Chapter 13
The sterile white walls of the federal visitation room hummed with the oppressive drone of fluorescent lights. A thick sheet of reinforced Plexiglas separated the visitor booths, bolted firmly into the reinforced concrete floor. Valeria sat on the metal stool on the visitor side, wearing her beige blazer over her green dress—the exact outfit she had worn the night her life changed at the upscale restaurant. It was a deliberate choice, a silent declaration that she was the exact same woman they had underestimated, only now she held all the cards.
The heavy steel door on the opposite side of the barrier clicked open, and two guards escorted Julian in. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit that hung loosely on his frame, his hair unwashed, his face pale and haggard. He looked like a ghost of the ambitious corporate climber he used to be.
Julian sat down heavily on the metal stool across the glass, his hands trembling as he picked up the heavy plastic telephone receiver. Valeria picked up hers slowly, maintaining a calm, impenetrable expression.
"Valeria," Julian’s voice crackled through the small speaker box, sounding desperate and hollow. "I knew you would come. I knew you still cared."
"I don't care, Julian," Valeria said, her voice calm and even through the speaker. "I'm here because Marcus told me you have information about Robert Vance's hidden accounts. Speak quickly. My car is waiting."
Julian flinched, the harsh reality of her words hitting him harder than any physical blow. He pressed his face closer to the Plexiglas, his eyes wide and bloodshot.
"Forget Robert Vance," Julian whispered urgently, ignoring his own previous claim. "Look at me, Val. We were married for three years. We built a life together before all this corporate madness. Can't you use your father's influence to get me out of here? Just post bail, put me under house arrest at your studio—I'll do whatever you want. I'll sign away every cent!"
Valeria stared at him through the glass, feeling an overwhelming sense of profound pity—not for his situation, but for the pathetic emptiness of his character. He still believed everyone operated like him, that loyalty and affection were simply commodities to be bought, sold, and traded when convenient.
"When we were at that restaurant three days ago," Valeria said softly, her voice cutting through the speaker box with crystal clarity, "Clara called me naive. You stood there and watched her mock me while you looked down at your plate like a coward."
Julian swallowed hard, his breath fogging up the glass on his side of the barrier.
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"I made a mistake," Julian choked out, a genuine tear slipping down his cheek. "Clara meant nothing to me. It was all about status. You're the only real thing I ever had."
"No, Julian," Valeria replied, standing up smoothly from her stool and adjusting the lapels of her beige blazer. "I was never real to you. I was just an asset you managed until a shinier, more arrogant option came along. And now, you get to keep the life you built."
