Chapter 16
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The morning of the parole hearing arrived wrapped in a cold, grey drizzle, perfectly reflecting the sterile, unforgiving atmosphere of the state courthouse. I wore a sharp, tailored navy-blue suit. I wore my hair pulled back into a severe, professional bun. I did not want to look like a vulnerable daughter; I wanted to look like a completely untouchable force of consequence.
Lucas had offered to drive me, but I insisted on taking my own car. This was a battle I needed to march into on my own terms.
I walked through the heavy metal detectors and rode the elevator up to the third-floor administrative wing. The hearing room was small, dominated by a massive mahogany table where three parole board commissioners sat behind thick stacks of legal files.
As I walked into the room, my breath caught in my throat for a fraction of a second.
Sitting on the opposite side of the room, wearing a faded orange prison jumpsuit, was my father. He looked older, his hair significantly greyer, the arrogant, booming posture replaced by a hunched, defeated slump. Sitting directly behind him in the small gallery was my mother. She looked frail and nervous, clutching a tissue in her trembling hands.
When my mother saw me, her eyes lit up with a desperate, pathetic hope. She gave me a small, encouraging nod, entirely convinced that I had come to save them. She believed that her manipulative letter had worked, and that I was about to play the role of the dutiful, forgiving daughter.
I didn't nod back. I didn't even blink. I looked through her as if she were made of glass.
I walked to the witness podium, setting my typed statement down on the wood. The head commissioner, an older woman with sharp, intelligent eyes, looked at me over her glasses.
"Ms. Sophia Vance," the commissioner said, her voice echoing in the quiet room. "You are here to provide a victim impact statement regarding the early release application of the inmate. You may proceed whenever you are ready."
I looked across the room directly into my father's eyes. I saw a flicker of his old, terrifying rage bury itself under a mask of practiced, pathetic remorse.
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I took a deep, steadying breath. I felt the weight of my apartment keys in my pocket. I was safe. I was sovereign.
"Commissioners," I began, my voice ringing out clear, steady, and entirely devoid of fear. "I am here today to ensure that the man sitting across from me is denied his freedom, because granting it would be a direct threat to mine."
