Chapter 7 - The Jailhouse Visit
Three days later, I drove to the Lew Sterrett Justice Center in West Dallas.
I didn't go to see Marjorie. I had no desire to ever look at her face again until she was taking the stand at her criminal trial.
I went to see Ethan.
The attorney visitation room was a small, sterile box divided by three-inch-thick bulletproof glass, smelling faintly of industrial floor cleaner and stale sweat.
When the heavy steel door opened and Ethan was led inside by a corrections officer, I barely recognized him.
The polished, thirty-six-year-old corporate consultant who prided himself on his tailored suits, immaculate hair, and white teeth was completely gone. In his place sat a hollow, broken shell of a man.
He was wearing a oversized yellow inmate jumpsuit. His hair was greasy and uncombed, dark purple circles hung beneath his eyes, and his wrists were bound by heavy belly chains that clanked against his metal chair as he sat down.
He picked up the black plastic phone receiver with trembling, manicured hands that were now covered in small scratches and bruises from the jail floor.
I picked up my phone on the other side of the glass.
"Tessa..." Ethan sobbed, the moment his lips touched the plastic. Tears immediately flooded his eyes, leaving clean tracks through the grime on his cheeks. "Oh God, Tessa... please... please get me out of here. You have to post my bail. Please."
I sat quietly, resting my hands in my lap, watching him through the glass with total, absolute indifference.
"How is the food, Ethan?" I asked softly.
"Tessa, I'm dying in here!" he wept, slamming his chained hands against the shelf. "There are sixteen men in my cell! They stole my shoes! They took my commissary card! My mom is having panic attacks in the women’s wing! You have to call Caroline and tell her to drop the charges!"
"I can't drop state criminal charges, Ethan," I corrected him calmly. "The District Attorney filed the charges based on the chemical weapon evidence. Even if I wanted to, the state of Texas is prosecuting you."
"You can tell them it was a misunderstanding!" he begged, his face pressed against the glass, leaving a greasy smudge. "You can tell them the video was staged! Tell them you forged the text messages! Please, Tess! I’m your husband! I love you!"
A small, cold laugh escaped my lips.
"You love me?" I asked, leaning closer to the glass. "Is that why you asked your mother if my face was bad enough to keep me home from the wedding?"
Ethan flinched as if I had struck him. He looked down at his lap, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
"I didn't know it was that dangerous," he whimpered, trying to shift the blame once more. "My mom told me it was just going to give you a light rash! She said it was just a mild cosmetic irritant to keep you in your room for twenty-four hours! I swear to God, Tessa, I didn't know it was industrial acid!"
"It doesn't matter what you thought it was, Ethan," I said, my voice dropping into an icy, unyielding register. "You knew she was putting a foreign substance into my personal beauty products. You knew she was trying to harm me. And instead of stopping her, instead of protecting your wife, you helped her hide it."
"I was afraid of her!" Ethan cried out desperately. "You know how she is! She's controlled my whole life! She made me feel like I was nothing without her! I was just trying to keep her happy!"
"And now you can keep her company in state prison," I said.
I pulled a thick manila envelope from my leather handbag and pressed it against the glass window.
Through the glass, Ethan could clearly read the bold, black lettering stamped across the front cover:
IN THE DISTRICT COURT OF DALLAS COUNTY, TEXAS
PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE & EMERGENCY FAULT ALLOCATION
PETITIONER: TESSA MARIE VANCE
RESPONDENT: ETHAN REID VANCE
Ethan stared at the document, his breath catching violently in his chest.
"Divorce...?" he whispered, looking up at me with terror in his eyes.
"Full fault-based divorce," I clarified smoothly. "I am claiming one hundred percent of the house, one hundred percent of our joint liquid assets, and full restitution for corporate reputational damages. Your personal accounts have been frozen, and your interest in the M-Streets rental property has been permanently severed by court order."
"Tessa... no..." Ethan gasped, shaking his head frantically. "You can't leave me with nothing! How am I supposed to pay for a defense lawyer?! How am I supposed to pay my bail?!"
"You have a court-appointed public defender, Ethan," I said, standing up from my chair, smoothing the skirt of my navy suit. "I hear he's very busy. He might even see you for fifteen minutes before your jury trial starts in six months."
"Tessa! Don't walk away from me!" Ethan screamed, banging his chained fists against the bulletproof glass so hard the metal frame rattled. "TESSA! PLEASE! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!"
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I didn't turn around.
I hung up the plastic phone receiver, placed it back on its wall hook, and walked out of the visitation room into the bright Texas sunshine, leaving Ethan’s desperate, screaming echoes locked behind three sets of heavy steel doors.
