Chapter 19
Chapter 19: The Ghost in the Mailbox
A year had passed since I left Anna at her dorm. Life had achieved a beautiful, predictable rhythm. I had been promoted at work, and Anna was pulling straight A’s in her sophomore year. The toxic cloud of my biological family had finally evaporated—or so I thought.
On a crisp Tuesday evening, I found an envelope in my mailbox. It was a standard, coarse matrix-printed envelope with a familiar return address: Federal Correctional Institution, Bureau of Prisons.
It was from Robert.
I sat at my kitchen island, a cup of tea cooling beside me, as I stared at the paper. Part of me wanted to shred it immediately. But a deeper, protective instinct told me to know what my enemy was thinking. I sliced it open.
Claire, The doctors here tell me my heart is failing. Four years in this place is a death sentence for a man my age. I’m not asking for your forgiveness—I know your heart is made of stone. I’m asking for your help. Janet is living in squalor. Sabrina is drowning in debt. You have the money. You have the corporate job. If you have any shred of humanity left, help your mother. Don't let our family name die in the gutter. – Robert
I let out a cold, sharp laugh. Even from a prison cell, facing his own mortality, the man couldn't help but demand, guilt-trip, and insult me. He still saw me as the family bank, the subordinate who owed them everything.
May you like
I didn't reply. Instead, I took a photo of the letter and texted it to Marcus Thorne.
His reply was instant: “Keep it. If Janet or Sabrina tries to use this for a sympathy angle in court to modify their restitution payments, we’ll use his own words to show they are still trying to manipulate you.”
