Chapter 6 - The Visitor in Federal Holding
The Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn smelled of industrial bleach, damp concrete, and despair.
I sat behind a thick partition of reinforced bulletproof glass in the high-security visitor room. I wore a sharp charcoal-gray suit, my hair styled effortlessly, carrying a sleek leather briefcase. Across the glass sat Ryan Calloway.
In just three weeks, the thirty-two-year-old heir to a billion-dollar empire looked like he had aged fifteen years.
His dark hair was cropped short in a crude prison haircut. His polished skin was dull, broke out with stress acne, and dark gray bags hung under his hollow eyes. He wore a bright orange jumpsuit that was two sizes too big, his hands chained to a steel belt around his waist.
When he looked through the glass and saw me, a mixture of intense rage and pathetic desperation twisted his face.
He picked up the heavy plastic phone receiver on his side. I picked up mine.
"You miserable bitch," Ryan spat, his voice cracking through the static speaker. "You destroyed my family. You put my father in a medical ward, you put my mother on suicide watch, and you locked me in a cage!"
"You put yourself in this cage, Ryan," I replied smoothly, my tone completely unbothered by his rage. "I just handed the authorities the keys you left lying around."
"I was your husband!" Ryan slammed his chained fists against the counter, causing the guard behind him to rest a hand on his nightstick. Ryan winced, settling back down. "We spent six years together, Vanessa! I bought you diamonds! I brought you into high society! How could you betray me like this?!"
"High society?" I let out a dry, quiet laugh. "You treated me like a upper-class servant. Your mother forced me to stand behind the caterers at family dinners. Your father made me sign documents waiving my rights to my own medical decisions. And you..."
I leaned closer to the glass, my eyes locking onto his bloodshot gaze.
"...you brought your mistress to my baby shower, kissed her in front of seventy people, and struck your pregnant wife hard enough to cause an abruption that nearly killed your son."
Ryan’s face twitched. He looked down at the scratched metal counter, a flicker of shame briefly crossing his eyes before his arrogance swallowed it again.
"How... how is he?" Ryan muttered quietly. "How is Hunter?"
"His name is Hunter Vance," I corrected firmly. "And he is thriving. He came home from the NICU yesterday."
Ryan’s head snapped up. "He's my son! I have rights! When I get out—"
"When you get out, Ryan, Hunter will be thirty-seven years old," I cut in ruthlessly. "And you have zero rights. The family court judge signed the termination of your parental rights two weeks ago. As far as the law is concerned, you are a complete stranger to him."
"No..." Ryan whimpered, tears suddenly welling up in his eyes. "No, Vanessa, please... don't do this to me. I'm his father!"
"A father protects his child," I said, pulling a stack of legal papers from my briefcase and holding them against the glass. "This is the final decree of absolute divorce. The court has granted me full ownership of Vance Global Management, the Hamptons estate, and all liquid assets not impounded by the DOJ."
"You took everything..." Ryan whispered, staring at the documents in utter disbelief. "You took my company... my house... my son... you left me with nothing."
"I left you with exactly what you gave me when I was lying on that marble floor, Ryan," I said softly.
I set the phone receiver down on its hook.
May you like
Ryan began screaming into his receiver, slamming his forehead against the glass, crying and pleading as the guards grabbed his arms, pulling him backward out of the visitor booth. His shrieks echoed down the cold concrete hallway until the heavy steel door slammed shut.
I stood up, smoothed down my suit jacket, and walked out into the warm afternoon sun.
