals and federal felons who cared nothing for legacy or family names, he was just Inmate 84920—a pathetic, broken man who had lost everything because of his own arrogant temper and unyielding cruelty.
Footsteps echoed down the damp concrete corridor, accompanied by the jingle of heavy iron keys.
Two correctional officers stopped outside David’s cell. Without a word, one of them inserted a key into the locking mechanism and slid the heavy steel door open with a grating screech.
“Visitor for you, Vance,” the guard grunted flatly, grabbing David by the shoulder and jerking him roughly to his feet. “Move. Five minutes. No funny business or you’re spending the rest of the week in solitary.”
David stumbled forward into the hallway, his knees trembling as the guards escorted him down the dim corridor toward the secure glass visitation booths. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs. He dared to hope—even in this hellhole—that perhaps his mother’s remaining legal team had pulled off a miracle, or that someone had found a loophole to set him free.
They pushed him into a narrow plastic booth separated by a thick pane of reinforced safety glass.
On the other side of the glass sat an old woman in a standard gray prison jumpsuit, her once-flawless silver hair unstyled, her face pale and lined with deep canyons of exhaustion and bitter rage.
Rebecca Vance.
David pressed his hands against the glass, his voice cracking as he picked up the heavy plastic telephone receiver. “Mom... Mom, thank God. You’re here. Did your lawyers find something? Are we getting out of here? The warden said my appeal was denied, but surely you have a plan—!”
Rebecca slowly lifted her own receiver, pressing it against her ear. Her eyes—cold, dead, and burning with venom—stared through the glass directly into David’s soul.
“There is no plan, David,” Rebecca whispered, her voice cracking with suppressed fury. “The lawyers abandoned us. Our accounts have been completely wiped out. The federal government seized the Beacon Hill estate this morning. We are paupers, David. Worse than paupers—we are public disgraced criminals.”
David’s breath hitched, tears spilling hot and fast down his cheeks. “No... no, that’s impossible. What about Maya? What about the company? We can sue her for extortion! We can claim she forged the documents!”
“Sue her with what money, you absolute fool?!” Rebecca hissed, her voice rising in pitch until it echoed sharply off the visitation booth walls. “Maya owns everything! She stands at the head of Castillo-Henderson Holdings right now, broadcasting our crimes to the entire world while we rot in concrete boxes! And it’s all your fault!”
“My fault?!” David snapped, a flash of his old arrogant fury sparking back to life. “If you hadn't raised me to believe we could walk over everyone! If you hadn't forced me to marry her just to keep tabs on the inheritance!”
“Silence!” Rebecca shrieked, slamming her receiver against the glass partition.
Before David could shout back, the correctional officers stepped in from behind, grabbing him roughly by the arms and dragging him backward away from the booth.
“Visitation over! Move it, Vance!” the guard barked.
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“Mom! Wait! Don't leave me here!” David screamed, thrashing against the guards as they hauled him back down the dark corridor toward his cell.
Rebecca didn’t call out. She didn’t look back. She sat frozen in the visitation booth, staring at her own hollow reflection in the glass, realizing too late that the ruthless empire she had spent her entire life murdering and manipulating to protect had been entirely dismantled by the very people she had underestimated the most: a mother and a daughter whose bond she was too arrogant to break.
