A Heartbeat Away

The interrogation room at the Hartford Correctional Center smelled of rust, stale coffee, and despair.

Caleb sat on the opposite side of the reinforced steel table, wearing a faded orange jumpsuit. His hair was greasy, his handsome face hollowed out by fear and sleepless nights. The arrogance that had sustained him for forty-one years had completely evaporated.

When the heavy steel door clicked open and I stepped inside alone, Caleb looked up. A flash of desperate hope lit his eyes.

"Maddie," he rasped, leaning forward against his handcuffs. "You came. I knew you would. Honey, you have to help me. They’re treating me like an animal in here. The inmates... they know what I’m charged with. They know about Sophie. I won't last a month in general population."

I pulled out the metal chair across from him and sat down. I placed my hands flat on the cold steel table.

"You hit me thirty times, Caleb," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. "You made our daughter sing Happy Birthday under a table while my blood soaked into your rug. Did you think about how long I would last?"

"I was out of my mind!" he cried, slamming his shackled fists onto the table. "Vanessa poisoned my head! She told me you were trying to ruin me! Maddie, please, talk to Silas. Have them drop the felony charges down to a misdemeanor. I’ll sign over the house. I’ll sign over every share of Harlan Global. You can have full custody of Sophie! Just get me out of here!"

"You don't own the house, Caleb. And Harlan Global filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy this morning," I replied coldly. "You have nothing left to give me."

He froze. "Then why are you here?"

"I'm here to ask about my father," I said.

Caleb’s eyes widened in sudden, absolute terror.

The color drained from his lips. He leaned back into his chair, pulling his hands toward his chest as if trying to shield himself.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered. "Richard Whitcomb died of a heart attack years ago."

"My father was murdered with digitalis," I said, leaning forward, pinning him with my gaze. "And three months later, you showed up at an art gallery in Beacon Hill, reciting his favorite poetry, pretending you were an ambitious young analyst who just happened to fall in love with me."

Caleb began to sweat profusely, drops rolling down his temple. "Maddie, no... that's crazy. That’s a conspiracy theory. Your brothers are feeding you lies—"

"Who hired you, Caleb?"

"I can't say," he whispered, his voice trembling so violently his teeth clicked. "If I say the name, I'm dead. Do you understand? Not in ten years, not after a trial. Tonight. A shank in the showers. A staged overdose. These people... they aren't businessmen, Madeline. They are monsters."

"And what were you?" I snapped. "You beat a defenseless woman while your child cried! You are the smallest, most pathetic monster of them all."

I stood up, pushing my chair back.

"Wait!" Caleb screamed, lunging across the table as far as his chains allowed. "Wait! If I tell you... will you put me in federal witness protection? Will Everett use his government connections to keep me alive?"

I paused at the door. I looked back at the man I had called my husband for seven years.

"Tell me the name," I said.

Caleb swallowed hard, his chest heaving. He looked at the security camera in the corner of the room, then leaned forward, lowering his voice to an agonizing whisper.

"It wasn't an outsider," Caleb breathed. "The money that funded my firm... the orders to keep you away from Boston... they came from inside Whitcomb Industries."