Chapter 8 - The Jailhouse Visit
Three weeks after my leg was cast, I did something Daniel strongly advised against.
I requested a private attorney-client visitation pass at the Multnomah County Detention Center to see Ryan. Because I was still technically a co-owner of the corporate entity filing civil claims against him, my legal team arranged a forty-five-minute deposition window inside the facility.
I entered the small, gray visitation room in my wheelchair.
When the heavy steel door opened on the other side, Ryan was led in by two guards.
He looked uncoordinated, thin, and hollow. The crisp, handsome vanity that he had cultivated for seven years had completely evaporated. His hair was greasy, his face stubbled, and his eyes darted around the room like a trapped animal.
He sat down across the acrylic divider, his cuffed hands resting on the cold steel table.
“Clara,” he rasped out, his voice shaking. “You came. Thank God. You came to get me out.”
I leaned back in my wheelchair, resting my cast comfortably on the elevated footrest. “I’m not here to get you out, Ryan. I’m here to complete the asset inventory.”
Ryan’s face twitched. “Asset inventory?! Clara, I’ve been in this hellhole for twenty-one days! The guys in here... they know who I am! They mock me! They steal my food! My dad is two blocks away in the medical wing because his blood pressure spiked!”
“Actions have consequences, Ryan,” I said mildly.
“It was a mistake!” Ryan shouted, slamming his palms against the acrylic glass. The guard near the door took a step forward, but I raised my hand slightly to signal I was fine.
“It wasn't a mistake,” I corrected him. “A mistake is forgetting to sign a shipping manifest. A mistake is buying yellow roses instead of white ones. What you did in that foyer was calculated, cruel, and criminal.”
Ryan squeezed his eyes shut, tears finally beginning to spill over his dirty cheeks. “I was afraid, Clara! My dad told me that if the audit went through, he’d go to federal prison for tax evasion! He manipulated me! He told me you were trying to destroy our family!”
“I was your family, Ryan,” I said softly, the truth hanging heavy in the cold air between us. “I was the person who stayed awake with you until four in the morning when we couldn't pay our first three drivers. I was the person who gave you forty thousand dollars of my mother’s legacy so you could buy your first freight truck. I was your wife.”
Ryan looked up, his eyes wide with a pathetic, desperate longing. “We can still fix it, Clara! I’ll sign whatever you want! I’ll give you one hundred percent of the company! I’ll testify against my father! Just drop the criminal charges! Talk to the DA! Tell them it was a domestic dispute that got out of hand!”
I looked at him for a long, silent moment.
“Do you know what you whispered to me in that hospital room right after you thought you had forced me into submission?” I asked him.
Ryan blinked, shaking his head frantically. “No... I don't remember...”
“You tapped my broken leg and whispered, 'Good girl,'” I said, every word like an icicle dropping onto the floor. “You thought I was a dog you had successfully kicked into obedience.”
Ryan gasped, pulling his hands back against his chest as if he had been burned.
“I am taking everything, Ryan,” I told him smoothly. “The company, the lake house, the investment accounts, the vehicles, and your reputation. You will leave this prison in seven years with nothing but the orange clothes on your back and a felony record that ensures you will never hold an executive position in the logistics industry for the rest of your life.”
I signaled the guard near the door.
May you like
“Goodbye, Ryan.”
As the officer grabbed his shoulder to wheel him back to his cell, Ryan began to scream—a loud, ragged, pathetic sound that echoed down the gray concrete corridor long after the steel door slammed shut behind him.
