Chapter 8 - The Pre-Trial Fallout
The federal holding facility downtown was cold, sterile, and reeked of industrial disinfectant.
Sitting across the Plexiglas partition in the visitor’s booth was my son.
Cameron looked a shell of his former self. His expensive designer suit had been replaced by a coarse orange jumpsuit. His hair was unwashed, his cheeks were hollowed out, and the arrogant, blinding smile that had once enchanted thousands of charity donors was entirely gone, replaced by a desperate, hollow stare.
“Mom,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he picked up the heavy plastic telephone receiver. “I knew you’d come. I told them my mother wouldn't abandon me.”
I picked up my receiver, holding it firmly against my ear. I didn't smile. I didn't cry. I simply looked at him through the reinforced glass.
“I didn't come here to save you, Cameron,” I said calmly. “I came to ask you a question.”
His face fell, panic flickering in his eyes. “What? What are you talking about? My lawyer says if we negotiate with the prosecutor—if we pin everything on Vanessa and Uncle Arthur—I might only get five years instead of fifteen. You have to help me, Mom. You control the remaining family estate assets; you can post bail!”
“There is no bail, Cameron,” I replied steadily. “And your Uncle Arthur was here at my house last night.”
Cameron froze. The color drained entirely from his face. “Arthur... what did he say?”
“He said you were just a tool in his corporate game,” I answered, watching every micro-expression shift across my son’s face. “He said he financed your initial acquisitions, and he’s currently scrubbing every trace of his involvement to make sure you take the full fall for the embezzlement and the insurance fraud.”
“He can’t do that!” Cameron shouted, slamming his fist against the Plexiglas partition, causing a nearby guard to instantly step forward and place a hand on his baton. Cameron breathed heavily, his voice dropping to a desperate, broken whimper. “I have the encrypted drive! I have the emails proving Arthur ordered the shell company setups! If I go down for this alone, I swear to God I’ll take him down with me!”
“Then prove it,” I said quietly.
Cameron stared at me, dumbfounded. “What?”
“If you have proof that Arthur orchestrated the financial fraud alongside you, hand it over to Agent Miller,” I said, my voice unwavering. “Stop lying, stop performing, and take some responsibility for the destruction you’ve caused. It’s the only way you will ever salvage a shred of human decency.”
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Cameron stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. Tears finally spilled over his eyelids—not tears of genuine remorse, but tears of pure, unadulterated self-pity. He realized then, with terrifying clarity, that his mother was no longer his shield.
I hung up the receiver, stood up from the metal stool, and walked out of the visitation room without looking back.
