Chapter 5 - Arrival at Ravenwood
The heavy iron gates of Ravenwood State Correctional Facility ground open with a screech of rusted gears, welcoming the transport van into a bleak courtyard surrounded by towering concrete walls topped with coils of gleaming razor wire. The gray stone buildings loomed menacingly under the overcast afternoon sky, housing hundreds of violent offenders, embezzlers, and murderers.
Vanessa stepped out of the van, shielding her eyes from the sudden glare of the floodlights as the cold wind whipped her blonde hair across her face. The air smelled of damp earth, industrial bleach, and suppressed human misery.
"Line up against the intake wall," a towering correctional supervisor commanded, her voice booming across the concrete yard with military precision.
Vanessa hesitated for a fraction of a second, her ingrained sense of entitlement rebelling against the humiliating command. Instantly, the supervisor stepped directly into her personal space, towering over her with an intimidating scowl.
"Inmate Vance, you are no longer in a luxury penthouse," the supervisor whispered dangerously close to her ear. "Here, attitude gets you solitary confinement, and disobedience gets you a longer stay. Move."
Swallowing her furious pride, Vanessa shuffled forward alongside three other newly arrived inmates into the cavernous intake processing room. The stainless-steel tables gleamed under flickering fluorescent bulbs. She was ordered to strip off her orange jumpsuit, submit to a humiliating cavity search, and surrender every remaining personal possession, including the mysterious slip of paper her father had left in her pocket.
As a rookie guard reached out to confiscate the folded note, Vanessa instinctively snatched her hand back, clutching the paper tightly in her fist.
"Give me that! It's personal!" Vanessa yelled, her voice echoing sharply against the tiled walls.
The intake supervisor instantly signaled two burly guards, who lunged forward with terrifying speed. They pinned Vanessa’s arms behind her back and slammed her chest hard against the stainless-steel examination table. The breath rushed out of her lungs in a sharp gasp as the cold metal pressed into her ribs.
"Inmate is resisting a lawful order," the supervisor declared coldly, walking over and prying Vanessa’s clenched fingers apart one by one until the paper fluttered down onto the floor.
The supervisor picked it up, her eyes scanning the handwritten lines scribbled by Arthur Vance. A slow, knowing smile crept across the guard’s hardened face as she read the reference to the downtown bank safety deposit box and the decade-old murder of the prosecutor's wife.
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"Well, well, well," the supervisor murmured softly, folding the note and sliding it securely into her own breast pocket. "It looks like your powerful daddy didn't just dump you here to rot—he sent you straight into a lion's den with a target painted on your back."
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