Chapter 16 - The Jailhouse Confrontation
The Cook County visiting room smelled of stale disinfectant and industrial wax. The reinforced glass partition was scratched and smeared, separating the free world from the concrete purgatory Brandon now inhabited.
When the heavy steel door opened, Brandon shuffled in, clad in an oversized orange jumpsuit. His wrists were handcuffed to a waist chain, his posture slouched. But when his eyes landed on me, his mouth twisted into a triumphant, mocking grin.
He picked up the heavy plastic telephone receiver on his side. I lifted mine.
"Come to beg, little sister?" Brandon sneered, leaning his forehead against the scratched glass. "You thought you were so smart repossessing my car and evicting Mom and Dad. How does it feel knowing the feds are going to strip your penthouse, cancel your license, and put you in a cell right next to mine?"
"You look terrible, Brandon," I said in a deadpan tone. "The orange doesn't flatter your skin tone."
"Keep laughing, Claire! I signed the proffer at eight o'clock tonight. The US Attorney took every document. Arthur Kensington is ruined, and you're going down as his chief conspirator. Marcus told me that once Kensington’s stock plummets, his partners will drop the civil suits against me, and the feds will give me full immunity for cooperating."
"Marcus Sterling lied to you," I said evenly.
Brandon’s smug grin faltered slightly, his eyes darting. "You're bluffing. You’re desperate."
"Marcus Sterling was arrested twenty-two minutes ago at O’Hare International Airport while trying to board a private charter to Dubai," I told him, holding up my phone to the glass. On the screen was a live news broadcast from local Chicago television: *Marcus Sterling Arrested on Federal Racketeering and Wire Fraud Warrants.*
Brandon’s face turned the color of curdled milk. His fingers tightened on the plastic receiver until his knuckles went dead white.
"The documents you signed weren't an immunity deal, Brandon," I continued, my voice steady, merciless, and calm. "They were an admission of criminal conspiracy. Marcus Sterling gave you forged documents using Aunt Evelyn's defunct notary stamp. The feds already matched the ink. It was manufactured three days ago in Cicero, not six years ago."
"No... no, Mom said—"
"Mom used you as a battering ram," I cut him off. "She thought if you dragged me into federal court, I would agree to a settlement to save my own neck, and Kensington would pay out millions to silence the scandal—money Mom thought she could control. Instead, you just committed perjury before a federal grand jury."
Brandon began to hyperventilate. He slammed his cuffed hands against the counter, sending a loud metallic rattle echoing through the visitor booth. A guard immediately stepped behind him, resting a hand on his baton.
"Claire, wait! You have to fix this! Talk to Kensington! Tell them I was confused! Tell them Mom made me do it!" Tears were spilling over his lashes now, dripping down his unshaven chin. "I can't do twenty years, Claire! I can't survive in here! You're my sister!"
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"You stopped being my brother the day you tried to trade my freedom for your get-out-of-jail card," I whispered into the receiver. "Enjoy the proffer you signed, Brandon. It’s the last contract you’ll ever hold."
I hung up the receiver and walked out into the corridor, leaving his screams pounding against the shatterproof glass.