Chapter 10 - The Cage of the Viper
The Massachusetts Correctional Institution for Women in Framingham was a grim labyrinth of concrete, steel gates, and razor wire.
I sat behind a scratched acrylic partition in the non-contact visitation room. Across from me sat Victoria Vance.
She had lost weight, her once voluminous dyed-blonde hair now hanging limp and graying at the roots. The designer silk blouses and heavy gold necklaces had been replaced by a faded orange jumpsuit. Yet, when she looked up and saw me, the same venomous sneer that had tormented me for three years curled upon her lips.
"Look at you," Victoria mocked, picking up the receiver on her side of the glass. "The grand lady comes down to the gutter. Have you seen the morning news, darling? The whole country thinks you’re a monster."
I picked up the black plastic receiver and held it to my ear. "You look terrible, Victoria. The state food clearly doesn't agree with your refined palate."
Victoria’s knuckles turned white around the receiver. "You think you broke me, Eleanor? You think putting me in this cage makes you the victor? You were always weak. Even when you were dying of pneumonia, crying on the floor like a dog, you looked pathetic. I should have emptied boiling water over your skull instead."
"You could have," I replied steadily, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a flinch. "Instead, you handed me the legal rope to hang you with. But you didn't orchestrate this media blitz from a prison payphone. It's Malcolm, isn't it?"
Victoria froze. The smugness flickered in her eyes, replaced for a fraction of a second by raw, feral triumph.
"You finally figured it out," she whispered, leaning closer until her breath fogged the acrylic. "Malcolm is ten times the man your father ever was. Arthur Morrison destroyed our family's legacy. He took our status, our money, our pride. Did you really think we would let you keep the empire Arthur built on our blood?"
May you like
"He didn't steal anything from you, Victoria. Malcolm was a criminal who embezzled millions and killed safety workers."
"He was our patriarch!" Victoria hissed, spitting at the glass. "And he's back. He bought your mortgage debt through an overseas consortium. He financed Julian's campaign. And while you’re busy defending your precious little reputation, Malcolm is acquiring thirty-five percent of Morrison Global’s voting shares. You’re being swallowed whole, little girl. And when you’re out on the street, you won’t even have a coat to keep you warm."
