Chapter 17 - Letters from Cell Block B
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Margaret received a sentence for conspiracy, assault, obstruction, and her role in covering up my father’s murder. Carla received a reduced sentence after cooperating fully with prosecutors and testifying against Victor—but she still went to prison.
Some people told me I should forgive them because they were family.
I learned that forgiveness and access were not the same thing.
I could release the hatred one day.
But I would never again invite danger into my home simply because it shared my last name.
Three weeks after the trial ended, a heavy Manila envelope arrived at my office, stamped with the logo of the Arizona Department of Corrections. Inside was a handwritten letter from my mother.
“Marcus,” the letter read in her shaky script. “The food here is unbearable, and the cold gets into my bones at night. I know I made mistakes, but I am still your mother. Please speak to your contacts in the governor's office to arrange a transfer to a medical facility. You owe me that much for the life I gave you.”
I held the letter over the metal trash can beside my desk.
I didn't feel anger. I didn't feel triumph. I felt only a profound, quiet sadness for a woman who still believed that blood gave her the right to exploit the people she was supposed to protect.
I let go of the paper, watching it drop into the trash.
Victor Hale was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.
When the verdict was read, Irene squeezed my hand.
I looked at her—not at the courtroom, not at Victor, not at the cameras waiting outside.
Just at her.
She had survived what should have destroyed her.
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And she had done more than survive.
She had brought the truth into the light.
