Chapter 10 - The Shadow of the Past
The morning sun cast a warm, golden glow across the polished oak floors of Florence & Chloe Artisan Pastries, but the crisp breeze rolling in from the Annapolis harbor carried a subtle chill that reminded me of how fragile peace truly was.
Business was thriving. Word of our artisanal sourdough and custom wedding cakes had spread all the way from Baltimore down to the capital, and our weekend orders were booked out three months in advance. Yet, success didn't mean the echoes of the past had vanished entirely.
My phone chimed on the stainless-steel counter while I was decorating a three-tier raspberry-mousse cake. The caller ID flashed a restricted number—an automated routing from the Maryland Department of Public Safety and Correctional Services.
I paused, my piping bag hovering over a delicate cream rosette.
"Everything alright, Chloe?" my mother asked, walking over from the oven station, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron. She caught the look on my face and her expression tightened. "Is it about him?"
"An institutional notification," I said calmly, setting the piping bag down and wiping my hands with a cloth. "Brandon’s defense counsel filed a motion for sentence modification and compassionate transfer to a minimum-security work camp, citing purported psychological distress and rehabilitation progress."
Howard, who was just walking in from the outdoor patio with his toolbox, stopped dead in his tracks. The heavy metal box clanged loudly against the wooden floorboards.
"Compassionate transfer?" Howard scoffed, his face flushing a deep, angry crimson. "The only thing he deserves compassion for is how fast he managed to throw away ten years of his life and a brilliant career for a house of cards. What judge in their right mind would even entertain that motion?"
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"None, if we submit our victim impact statement before the docket review next Tuesday," I replied, pulling off my apron and tossing it onto the hook. "The state’s attorney wants an updated affidavit detailing the ongoing financial and emotional recovery of our household, reaffirming that the threat to our security remains active."
"Then let’s go home and draft it tonight," Howard said, his voice dropping into that steely, uncompromising register that brooked no argument. "We’re not letting him crawl back into society on a technicality while your mother and you had to rebuild your lives from the ashes."
