Chapter 29 - The Supermax Visit
If we were going to fight a ghost syndicate, we needed intelligence. We needed to know exactly who their handler was and how they operated. There was only one person alive who knew the intricate details of Marcus’s illicit arrangements.
The next morning, I boarded a private helicopter chartered by my father. We flew directly to the federal supermax penitentiary where Marcus Sterling was currently serving his twenty-five-year sentence.
The prison was a brutalist nightmare of gray concrete, razor wire, and absolute desolation. I was escorted through five separate, heavily fortified security checkpoints. The guards looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and deep respect; it wasn't every day a victim walked into a supermax to confront her abuser.
I was led into a stark, windowless interrogation room. A thick panel of bulletproof acrylic glass divided the small table. I sat down, folding my hands perfectly still on the metal surface.
The heavy steel door on the opposite side buzzed loudly, and Marcus was shoved into the room by two massive correctional officers.
He was practically unrecognizable. The arrogant, impeccably groomed billionaire was entirely gone. He wore a faded, baggy orange jumpsuit. His face was gaunt, his eyes sunken into deep, bruised hollows, and his hair was thinning rapidly from extreme stress. He was heavily shackled at the wrists and ankles, the chains rattling loudly as he dragged himself to the metal stool.
He looked up, and when his eyes locked onto mine, he visibly flinched. He looked utterly, profoundly broken.
"Clara," he rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves scraping across pavement. "Why are you here? Have you come to gloat? Haven't you taken enough from me?"
"I don't care enough about you to gloat, Marcus," I replied, my voice echoing with icy indifference. "I am here because you left a very messy trail. I received a photograph yesterday. It came in a black envelope embossed with an obsidian snake."
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All the remaining color instantly drained from Marcus’s gaunt face. His eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing terror. He began to shake violently, his chains clinking against the metal table.
"No," he whimpered, burying his face in his shackled hands. "Oh god, no. They found you."
