Chapter 12 - Inside the Maximum-Security Walls and the Face-to-Face Reckoning
The heavy steel gates of Marion Federal Penitentiary groaned open under the authority of Gabriel’s federal transit override codes, allowing our battered Maybach to roll into the sterile, high-security visitor courtyard.
Cold autumn rain slicked the razor-wire fences as an armed detachment of corrections officers stood at rigid attention, having received direct orders from the regional warden that our party was to be given unhindered access to the solitary holding block.
Gabriel walked beside me down the narrow, fluorescent-lit corridor, his presence commanding absolute obedience from every guard we passed.
When we reached the secure glass visitation booth at the end of the block, an inmate in an orange jumpsuit was already sitting at the metal table inside, handcuffed to a bolted ring.
It was Julian.
His hair was cut short, his face thinner than I remembered, but that same smirking, arrogant expression still lingered around the corners of his mouth.
When the heavy metal door clicked open, Julian looked up, expecting to see a lawyer or a prison chaplain.
Instead, his eyes landed on me standing in the doorway—and then widened in sheer terror when he saw the towering, terrifying figure of Gabriel Kane standing right behind me like an executioner.
“Claire?” Julian stammered, scrambling back against his chair as far as the handcuffs would allow. “How the hell did you... what is this?”
I walked slowly into the booth, my boots clicking rhythmically against the linoleum floor, and stopped two feet from the metal table.
I didn't yell, and I didn't tremble. I simply laid the leather folder down, opened it, and slid a single printed asset transfer form across the steel surface.
“Good to see you too, Julian,” I said, my voice ice-cold. “I hear you’ve been busy chatting with Viktor Vance’s lawyers about corporate fraud and encrypted proxies.”
Julian swallowed hard, casting a terrified glance at Gabriel, who remained leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, radiating lethal menace.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Julian blustered, trying to recover his bravado. “I’m an inmate doing my time. You can't touch me in here.”
“I don't need to touch you,” Gabriel spoke up for the first time, his deep baritone cutting through the room like a razor blade. “I own the federal contracts that supply this entire penitentiary’s security grid. I can have your cell converted into a concrete box with no light, no communication, and no visitors before the sun goes down.”
Julian’s face turned the color of chalk. He looked desperately between us, realizing that his grand scheme to bring down the Kane syndicate using my old identity had completely collapsed.
“Sign the confession, Julian,” I said quietly, sliding a pen across the table. “Admit that you forged the embezzlement documents in New York four years ago, and sign over the remaining proxy keys to the offshore accounts.”
“And if I refuse?” Julian whispered, trembling.
May you like
Gabriel pushed off the doorframe, taking two slow, heavy steps forward until he towered over the prisoner.
“Then you won't live long enough to regret it,” Gabriel said softly.
