Chapter 11 - The Visitor's Glass
The visiting room at the county detention facility smelled of industrial bleach and stale despair. Reinforced bulletproof glass separated two long counters, with black telephone receivers hanging on steel cords beside each station.
I sat down at Station 7, smoothing the fabric of my dark sweater. Across the partition, a heavy steel door buzzed open, and a female corrections officer escorted Marlo to the chair opposite mine.
The transformation was chilling. In less than two weeks, Marlo had withered. Her once-glowing skin was chalky, her hair pulled back into a messy, dull knot. Her eyes darted frantically around the room before locking onto mine through the scratched acrylic pane.
She sat down, picked up the heavy black receiver, and pressed it to her ear. I took a deep breath, picked up my receiver, and waited.
"You look pleased with yourself, Claire," Marlo’s voice crackled through the earpiece, raspy and raw. "The saintly daughter. The devoted wife. Sitting on top of Dad’s secret millions while I rot on a concrete bench."
"I didn't put you on that bench, Marlo. You climbed onto it yourself," I replied calmly. "You said you had something to tell me about Mom. You have five minutes before I hang up and walk out of here."
A hideous, bitter laugh echoed in my ear. "Mom? Mom is an idiot. She never knew who Dad really was. She spent forty years playing the submissive housewife, worshiping the ground he walked on."
"Don't speak about our parents," I warned, my knuckles whitening around the plastic phone.
Marlo leaned closer to the glass, her breath misting against the surface. "You think you won because Dad left you that trust? You think Dad loved you more because of your sweet little red-haired miracle?"
She sneered, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper that made my hair stand on end.
"I didn't make up those rumors about Ren out of nowhere, Claire. I brought up Ren’s red hair because I knew it would drive you crazy. But do you know *why* Dad had that Swiss trust in the first place? Do you know where those patent royalties really came from?"
I stayed silent, refusing to take the bait, but my heart began to thud painfully against my ribs.
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"Ask Mom about nineteen ninety-four," Marlo whispered, a dark, twisted grin spreading across her cracked lips. "Ask her about the woman Samuel Vance brought into our house before you were born. The woman with the bright copper hair who vanished without a trace."
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