Chapter 13 - The Glass Partition
Logan Correctional Center sat among the flat, windswept cornfields of central Illinois like an iron fist dropped onto the earth. The sky above was the color of lead, threatening sleet as Julian cleared the three separate security checkpoints.
The sound of electric locks buzzing and heavy steel doors slamming shut behind him echoed like rifle shots. Every step through the sterile, linoleum-lined corridors stripped away the last remnants of Julian’s youthful naivety.
He sat down on the cold metal stool in the non-contact visitation booth. A thick sheet of scratched, yellowed plexiglass separated him from the empty stool on the other side. A black plastic telephone receiver hung on the wall beside his shoulder.
Three minutes later, a heavy metal door clicked open.
A correctional officer led Chloe into the booth.
Julian barely recognized the woman who walked toward him. The radiant, golden-blonde hair that had cost eight hundred dollars a week to maintain was limp, dull, and pulled back into an unkempt ponytail. The bespoke designer dresses and diamond necklaces were gone, replaced by a coarse, ill-fitting khaki prison jumpsuit. Her skin was sallow, devoid of foundation, and dark purple circles bruised the skin beneath her hollow eyes.
Yet when she saw Julian, her thin lips twisted into the same sharp, venomous sneer that had once paralyzed him with insecurity.
She sat down, picked up her receiver, and waited.
Julian lifted his phone to his ear. The line hummed with low static.
"Look at you," Chloe said, her voice raspy, stripped of its delicate charm. "Dressed like a ditch digger. I see you’ve fully embraced your true social class, Julian."
"You look right at home, Chloe," Julian said, his voice flat, steady, without a trace of the old deference she used to command.
Chloe flinched slightly, her eyes narrowing. She wasn't used to Julian looking directly into her eyes without flinching.
"Did you come here to gloat?" she hissed. "Because if you think sitting in this cage makes me regret what I did, you're an idiot. Your father ruined my life. He paraded those police officers through my investor gala! He humiliated me in front of every major family in the Gold Coast!"
"You ruined your own life the day you stole from a man who gave you a home," Julian replied calmly. "You committed grand larceny, wire fraud, and mortgage perjury. But you didn't do it alone, did you?"
Chloe threw her head back, letting out a dry, manic laugh that rattled the plastic receiver.
"Oh, did Daddy finally drop the hammer on you?" She leaned forward, pressing her pale face against the scratched plexiglass, her breath fogging the clear plastic. "Did Victor bring his little paperwork to the butcher shop? Did he explain what that secondary mortgage actually did?"
"He brought it," Julian said. "He thinks he’s taking the terminal in thirteen days."
"He *is* taking it!" Chloe snapped, her fingernails tapping frantically against the shelf. "You think you and your dinosaur father can fight the Vance Group? My father owns the judges, the county commissioners, and the banking syndicates. You were never anything to me, Julian. You were an insecure boy with a rich father who didn't know how to protect his flank. When I met you, Daddy told me: *‘Find out what Eleanor left behind. Get their signatures on Vance paper.’* And you practically handed me the pen!"
Julian felt a sharp, agonizing twist in his gut, but he didn't look away. He absorbed the blow, let the cold reality settle into his blood, and used it to harden his spine.
"Your father used you, Chloe," Julian said quietly.
"He’s getting me out on appeal!" she spat defensively.
"Is he?" Julian leaned in closer to the glass. "Because Sarah Jenkins reviewed the Vance Group's court filings this morning. Victor Vance didn't buy that receivership note in your name. He bought it through a subsidiary called Blackwood Capital. There is no provision for your bail. There is no appeal fund filed on your docket. And under Illinois law, because you pled guilty to the wire fraud charge, any asset recovered through the foreclosure goes directly to Victor’s trust—not a single dime goes to your legal defense."
Chloe’s eyes widened, a sudden flicker of raw, naked panic flashing across her face before she tried to mask it with another sneer. "You’re lying. He’s my father!"
"He’s a predator who sacrificed his own daughter to settle a forty-year grudge with an old truck driver," Julian said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "He left you here in an eight-by-ten cell, Chloe. You’re wearing state-issued canvas while he takes the credit for your dirty work. When he wins, he goes back to his penthouse on Lake Shore Drive, and you serve the next seven years cleaning prison toilets."
Chloe’s breath grew shallow. Her fingers gripped the plastic receiver until her knuckles turned white.
"What do you want, Julian?" she whispered, the arrogance cracking to reveal the terrified, abandoned child beneath.
"The original corporate books from your investment firm," Julian said. "You kept a private ledger of Victor’s offshore transfers. The ones you used to launder the initial sixty thousand you stole from our dispatch account. You showed me the blue leather notebook once when you were drunk, boasting about how you were smarter than your father’s accountants."
Chloe stared at him, her chest heaving. "If Victor finds out I gave you those books, he won't just leave me in here. He’ll make sure I never make it to parole."
Julian slowly began to lower the receiver from his ear. "Then enjoy your seven years, Chloe. Because when my father and I break your dad’s back in federal court, you won't have a father, a husband, or a trust fund left to save you."
"Wait!" she screamed through the glass, slamming her hand against the partition.
The guard behind her stepped forward, warning her with a stern tap on his belt.
Julian slowly put the receiver back to his ear.
Chloe looked around desperately, then lowered her head, weeping silent, bitter tears of pure spite and terror.
"Under the floorboards in my old walk-in closet at the Lincoln Park apartment," she sobbed into the mic. "Behind the shoe rack. A safe with a digital keypad. Code is 0-9-1-4. The date my mother died. The day Victor took everything from her, too."
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Julian didn't say goodbye. He hung up the heavy black receiver, stood up from the cold metal stool, and walked out into the corridor without looking back.
***
