Chapter 5 - The Final Plea
One month later.
Inside the visitor meeting room at the Eric M. Taylor Center on Rikers Island, the air was cold, damp, and smelled of heavy industrial disinfectant.
I sat behind a thick pane of bulletproof glass, wearing a simple navy blue silk blouse, waiting quietly.
The heavy steel door on the opposite side unlocked with a loud, mechanical CLANG.
Matthew Hayes was led into the room by two armed corrections officers.
He was unrecognizable.
The tailored charcoal suits, the manicured hair, and the arrogant, confident posture had vanished entirely. He wore an oversized gray inmate jumpsuit, his hair was messy and unwashed, his cheeks were sunken, and his hands were bound at the waist by a heavy steel chain.
He sat down heavily on the stool opposite me, his eyes red-rimmed, staring at me through the glass with a terrifying blend of shock, rage, and desperate sorrow.
He picked up the black plastic telephone receiver with trembling hands.
I picked up mine.
"Clare..." Matthew’s voice came through the speaker, raspy, broken, and weak. "Clare... oh God, Clare... you came."
I didn't answer. I simply looked at him.
"Clare, please," Matthew sobbed, tears spilling over his hollow cheeks, smearing against the dirty glass. "You have to help me! My lawyer says the state prosecutor is looking at twelve years without parole! Twelve years, Clare! I won't survive in here! The other inmates... they know who I am! They know what my father-in-law did!"
"You did this to yourself, Matthew," I said softly, my voice completely devoid of hatred, anger, or emotion. It was the tone one uses to describe the weather to a stranger.
"I made a mistake!" Matthew wailed, banging his chained hands against the shelf below the glass. "I was stressed! The company was pressure! Lauren seduced me—she manipulated me, Clare! She was using me for money! I never loved her! I only ever loved you!"
A small, genuine laugh escaped my lips.
"You loved my mind when it built your company, Matthew," I corrected him gently. "You loved my father's name when it opened doors for you. But you hated me because you knew that every time you looked in the mirror, you were looking at a man who was living in a house built by a woman he couldn't control."
"Clare, please!" he begged, pressing his forehead against the cold glass. "Ask your father to drop the civil charges! If the civil charges are dropped, the state prosecutor will offer a plea deal for probation! I'll give back the penthouse! I'll give back the watches! I'll sign a total non-disclosure agreement! I'll leave New York forever! Just don't send me to prison!"
I looked at him—at the man I had sacrificed seven years of my life for, the man I had bled for on a cold marble floor while he laughed with another woman.
"Do you know what my father told me the night I left his house seven years ago, Matthew?" I asked.
Matthew shook his head frantically, his eyes wild with terror.
"He told me that love does not ask you to become smaller," I revealed. "For seven years, I made myself small so you could feel like a giant. But you were never a giant, Matthew. You were just a small, cruel man with a wooden cane."
"Clare! No! Don't do this! Please!" he screamed into the phone.
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I set the black receiver back onto its hook, cutting off his frantic shrieks completely.
I stood up, smoothed down my navy blouse, turned my back on the glass, and walked out through the heavy steel security doors into the bright summer sunlight waiting outside.
