Chapter 7 - Orange Jumpsuits and Family Values
The visiting room at the Mecklenburg County Detention Center smelled of bleach, industrial wax, and despair.
Judith sat behind the thick polycarbonate glass, wearing a rough-spun orange jumpsuit that clashed violently with her dyed auburn hair. Her hands were shackled to a welded steel loop in the center of the metal table. Without her foundation, her gold hoop earrings, and her tailored silk blouses, she looked like a frail, hollowed-out bird.
When she saw me sit down, she lunged toward the glass, the chains rattling violently against the steel.
"Clara! Thank God! Did you bring Arthur? Tell me Arthur is filing the habeas corpus! They took my medication, Clara! They have me in a cell with women who have gang tattoos!"
I picked up the black telephone handset on my side of the partition. I waited until she frantically picked up hers.
"Arthur doesn't represent you, Judith," I said calmly. "Arthur represents me. And the Montgomery family estate, which, as of eight o'clock this morning, belongs entirely to my corporate holdings."
"You can't do that!" she wailed, tears smudging her mascara into black streaks across her cheeks. "Grant is the rightful heir! His father built that firm!"
"His father built a firm that Grant looted to the tune of two point four million dollars to buy jewelry, luxury watches, and an off-market cabin for a woman who specializes in murdering her domestic partners for insurance money."
Judith’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"Did you know about Helen, Georgia, Judith?" I asked, tilting my head. "Did Tessa tell you about her first husband, Mark Mercer? Did she tell you how he died on a scenic mountain drive after someone tampered with his vehicle?"
Judith's eyes shifted frantically. "She... she told me he was an abusive drunk who ran off. She said she understood what I was going through with you... how you were controlling Grant, how you emasculated him with your bonuses and your tech stock options..."
"You gave a professional black widow the keys to your only child’s life," I said coldly. "Tessa didn't want you to slash the front tire. She knew that if you slashed the rear sidewall, the centrifugal force at high speeds on the mountain pass would cause a catastrophic rollover. She made sure Grant was driving. She wanted Grant dead, Judith. She wanted me dead. And she wanted you sitting in this exact chair so you couldn't contest the twelve-million-dollar trust she had Grant set up for her daughter."
Judith began to shake. The realization struck her like a sledgehammer, caving in whatever fragile delusions she had used to justify her malice.
"No..." she moaned, pressing her forehead against the greasy glass. "No, no, no... Grant loves her. He loves Lily like his own..."
"Grant was a mark," I said. "And you were the cheap labor."
"Help me, Clara," she begged, her voice dropping into a desperate, pathetic whimper. "Please. I’ll testify against her. I’ll tell the district attorney everything. I’ll tell them she bought the knife! I’ll tell them she showed me where to slice the rubber! Just get me out of here. I’m sixty-four years old. I won't survive prison!"
"You should have thought about your retirement plans at two-seventeen this morning," I said, setting the handset down on the counter.
May you like
As I stood up and turned my back on her, her screams echoed through the visiting hall, punctuated by the furious, frantic banging of her handcuffed fists against the unbreakable glass.
***
