CHAPTER 12 — A Deal With the Devil in Orange
Two days later, I was sitting in the cold, sterile visitor’s room of the Tennessee State Penitentiary for Women. The fluorescent lights buzzed obnoxiously overhead. I sat behind a thick pane of bulletproof glass, a telephone receiver in my hand.
The heavy metal door clicked open, and a guard escorted a woman in an oversized orange jumpsuit to the chair opposite mine.
I barely recognized her.
Teresa Bradley, the woman who had once stood in my backyard wearing a thousand-dollar dress and sipping expensive champagne, looked like a ghost. Her dyed hair had grown out into a stark, brittle gray. Her face was gaunt, her posture slumped. Three years in a maximum-security facility had stripped away every ounce of her arrogance.
She picked up the receiver, her hands trembling. She didn't look me in the eye.
"Connor," she whispered. Her voice was raspy, broken.
"Hello, Teresa," I said, keeping my voice devoid of any warmth. I wasn't here to forgive. I was here for business. "I'll get straight to the point. Richard is back."
At the mention of his name, my mother visibly flinched. Her eyes widened, darting around the room as if he were hiding in the shadows of the prison.
"He found you," she choked out, tears instantly welling in her eyes. "I knew he would. I told him... I told him I didn't have the money, but he didn't care."
"He's demanding half a million dollars, or he's going to frame Amy for the forgery you committed," I said coldly. "You brought this monster into my life, Teresa. You forged those papers for him."
"He made me!" she sobbed, pressing her free hand against the glass. "Connor, you have to believe me. He tracked me down five years ago. He had debts. Terrible debts with terrible people. He told me if I didn't help him secure your house to launder the money, he would kill you. He would kill Frederick. I thought... I thought if I just took control of the house, I could handle the finances, pay him off, and keep you safe!"
I stared at her, feeling a complex knot of anger, pity, and disgust. "You treated my wife like an animal. You almost let my son die of a fever. You didn't do it to protect us. You did it because you liked the power, and you liked the money he let you skim off the top."
Teresa lowered her head, the tears falling freely onto the steel counter. "I know. I'm a monster. I lost everything because of my greed. But Richard... Richard is the devil, Connor. You can't pay him. If you pay him, he'll just keep coming back until you're bled dry."
"Then tell me how to destroy him," I demanded.
She looked up, her eyes filled with a sudden, desperate resolve. "When I was working with him, I didn't trust him. I knew he would eventually throw me under the bus. So, I kept insurance. Real insurance."
"What kind of insurance?"
"A ledger," she whispered, leaning closer to the glass. "Handwritten by him. It details every illegal loan, every bribed official, and the names of the cartel members he works for. If that ledger gets to the FBI, Richard is a dead man walking. His own people will kill him before the feds can even put him in cuffs."
My pulse hammered in my ears. "Where is it?"
"It’s in a safety deposit box at the First National Bank in downtown Nashville. It's under my maiden name." She gave me the box number and the pin code.
"Why didn't you use this to get a lighter sentence?" I asked, suspicious.
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"Because as long as I was in here, I was safe from him," she admitted bitterly. "But he went after my grandson. Use it, Connor. Burn him to the ground."
I stood up, placing the receiver back on the hook. I didn't say goodbye, and I didn't say I forgave her. But as I walked away, I knew she had just handed me the weapon I needed to end this war forever.
