Chapter 9 - A Call from Blackgate
The caller ID flashed an unknown number from a state correctional facility.
Claire stared at her cell phone as it vibrated on her kitchen counter. She knew exactly who it was.
For a moment, her heart hammered against her ribs—a conditioned response honed by a decade and a half of terror.
She picked up the phone and accepted the charges.
"Claire."
Ethan's voice. It sounded thinner, stripped of its acoustic dominance, echoing slightly against concrete walls.
"Why are you calling me, Ethan?"
"They’re offering me a plea deal," he said, his voice dropping into that familiar, manipulative purr. "Ten years. If I take it, I save you the stress of a public criminal trial. I'm doing this for you, Claire."
She let out a short, hollow laugh.
"You're doing it because you know the jury will crucify you, Ethan."
"You took my company," he snapped, the mask slipping instantly. The rage was still there, boiling just beneath the surface. "You took everything."
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"You gave it away the first time you raised your hand," Claire replied, her voice entirely devoid of emotion. "Do not call this number again. The next time I see you, it will be to watch the judge lock you away."
She hung up and blocked the facility's number.
