I asked a guard where she had been taken.
“Medical.”
“Why?”
“She fell.”
“Is she okay?”
The guard shrugged.
I knew a lie when I heard one.
I waited until the afternoon count.
Then I slipped away when the corridor became crowded.
I found Evelyn in the medical wing.
She was sitting on a bed with a bruise beneath one eye.
When she saw me, she shook her head.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“What happened?”
“I fell.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
She looked away.
“Mack wanted the box.”
“Where is it?”
Evelyn touched her chest.
“Safe.”
“Where?”
She hesitated.
“Inside the wall.”
“What?”
She pointed toward the old ventilation panel.
I stared at it.
“You hid it there?”
“No.”
She smiled weakly.
“I gave it to you.”
I didn’t understand.
She reached beneath her mattress and pulled out a small key.
“Your father gave me this too.”
I took it.
It was old.
Brass.
Stamped with the number 17.
“Cell 17?”
She nodded.
“My cell?”
“Your cell.”
I suddenly remembered something.
When I had arrived at Westbridge eight months earlier, my assigned cell had been 17.
Nobody had explained why.
I had assumed it was random.
Evelyn watched my face.
“Your father knew you’d come here.”
I shook my head.
“That’s impossible.”
“He knew.”
“Why?”
“Because he knew what they would do to you.”
I stared at her.
“Who?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she whispered:
“Look beneath the bed.”
That night, I waited.
After lights out, I returned to Cell 17.
I moved the bed.
There was nothing.
I ran my fingers along the floor.
Nothing.
Then I noticed a tiny crack in the concrete.
I inserted the brass key.
It turned.
A small section of the floor lifted.
Inside was a metal envelope.
My hands were shaking as I pulled it out.
Inside were documents.
Bank records.
Photographs.
Names.
Dates.
Amounts of money.
Millions of dollars had been moved through accounts belonging to people connected to the prison system.
Then I saw a name I recognized.
The former warden.
Another name belonged to a corrections officer who still worked at Westbridge.
And then I saw the name that made my blood turn cold.
Mack Kane.
I read the document again.
Mack wasn’t just an inmate.
Before prison, she had worked for a private security company.
A company my father had investigated.
I suddenly understood.
Mack had been sent here for a reason.
