Chapter 9: The Prison Call
Word travels fast, even behind federal concrete.
Two weeks after the hearing, I was sitting in my office reviewing a torts essay when my desk phone rang. The caller ID displayed a generic out-of-state number, tagged with a correctional facility prefix.
I knew exactly who it was. I clicked the speaker button and pressed record.
"This call is originating from a federal correctional institution. Press 1 to accept," the automated voice chimed.
I pressed 1.
"Hello, Aunt Marlene," I said smoothly.
There was a long silence on the other end, followed by the sound of someone taking a ragged, heavy breath.
"I heard what you did for Vanessa," Marlene’s voice crackled through the line. It lacked the haughty, country-club arrogance it used to carry. She sounded old. Beaten. "She wrote to me. She told me you saved her apartment. You got Caleb’s parole revoked."
"I represented a client of the clinic whose civil rights were violated," I corrected coldly. "Nothing more."
"Don't play coy with me," Marlene wheezed. "You helped her because deep down, you know we're blood. You know family looks out for family. That's why I'm calling."
I actually laughed. It was a short, sharp sound of pure disbelief. "Are you really about to ask me for a favor, Marlene?"
"My parole hearing is in three months," she rushed out, her desperation bleeding through the receiver. "The public defender they gave me is an idiot. He won't even look at my file. But you... you clearly know the law now. You could draft a brief for me. You could argue for early release on compassionate grounds. My health is failing in here."
I leaned back in my chair, looking at the framed picture of Noah on my desk. I thought about the $150,000 she had stolen. I thought about the moment she tried to have CPS take my son.
"Let me explain something to you, Marlene, in clear legal terms," I said, my voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm register. "Under the Federal Sentencing Guidelines, your conviction for grand larceny and wire fraud carries a mandatory minimum, which you haven't met. More importantly, compassionate release requires a demonstration of rehabilitation and remorse."
"I am remorseful!" she cried out.
"No, you're just sorry you got caught," I countered. "You aren't family, Marlene. You lost that title the day you forged my name. I helped Vanessa because she was a victim in that specific instance. But you? You are exactly where you belong."
"You vindictive little—"
May you like
"I'm going to hang up now," I interrupted softly. "If you ever call this number again, or if you ever try to contact my son, I will personally file a harassment injunction that will ensure you are placed in solitary confinement for the remainder of your sentence. Enjoy the food."
I didn't wait for her to scream. I pressed the disconnect button, severing the tie forever. The ghost was finally, permanently exorcised.
