Chapter 11 - Shadows in the Yard
The sprawling recreation yard of the maximum-security federal prison for women was a harsh concrete expanse surrounded by razor wire and guard towers. Beatrice Vance sat on a rusted metal bench, pulling her coarse grey cardigan tightly around her shoulders against the biting autumn wind.
The social hierarchy of the prison yard was brutal, and a disgraced corporate matriarch who had tried to murder her own daughter-in-law held very little currency.
"Move over, old woman," a sharp voice snapped.
Beatrice looked up to see inmates standing over her—women who had spent decades inside for violent crimes, entirely unimpressed by past wealth or designer clothes.
"Excuse me," Beatrice tried to muster her old haughty tone, straightening her back. "Do you know who I am?"
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A harsh laugh echoed from the group. "Yeah, we know who you are. The dummy who wired seven million dollars through a paper trail so obvious a first-year accounting student could trace it in ten minutes," the lead inmate sneered, leaning down close. "You thought you were a criminal mastermind, Beatrice. Turns out you're just a privileged amateur who traded a penthouse for a cage."
Beatrice shrank back against the concrete wall, the bitter realization crashing down on her with terrifying weight. There were no boardrooms here, no bribable judges, no sycophantic chefs, and no son to manipulate. There was only time—endless, unbroken years of cold concrete and absolute insignificance.
