Chapter 14
Chapter 15: The Room of Concrete and Steel
The State Penitentiary was exactly as cold and devoid of humanity as one would expect.
I walked through the metal detectors and heavy steel doors, flanked by Elias on my left and Alex on my right. My lawyer walked ahead, carrying my official victim impact statement.
We were led into a sterile, windowless room with a long wooden table. The parole board, consisting of three stern-faced officials, sat at the head.
A heavy iron door on the opposite side of the room groaned open.
Two armed guards escorted Inmate 40992 into the room.
I looked at Trent Vance for the first time in fourteen years.
He was wearing an oversized, faded orange jumpsuit. The expensive, custom-tailored suits were long gone. His thick, perfectly styled dark hair had thinned entirely, turning a dull, sickly gray. His face was lined with deep, bitter wrinkles, and his posture was stooped. He looked small. He looked pathetic.
He took his seat. He slowly lifted his eyes and looked across the table.
When he saw me, a micro-expression of absolute shock registered on his face.
He remembered the terrified, broken woman he had left bleeding on the marble floor. But the woman sitting across from him was wearing a tailored navy suit, her posture impeccable, her eyes sharp and completely devoid of fear.
The head of the parole board cleared his throat.
"Mr. Vance, you are petitioning for early release based on time served and institutional compliance. Before we review your file, we will hear from the victim. Ms. Olivia, you have the floor."
I didn't look at my written notes. I didn't need them. I kept my eyes locked entirely on Trent.
"Fourteen years ago," I began, my voice ringing clear and authoritative in the concrete room. "The man sitting across from me attempted to murder me and my unborn child. He did not do it in a moment of sudden passion. He did it systematically. He isolated me, he tortured me, and he tried to erase my existence to satisfy his own desperate need for control."
Trent looked down at his shackled hands, unable to maintain eye contact.
"He is applying for early release under the guise of rehabilitation," I continued, my tone entirely clinical. "But monsters do not rehabilitate. They simply adapt to their cages. If Trent Vance is released, he will not contribute to society. He will only look for another victim to make himself feel powerful."
I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table.
"I am not speaking to you today as a victim," I stated, addressing the board but staring directly at Trent. "I am the CEO of a multi-million-dollar architectural firm. I am a mother to a brilliant daughter who does not even know his name. I am standing in the light. And I am asking this board to ensure that Trent Vance remains exactly where he belongs. In the dark."
The silence in the room was absolute.
Trent’s jaw clenched, a faint flicker of the old, impotent rage crossing his gray face, but he was entirely powerless.
The board didn't deliberate long.
May you like
"Petition for early release is denied," the chairman announced, banging his gavel. "Inmate 40992 will serve the remainder of his sentence without the possibility of further parole hearings."
I stood up. I didn't wait for them to escort him out. I turned my back on Trent Vance for the very last time, took Elias’s hand, and walked out into the sunlight.
