Chapter 8 - The Cage of Glass
Three days later, I stood outside the reinforced visitor booth at the Rose M. Singer Center on Rikers Island.
The District Attorney had advised against the visit, but I had insisted. Before the trial began, before Juliette was marched into court in an orange jumpsuit to hear her life sentence, I needed to look her in the eyes one last time on my own terms.
The heavy steel door buzzed open, and two female correction officers escorted Juliette into the booth.
The transformation was shocking.
Gone was the radiant, arrogant bride beneath the cathedral chandeliers. Gone were the designer silks, the diamond earrings, and the meticulously styled hair. Juliette wore a drab, oversized orange jumpsuit. Her hair was greasy and unwashed, her face pale, hollow, and devoid of makeup, exposing dark, frantic circles beneath her eyes. Her hands were chained to a leather restraint belt around her waist.
She sat down heavily behind the thick pane of bulletproof glass, staring at me with a mixture of terror and venomous spite.
I sat down on the metal stool on my side and picked up the black telephone receiver.
Slowly, reluctantly, Juliette raised her chained hand and picked up hers.
"Did you come to gloat?" she hissed, her voice crackling through the receiver. "Did you come to see the freak show, Caroline?"
"No," I replied calmly. "I came to bring you this."
I held up a document against the glass: the formal deed of sale for Whispering Pines.
"The ruins of the estate have been completely cleared," I said. "Next month, construction begins on the Clara Ruiz Foundation for Burn Survivors. Her family will own forty percent of the operating trust. Her mother will never have to work another day in her life."
Juliette’s face twisted in disgust. "You always were so sickeningly noble. You think handing out money makes you better than me?"
"No, Juliette. Not burning an innocent teenager alive to steal a necklace makes me better than you."
Juliette banged her chained fists against the metal counter, the loud *CLANG* causing the guard behind her to place a warning hand on her shoulder.
"You stole everything from me first!" Juliette screamed, saliva hitting the inside of the glass. "You existed! That was your crime! Mother loved you! Dad worshipped you! Grant... Grant looked at you like you were the only woman on earth! What was I supposed to do?! Spend my whole life as Caroline Mercer’s pathetic little sister?!"
I looked at her through the glass, feeling no anger, no hatred—only a profound, tragic pity.
"Do you want to know the truth, Juliette?" I asked softly.
She glared at me, her chest heaving.
"The day before the fire," I said, "I met with Dad and our corporate attorneys. I didn't want the CEO position. I told Dad that I was going to step down from Mercer Capital to pursue my own architectural design firm."
Juliette froze, her eyes widening. "What...?"
"I had drafted an agreement transferring all my operational voting shares to you," I continued, tears pricking my eyes at the sheer, senseless waste of it all. "I told Dad that you were sharper at finance than I was. I told him that you deserved the throne. I wanted to give you the company, Juliette. I wanted to see you succeed."
"You're lying!" she gasped, shaking her head violently. "You're lying to torture me!"
"Ask Richard Cole," I said. "The draft was in his safe. You were so blinded by your own envy, so poisoned by your own jealousy, that you set fire to the house while I was busy wrapping up the keys to give to you."
The realization hit Juliette Mercer like a high-speed train.
Her jaw slacked. Her eyes darted wildly, scanning my face, searching for any trace of deceit—and finding only the brutal, honest truth.
She had committed murder, destroyed her family, spent millions in bribes, and thrown away her entire life to steal something that would have been handed to her freely if she had simply waited twenty-four hours.
"No..." she whimpered, her voice breaking into a pathetic, high-pitched whine. "No, no, no... you're lying... you're lying..."
"The audio recordings from Cole’s storage locker have been verified," I said, rising from my stool. "The District Attorney is seeking life without the possibility of parole. You will never see the sun without a fence in front of it again, Juliette. You will never wear emeralds. You will never hear your name spoken with respect."
"Caroline!" she screamed, lunging against the glass, leaving greasy smudges where her forehead slammed into the barrier. "Caroline, please! Don't leave me here! Tell Dad! Tell him I'm sorry! Caroline!"
I gently hung up the telephone receiver.
May you like
I turned my back on the screaming woman in the glass cage. As the heavy steel doors buzzed open to let me out into the sunlight, her frantic, muffled cries faded behind two inches of bulletproof glass, swallowed by the cold, indifferent belly of the prison.
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