Chapter 56 - The Severance of Donald Vance
The booking room of the Lane County Adult Corrections Facility was lit by buzzing industrial fluorescent tubes that cast a sickening, sickly green hue over Donald Vance's face.
He sat behind a scratched pane of Plexiglas, wearing an orange jumpsuit that hung loosely on his unconditioned frame. Across from him sat Cassidy. Between them lay a thick sheaf of legal documents—the culmination of four weeks of forensic accounting, federal depositions, and estate restructuring.
Donald didn't look like the arrogant older brother who had lounged on the living room sofa while she dragged her suitcases down the porch steps. His hair was greasy, his eyes ringed with dark hollows, and his fingers picked obsessively at the seams of his plastic visitation telephone.
"You have to sign the quitclaim, Donald," Cassidy said through the receiver. Her voice was level, devoid of triumph or vindication. It was simply the tone of an auditor closing an unbalanced ledger.
"I’m not signing anything," Donald snarled, though his lower lip trembled. "Cross’s lawyers said the trust was invalid. They said grandfather’s military clearance means the land belongs to the federal government. You don't own it, Cassidy! You don't own anything!"
"Harrison Cross is currently housed in the federal detention center in Sheridan, Donald," Cassidy replied smoothly, turning a page of the document so the signature line faced the glass. "He was indicted yesterday on forty-two counts of racketeering, illegal mineral prospecting on federal reserves, and bribing public officials. His lawyers aren't coming to help you. They aren't even taking his calls."
Donald choked back a sound that was half-gasp, half-sob. "What about Ma? Ma wouldn't let you do this to me. She’s my mother!"
"Mother signed her conveyance on Tuesday," Cassidy said.
Donald froze, his hand tightening on the receiver until his knuckles went dead white. "What?"
"She surrendered all claims to the Ridge Road estate," Cassidy explained, her voice steady and clinical. "In exchange, the U.S. Attorney agreed not to charge her as a co-conspirator in your wire fraud scheme. I bought her a modest one-bedroom senior apartment in Corvallis. Close to the clinic. Her name is on the lease, but the rent is paid by an irrevocable trust that I control. She will never have to worry about a mortgage again. But she will never set foot on Ridge Road again, either."
"You... you put Ma in a home?"
"I gave her safety, Donald. Something you were willing to trade for twelve thousand dollars and a handshake with a corporate predator." Cassidy tapped the glass directly over the signature line. "Now it's your turn."
"And if I don't sign?" Donald sneered, trying to summon a shred of his former bravado. "What are you gonna do? Leave me here?"
"If you don't sign this quitclaim," Cassidy said, leaning forward until her gaze pierced directly into his eyes, "the federal prosecutor will introduce Exhibit 49 at your preliminary hearing: the recorded phone calls between you and Cross's logistics chief, detailing the placement of explosive cutting charges on the Boreas air intake. That carries a mandatory minimum of twenty-five years under the Homeland Security Infrastructure Protection Act."
Donald’s jaw dropped. The breath left his lungs in a wheezing hiss.
"If you sign," Cassidy continued, "the U.S. Attorney accepts your guilty plea to simple criminal trespass and third-degree fraud. You serve eighteen months at a minimum-security facility in Sheridan, followed by three years of supervised probation. And when you get out, Donald, you will be thirty-seven years old. You will have no money, no title, no inheritance, and no sister."
She pushed the paper against the transfer slot beneath the partition.
"Sign the deed, Donald. Or spend the rest of your youth in a federal penitentiary."
Donald looked at the black pen resting in the tray. His hand shook so violently that he dropped the receiver against the shelf, where it dangled by its armored cord, emitting a low dial tone. He reached out with trembling fingers, picked up the pen, and scratched his name onto the line.
Cassidy did not smile. She pulled the document back through the slot, inspected the signature, stamped her notary seal onto the lower margin, and stood up.
"Cassidy... wait," Donald’s voice sounded muffled through the glass. He pressed his face against the scratched surface. "Cass... I'm your brother. Please. You have millions down there. Just leave me enough to get on my feet."
Cassidy adjusted the strap of her leather portfolio over her shoulder. She looked at the man who had stolen her youth, who had laughed when she was told to leave her own home, who had never once asked if she had enough money to eat after paying his mortgage.
May you like
"You told me to become independent, Donald," Cassidy said through the glass, her words carrying the finality of an iron door slamming shut. "Now it's your turn."
***
