Chapter 13: The Queen's Gambit
Federal Correctional Institution, Danbury, was a far cry from the manicured lawns and champagne brunches of the Hale estate.
Eleanor Hale sat in an unforgiving metal chair in the visitor’s booth, wearing a drab orange jumpsuit that washed out her pale complexion. Her honey-blonde hair, usually styled to perfection, hung in limp, unwashed strings around her face. Yet, despite the complete dismantling of her empire, her eyes retained that familiar, venomous spark.
She picked up the plastic phone receiver as Claire sat down on the other side of the reinforced glass.
“I must say,” Eleanor sneered, her voice crackling through the cheap speaker. “Orange is dreadfully cliché. But I won't be wearing it for long.”
“You’re facing three consecutive life sentences, Eleanor,” Claire said, holding the receiver to her ear. “Your husband had a heart attack during processing. He’s in a prison hospital, strapped to a bed. It’s over.”
“It’s never over for people like us,” Eleanor countered smoothly. “You think you’ve won, Claire? Because you played a little computer trick? You have no idea the hornet’s nest you’ve kicked. The cartel wants their money back. And they know I’m the only one who can untangle the offshore accounts to retrieve it.”
Claire kept her face perfectly neutral. This was exactly what Agent Reyes had predicted.
“They don't care about you,” Claire lied, her tone dripping with mock pity. “They’re cutting their losses. You’re a liability.”
Eleanor laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Am I? Because my lawyer received a very interesting encrypted message this morning. They want blood, Claire. They want the woman who ruined their pipeline. And they promised me a comfortable, relocated life in South America if I can deliver you to them.”
Claire let a flicker of manufactured fear cross her face. She widened her eyes slightly, gripping the phone tighter. It was a performance for the cameras, and Eleanor ate it up.
“You wouldn't,” Claire whispered.
“I already have,” Eleanor smiled, displaying all her teeth. “I know you, Claire. You’re sentimental. You’re weak. You won't abandon Marcus Thorne. And you certainly won't leave without visiting the cemetery to cry over David’s grave. I told them exactly where you’ll be on the anniversary of his death. Which, if I recall, is this Friday.”
Claire stood up abruptly, slamming the phone down. She backed away from the glass, projecting pure, unadulterated panic, before turning and practically running out of the visitor’s room.
As the heavy metal doors slammed behind her, Claire walked down the sterile hallway to where Agent Reyes was waiting.
Claire’s panicked expression instantly vanished, replaced by cold resolve.
“She took the bait,” Claire said. “Friday. Oakwood Cemetery. She gave them the location.”
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Reyes nodded, tapping an earpiece. “We’re setting up the perimeter now. Are you sure you want to do this, Claire? It’s going to be a bloodbath.”
“I’m sure,” Claire said. “It’s time to bury the past.”
