Chapter 24 - A Final Correspondence
Evie sat at her massive mahogany desk, the plain white envelope resting ominously in the center of the leather blotter. The return address was a cold, alphanumeric string belonging to a maximum-security federal penitentiary.
She picked up a silver letter opener, sliding it smoothly under the flap. She didn't hesitate or tremble.
The letter was written on cheap, thin paper. The handwriting, once bold, arrogant, and commanding, was now erratic and desperate.
"Evelyn,
I know you hate me. I know you believe I am a monster. But you have to understand the immense pressure I was under. The Vanguard syndicate would have butchered us all. I made a terrible, tragic calculation, but it was to protect the legacy of our family. I am sitting in this concrete box, losing my mind. The guards are cruel. The inmates know who I used to be, and they punish me for it every single day.
You have the power to fix this. With your resources, you can hire the best appellate lawyers in the country. You can recant your testimony about the padlock. You can claim it was the trauma affecting your memory. If you do this, I can get a new trial. I can get out.
I am your father. You owe me this. Do not abandon your blood in this hell.
Richard."
Evie read the letter twice. There was no apology for the fire. There was no remorse for the sheer terror she had endured. There was only the pathetic, narcissistic desperation of a hollow man who still believed the universe revolved entirely around his comfort.
He hadn't changed. He hadn't learned a single thing. He was still the exact same coward who had locked a heavy brass padlock on his daughter's bedroom door to save his own skin.
A knock on the door broke her concentration. Uncle Arthur peeked his head into the office, holding two cups of coffee. He had recently joined the foundation's board of directors, finally finding a purpose after years of being ostracized by the family.
"Everything alright in here?" Arthur asked, noticing the prison letter on the desk.
"Everything is perfect, Arthur," Evie smiled, taking the warm cup of coffee from his hands.
"What did he want?" Arthur asked, his voice laced with a protective, lingering anger toward his brother.
"He wanted to know if I would save him," Evie replied simply.
Arthur’s jaw tightened. "And what are you going to do?"
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Evie looked at the pathetic, desperate words scribbled on the cheap paper. She felt absolutely nothing. No anger, no sadness, no pity. Just complete, absolute closure.
"I'm going to show him exactly what a fire really looks like."
