Chapter 8 - The Ghost of the Past
Two years later.
Inside the State Maximum Security Penitentiary in Florence, Tyler Vance sat in a cramped, windowless visitation cell.
His hair was thinning, his face was lined with deep stress wrinkles, and his physical health had deteriorated significantly from the harsh reality of prison life. He was assigned to the heavy maintenance crew, spending twelve hours a day scrubbing floors and moving laundry carts.
His attorney, a court-appointed public defender, sat across from him behind the thick glass divider.
“Is there any update on the appeal?” Tyler asked frantically, pressing his hands against the glass. “Can’t we argue that the video footage was obtained without a warrant? Can’t we appeal the life sentence?”
The public defender sighed, sliding a folder across his side of the table without opening it.
“The appellate court reviewed your petition yesterday, Tyler,” the lawyer stated flatly. “The appeal was dismissed within five minutes. The evidence against you is absolute, and the video recorded by your neighbor from public property was entirely legal.”
Tyler dropped his head onto the steel shelf beneath the glass, letting out a desperate, ragged sob. “I’m going to die in here...”
“Yes, Tyler,” the lawyer replied coldly. “You are.”
He pulled a magazine from his briefcase and held it against the glass so Tyler could see the cover.
It was the latest issue of American Hope Magazine.
On the front cover was a gorgeous, high-resolution photograph of me standing in front of the expanded state network of domestic violence shelters I now managed as Chief Executive Director. Beside me stood three-year-old Hope, wearing a bright yellow dress, holding my hand with a brilliant, joyful smile.
The headline read: FROM THE ASHES: HOW CLARA AMES TURNED TRAUMA INTO A NATIONWIDE BEACON OF FREEDOM.
“She turned all the joint marital assets you tried to steal into a non-profit trust that has helped over three thousand women escape abusive homes,” the public defender informed him. “Your name has been legally expunged from all public records regarding her child. To your daughter, you do not exist.”
Tyler stared at the photograph of his former wife—looking strong, radiant, elegant, and completely happy—and at the thriving daughter he had tried to destroy.
“She won...” Tyler choked out, tears dripping onto his jumpsuit.
May you like
“No, Tyler,” the lawyer said as he packed his briefcase and stood up. “She didn't just win. She moved on. And she forgot you ever existed.”
The lawyer walked out of the room, leaving Tyler alone in the silence of his concrete cell.
