Chapter 18 - The Visitor Registry
The federal correctional facility was a monolithic fortress of gray concrete and razor wire, brooding under a sullen, overcast sky. Thanks to Marcus’s remaining federal contacts and his own quiet leverage, I wasn't just sitting in the waiting room—I was sitting in the warden’s private monitoring office, watching the live closed-circuit security feeds of the high-security visiting room.
The room was a sterile, linoleum-floored space divided by thick, reinforced bulletproof glass. Inmates sat on one side in orange jumpsuits, speaking to visitors through heavy steel-mesh intercoms.
I watched the screen intently, my fingers resting on the wooden armrest.
The heavy steel door of the visiting holding area buzzed open. A guard escorted an inmate in an orange jumpsuit to table number four. It was Evelyn. Her hair was grayer, her posture slightly stooped, but the cruel, predatory glint in her eyes was unchanged. She sat down, picking up the heavy telephone receiver with a sharp, impatient snap.
A moment later, the door on the visitor side opened. A tall person wearing a heavy black trench coat, a wide-brimmed hat, and dark sunglasses walked in, keeping their head lowered. They sat down at table four and picked up the opposite receiver.
I leaned closer to the monitor, zooming in on the split-screen feed.
Evelyn’s face lit up with a grotesque, triumphant smile. She pressed her hand against the glass, and the visitor slowly lifted their hand, pressing their palm against hers from the other side.
As the visitor tilted their head up, slipping off their dark sunglasses under the fluorescent lights, my breath hitched in my throat. I stumbled back from the monitor, gasping in utter disbelief.
It wasn't a stranger. It wasn't one of David’s corporate cronies.
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It was Sarah—my own former college roommate, the maid of honor at my wedding, and the godmother we had chosen for Ruth.
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