Chapter 4 - The Cell Block VisitOne month later.
The Kentucky State Penitentiary for Women in Peewee Valley was a cold, brutal structure of concrete walls, chain-link fences, and razor wire.
I walked down the long, sterile visitor hallway, accompanied by two armed correctional officers. I was wearing a tailored grey suit, carrying a sleek leather briefcase. My strength had fully returned; my color was vibrant, my mind sharp as a razor.
I was escorted into a private attorney-client visitation room divided by thick, bulletproof glass.
A few moments later, the heavy metal door on the opposite side opened.
Victoria was led into the room in orange prison scrubs. Her hair was greasy and unwashed, her face pale and sunken without makeup, her hands cuffed to a heavy leather waist belt. The glamorous, polished woman who had ruled Charleston and Louisville society was completely gone. In her place sat a hollow, broken prisoner.
She sat down heavily in the steel chair across from me, picking up the telephone receiver with trembling hands.
I picked up my phone and held it to my ear.
“Ethan...” she whimpered, her voice raspy and broken through the small speaker. “Please... please tell me you’re here to help me. My lawyer says I’m facing thirty years without parole... Ethan, please! I was manipulated! Harrison forced me into it! He gave me drugs, he threatened to ruin me—!”
“Save your breath, Victoria,” I said, my voice entirely flat, entirely devoid of mercy. “Harrison signed a full confession forty-eight hours ago in exchange for avoiding the death penalty. He gave the prosecutors every text message, every bank transfer, every recorded phone call from the last eighteen months.”
Victoria’s eyes filled with tears, her lower lip trembling. “Ethan... we were married for six years! Doesn't that mean anything to you? I made a terrible mistake! I was stupid, I was blind, but I loved you once! Please... don't let me die in this place!”
“You didn't make a mistake, Victoria,” I replied calmly, leaning closer to the glass. “You made a calculation. You calculated that my life was worth six hundred and fifty million dollars. You calculated that I would burn alive in an incinerator while you drank champagne in Paris with Harrison.”
I opened my briefcase, pulled out a single sheet of paper, and pressed it against the glass.
It was the final decree of divorce, signed by a state judge.
“The divorce is finalized,” I told her. “Under the state’s Slayer Statute, any person convicted of attempting to murder their spouse forfeits all rights to marital property, alimony, trust funds, and insurance payouts. You leave this marriage with absolutely nothing.”
Victoria stared at the document, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks, her hands shaking so violently the cuffs rattled against the steel table.
“What about my mother?” she sobbed. “My sister? They have nowhere to live!”
“The penthouse in Louisville and the estate in Lexington were purchased with Blackridge capital,” I said cold-bloodedly. “Foreclosure notices were served on both properties yesterday. Your family has twenty-four hours to pack their bags.”
“You monster!” Victoria suddenly screamed, slamming her cuffed hands against the glass, her face twisting into an ugly, animalistic mask of rage. “You icy, arrogant bastard! I wish you had burned! I wish I had watched you turn to ash!”
I didn't flinch. I didn't even blink.
I slowly brought the telephone receiver closer to my mouth.
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“You had your performance at my funeral, Victoria,” I whispered, my voice echoing through the line with terrifying clarity. “Now you get to live with the encore.”
I set the phone back on the cradle, stood up, buttoned my suit jacket, and walked out of the room without looking back once.
