Chapter 34 - The Prison Interview
The maximum-security federal penitentiary was a bleak, sterile fortress of gray concrete and harsh fluorescent lighting. Olivia walked down the echoing corridor, flanked by Miller and two prison guards.
She was led into a small, secure visitation room divided by a thick pane of bulletproof glass. She sat down in a hard plastic chair, waiting for the devil to arrive.
A heavy steel door buzzed open on the other side of the glass. Vanessa Harrington walked in, wearing an oversized, drab orange jumpsuit. Her perfectly styled hair was now graying and pulled back into a severe bun. The aristocratic elegance was entirely gone, replaced by the hardened, bitter reality of prison life.
Vanessa sat down, picking up the black telephone receiver. She looked at Olivia, a twisted, malicious smile spreading across her face.
"Well, well, well," Vanessa sneered through the phone. "The conquering queen comes to visit the dungeon. Have you come to gloat, Olivia?"
"I don't care enough about you to gloat, Vanessa," Olivia replied coldly, refusing to show any weakness. "I am here for the decryption key to Elias Thorne’s failsafe server."
Vanessa laughed, a dry, harsh sound. "Ah. The dead man's switch. Elias always was paranoid. And you want me to just hand over the key? To save the foundation you built with my money?"
"I want you to hand it over because if you don't, Elias Thorne will destroy the last remaining shred of your family's legacy," Olivia countered smoothly. "You hate me, Vanessa. But you hate Thorne even more for letting you take the fall."
Vanessa’s smile faded, replaced by a calculating glare. "You are right. I despise him. But I also despise you. Why should I help you?"
"Because if you do, I will sign a document advocating for your transfer to a minimum-security facility," Olivia offered the bait. "You get out of this maximum-security hellhole. But only if the key works."
May you like
Vanessa stared at her for a long, agonizing minute. The hatred warred with her desperate desire for better living conditions.
"You really have learned how to play the game, haven't you?" Vanessa whispered bitterly. She leaned closer to the glass. "The key is a phrase. A phrase my late husband used to say."
