Chapter 7 - THE VISITATION IN CELL 4
Two weeks passed.
The autumn air in the city turned crisp and cool. Vanguard Development’s corporate restructuring was proceeding with incredible speed. Under my leadership, the company secured a forty-million-dollar funding line from a major European investment bank, securing all current construction projects and stabilizing the stock price at an all-time high.
My hand was healing well. The heavy white gauze had been replaced by a thin, beige compression glove that allowed me to use my fingers again, though a faint pink scar remained across the center of my palm—a permanent, physical reminder of the day I freed myself.
On a rainy Tuesday afternoon, I drove to the Cook County Department of Corrections.
Through Arthur Vance’s legal connections, I had arranged a private, twenty-minute visitation with Ivan Sterling in the attorney-client consultation room.
When the heavy steel door of the room unlocked and Ivan walked in, I barely recognized him.
The polished, handsome real estate mogul was completely gone. Ivan wore an oversized orange jumpsuit. His dark hair was shaved close to his scalp, his sharp jaw covered in a scruffy, uneven beard. He had lost at least fifteen pounds, his shoulders slumped, his eyes hollow and dark.
Two armed guards stood at the door as Ivan sat down across the glass partition from me.
He picked up the silver intercommunication phone with a trembling, pale hand.
I picked up my phone, placing it against my ear.
"Nora..." Ivan rasped, his voice hollow, echoes of desperation vibrating through the receiver. "You... you actually came."
"Hello, Ivan," I said calmly, looking at him through the reinforced glass.
"Nora, please... you have to talk to the DA," Ivan pleaded, pressing his free hand against the glass partition. "They're charging me with federal wire fraud, tax evasion, and felony assault! They're talking about a twenty-year sentence! Twenty years in a federal penitentiary!"
"I know," I replied smoothly. "Arthur and I met with the lead prosecutor yesterday afternoon. They have a nineties-nine percent conviction rate on wire fraud."
"Nora, I'll die in here!" Ivan wept, tears smudging the glass where his forehead leaned against it. "Please... I'm your husband! We were married for ten years! Doesn't that mean anything to you?!"
I looked down at my left hand—at the thin beige compression glove covering my healing skin.
"Ten years, Ivan," I said softly. "Ten years during which you treated me like a servant. Ten years during which you cheated on me, stole my money, belittled my intelligence, and finally slammed my hand onto a red-hot grill because your chicken wasn't cooked fast enough."
"I was sick!" Ivan sobbed. "I was drinking! I was stressed about the company!"
"No, Ivan," I corrected him, my voice firm as granite. "You weren't sick. You were arrogant. You thought you were invincible because you wore expensive suits and drove Italian sports cars. You thought because I was quiet, I was weak."
Ivan slammed his fist against the glass partition. BANG!
"I built that company!" Ivan screamed into the receiver, his eyes wild with sudden, familiar rage. "You stole it from me! You and Arthur Vance set me up! You trapped me!"
The two guards in the room immediately stepped forward, their hands on their batons. "Keep it down, inmate!"
Ivan shrank back into his chair, breathing heavily, his hands shaking violently.
I leaned closer to the glass, looking straight into his broken eyes.
"I didn't set you up, Ivan," I whispered. "You set yourself up the moment you forgot who held the power. I gave you ten years to be a good man. You chose to be a monster."
I reached into my leather purse and pulled out a single sheet of white paper, pressing it against the glass partition so he could read the bold black text at the top:
DECREE ABSOLUTE OF DIVORCE AND DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.
"The judge signed the final decree this morning, Ivan," I announced clearly. "I am no longer your wife. My name has been legally restored to Nora Vance. You own nothing. You have nothing. And when you walk into that courtroom for your trial next month... you will walk in completely alone."
Ivan stared at the paper, his mouth open, his eyes wide with absolute, horrifying realization.
I hung up the silver telephone receiver, set it neatly back on its hook, and stood up from the chair.
May you like
"Nora! NORA! DON'T LEAVE ME! NORA!" Ivan shrieked, slamming his hands against the glass as the two guards grabbed him by his orange jumpsuit, forcing him back toward the cell block doors.
I turned my back on his screams, smoothed the lapels of my white wool coat, and walked out of the prison into the cool, fresh autumn air.
