Chapter 9 - The Ghost in the Mail
I stared at the envelope. It was the first time she had tried to contact me in two years.
"What does it say?" I asked Marcus, keeping my voice level.
"It's a pathetic attempt at manipulation, as always," Marcus sighed. "She claims she has found religion. She says she forgives you for putting her in prison, and she wants you to put money on her commissary account because the prison food is ruining her digestion. She also hinted that she might try to appeal based on ineffective counsel."
I laughed. It wasn't a bitter laugh. It was a laugh of genuine amusement. She was sitting in a concrete box, wearing cheap cotton, eating slop, and she still thought she held the high ground.
"Let her appeal," I said. "The video is in 4K resolution, Marcus. She could hire the ghost of Johnnie Cochran and it wouldn't save her."
"I know," Marcus said softly. "I just didn't want it to ruin your day."
"Marcus," I smiled, looking out at the beautiful life I had built with my own two hands. "Nothing she does can ever ruin my day again. What time are we doing dinner tonight?"
"Seven. I got reservations at the new Italian place downtown."
"Perfect. See you then. Love you."
"Love you too, Clara."
May you like
I hung up the phone. I picked up the letter from my mother. I didn't open it. I didn't need to read her toxic words. I walked over to the stainless steel trash can in my kitchen, stepped on the pedal, and dropped the unopened letter in with the coffee grounds and eggshells.
Right where it belonged.
