Chapter 7 - The Price of Becoming Free
Arthur was arrested from his hospital bed.
Norah watched two federal agents secure one wrist to the rail.
He did not resist.
She felt something twist inside her.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You knew they were coming.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t want you involved.”
She nearly laughed.
“Arthur, I have your blood under my fingernails.”
His expression softened.
“I know.”
Arthur had negotiated nothing for himself.
Instead, he offered evidence against the entire network in exchange for protection for employees, uninvolved relatives, and witnesses.
Norah included.
He also provided evidence connecting Evelyn and Vincent to Daniel Hale’s death.
Evelyn was arrested two days later.
Arthur faced charges of his own.
He pleaded guilty to conspiracy, financial crimes, obstruction, and other offenses supported by his records.
Norah visited him once before sentencing.
Thick glass separated them.
Arthur picked up the telephone.
She did the same.
“You look terrible,” she said.
He smiled.
“So do you.”
“Prison has improved your manners.”
“I’m working on myself.”
Silence followed.
Then Arthur’s smile disappeared.
“I’m sorry.”
“For which part?”
“All of it.”
Norah looked down.
“I keep remembering the basement.”
“So do I.”
“I thought you were deciding whether to kill me.”
Arthur’s face changed.
“I was deciding how to make sure nobody ever could.”
She looked up.
He continued.
“And I realized the biggest danger to you was being near me.”
Norah’s eyes burned.
Arthur placed his palm against the glass.
She did not mirror it.
Not yet.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“I serve whatever sentence they give me.”
“And after?”
“You live.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“It’s the answer I need to give.”
Norah became angry.
“You don’t get to decide my life because you’re suddenly trying to be noble.”
“I’m not noble.”
“No. You’re annoying.”
Arthur almost laughed.
Then Norah finally placed her palm against the glass.
Directly opposite his.
“I’m not promising to wait for you.”
“I wouldn’t ask.”
“I’m not promising anything.”
“I know.”
“But stop deciding what I feel before I get to feel it.”
Arthur swallowed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smiled despite herself.
His sentencing came four months later.
His cooperation mattered.
So did his crimes.
The judge imposed a substantial prison term, though far less than he might otherwise have faced.
Norah sat in the back row.
Arthur never looked toward her until officers led him away.
Then he did.
One glance.
That was all.
Six months later, Norah received a letter.
No expensive stationery.
No threats.
No money.
Just handwriting.
Arthur wrote about prison laundry.
Bad coffee.
Books.
Therapy.
Regret.
He did not say he loved her.
He did not ask her to visit.
At the end he wrote:
You once told me I decide what my hands do next. Today they planted tomatoes in the prison greenhouse. It isn’t much. But nothing died because of me today. I thought you might understand why that matters.
May you like
Norah cried for the first time since her father’s funeral.
Then she wrote back.
