Chapter 6 - The Uninvited Letter
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Three weeks after my father finished the patio, a heavy, cream-colored envelope arrived in the mail. It bore no return address, but the postmark was from the state penitentiary where Julian was currently being held awaiting trial.
I stood in Nora’s hallway, staring at the thick handwriting on the front of the envelope. My name was scrawled in black ink: Clara Vance.
For a brief second, my heart skipped a beat, a phantom echo of the fear I used to feel whenever Julian looked at me with cold calculation.
Nora walked up behind me, noticing the envelope in my hand. Her expression hardened instantly.
"Do you want me to burn it?" Nora asked, reaching out to take it from me.
"No," I said, taking a slow, deep breath and opening the flap. "Let's see what the great Julian Vance has to say for himself now that he is wearing an orange jumpsuit."
I pulled out a single sheet of lined prison paper. The handwriting was messy, rushed, and desperate.
Clara,
I know you won't read this, but I have to try. Everything is gone. My lawyers abandoned me because the retainers bounced. My parents won't even accept my phone calls from the facility. I am sitting in a six-by-eight concrete box, Clara. This isn't where I belong. You know how hard I worked. You know the Vances built this city. If you just sign the affidavit stating that you handled the financial reconciliations independently and that I had no knowledge of Northbridge Advisory, the prosecutors will have to drop my charges. We can fix this, Clara. We can start over. Just you, me, and Evelyn. Please. I am begging you.
— Julian.
I stared at the letter, a profound, hollow silence filling the hallway.
He was still doing it. Even from a prison cell, facing ten years behind bars, he was still trying to rewrite reality. He genuinely believed that if he begged hard enough, I would once again step up to take the blame, absorbing the consequences of his crimes so he could walk free.
"What does it say?" Nora asked, watching my face carefully.
I handed her the paper without a word.
Nora scanned the letter, her face twisting in pure disgust. She crumpled the paper into a tight ball and tossed it directly into the hallway trash can.
"He is delusional," Nora said sharply. "He actually thinks you would risk your freedom—and your custody of Evelyn—to save him after what he did to you at the baby shower?"
"He doesn't understand remorse, Nora," I said, walking into the kitchen to wash my hands. "He only understands utility. To him, people are tools. When a tool breaks, you try to fix it or throw it away. He thinks I am just a broken tool he can salvage."
"Well, his tool factory is permanently closed," Nora laughed coldly.
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I walked over to the kitchen window, looking out at the yard where my father was cheerfully tinkering with a lawnmower. The sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over the grass.
"I won't even reply," I said quietly. "Silence is the only answer a man like Julian deserves. Let the federal prosecutors handle him. I have a baby to feed."
