Chapter 13 - The Visitor’s Room
Six Months Later.
The Metropolitan Correctional Center in Lower Manhattan smelled of bleach, old floor wax, and damp wool.
I sat behind the thick plexiglass partition in Visitation Room B, wearing a simple gray cashmere sweater and a thin gold chain around my neck.
The heavy steel door on the opposite side opened, and Julian walked in, dragged by a guard.
He had lost forty pounds. His hair had been shaved close to his scalp, revealing a graying, uneven skull. His orange jumpsuit hung loosely off his gaunt shoulders, and his hands were raw and red from his work detail in the prison laundry.
He sat down on the stool, picked up the plastic telephone receiver with trembling fingers, and pressed it to his ear.
I picked up my receiver, holding it loosely against my cheek.
"Kat," Julian rasped, his voice hollow, stripped of all its former charm. "You came."
"I came to deliver the final papers, Julian," I said calmly.
He looked at the thick white envelope I had set on the stainless steel counter between us.
"The divorce is finalized?" he asked, a dull, dead look in his eyes.
"Signed by the judge this morning," I replied. "And the bankruptcy court has approved the liquidations. You owe twenty-two million to the federal government in restitution. Every dollar you earn for the rest of your life will be garnished by eighty percent."
Julian looked at his reflection in the glass, his fingers gripping the receiver until his knuckles turned gray.
"Why?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "I gave you five years of my life, Kat. I built that firm—"
"You built nothing, Julian," I cut in, my tone so cold it made him flinch behind the partition. "You were a clerk who married a princess and convinced himself he was king. My father gave you Apex. My family provided your capital. And the moment you thought you were strong enough, you raised a cane against the hand that fed you."
He lowered his head, a tear dropping onto the rusted metal counter.
"Chloe..." Julian whispered. "Where is she?"
"Chloe is serving four years at a minimum-security facility in Connecticut for tax fraud," I said. "Her father is in a federal penitentiary in Pennsylvania. Her family’s house in Greenwich was sold at auction last Tuesday to a trust owned by my foundation."
Julian looked up at me, his eyes filled with a dark, bottomless terror.
"You took everything," he rasped. "You destroyed every single thing I ever touched."
I reached into my bag, pulled out a fresh fifty-dollar bill, and tapped it against the glass partition right in front of his face.
May you like
"Get yourself some ice, Julian," I said softly.
I set the phone receiver down on the cradle, stood up, and walked toward the exit door without looking back once.
