Chapter 5 - THE JAILHOUSE VISIT
Two days before the final sentencing trial, I did something that surprised even my father.
I requested a private visiting clearance at the Metropolitan Correctional Center in downtown Chicago.
The visitor's room was cold, smelling of cheap floor wax and stale industrial detergent. A thick pane of bulletproof glass separated the booths, with grey plastic telephone receivers hanging on either side.
I sat down on the metal stool, wearing a sleek white coat and leather gloves, looking completely out of place in the bleak concrete room.
A minute later, the heavy steel door on the opposite side opened.
Kyle Whitmore walked in, wearing an oversized orange jumpsuit. His wrists were chained to his waist. He looked gaunt, his skin pale and yellow under the flickering fluorescent lights. He had a faint blue bruise along his jaw—the result of his introductory night in general population.
He sat down heavily on the stool, picking up the plastic phone receiver with shaking, bruised fingers.
I picked up my receiver, raising it to my ear.
"Why are you here, Isabella?" Kyle whispered through the glass. His voice was completely stripped of his former arrogance. "Have you come to laugh at me? To gloat?"
"No," I replied calmly. "I came to look at you one last time before you spend the next twenty years behind bars."
Kyle lowered his head, pressing his forehead against the cold glass. "I lost everything, Bella... my company, my house, my reputation, my friends... everyone turned their backs on me. Even Thalia."
He gave a hollow, bitter laugh.
"Do you know what Thalia did yesterday?" Kyle continued, tears welling up in his bloodshot eyes. "She signed a plea deal with the prosecutor. She's testifying against me on the fraud charges in exchange for a lighter sentence at a minimum-security facility. She claimed I forced her to help me steal the money."
"Are you surprised?" I asked gently. "She loyalty was based on your bank account, Kyle. The moment the money disappeared, her loyalty went with it."
Kyle looked up at me, his eyes searching my calm face for any trace of the soft, compliant woman he had married three years ago.
"You really loved me, didn't you?" he asked, his voice cracking with genuine, agonizing regret. "Back when we met in London... before the company got big... you really loved me for who I was."
"I did," I admitted quietly. "I loved the man who worked sixteen hours a day in a small workshop. I loved the man who listened to my dreams. But that man died the moment you let pride and greed corrupt your soul."
"I thought... I thought if I became powerful enough, I wouldn't have to fear anyone," Kyle sobbed, big tears falling onto his orange jumpsuit. "I thought I was making you proud by building an empire!"
"You didn't build an empire, Kyle," I corrected him firmly. "You built a house of cards on top of my father's mountain. And when you decided to hurt me to feed your fragile ego... the mountain simply shook you off."
Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, his shoulders shaking with violent, uncontrollable sobs.
"Is there any chance... ever... that you could forgive me?" he whispered desperately into the receiver.
I looked at him through the glass. I felt no rage left in my heart. No burning desire for further destruction. Only a quiet, profound pity for a man who had traded absolute paradise for a fistful of dirt.
"I forgive you for being weak, Kyle," I said, my voice steady and serene. "But forgiveness does not mean mercy. You will serve every single day of your sentence."
I set the telephone receiver back onto its hook, stood up from the stool, and turned my back on him.
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"Isabella! Wait! Don't leave me!" Kyle screamed behind the glass, banging his chained fists against the thick pane until the correctional officers forced him back into his seat.
I walked out of the heavy iron door, stepping into the warm afternoon sunshine, feeling the cool ocean breeze wash over my skin as I took my first real breath of freedom.
