Chapter 11 - Thursday Letters
Prison changed Roman slowly.
Not because the walls frightened him.
Because silence did.
For the first time since childhood, nobody needed him to be powerful.
No employees.
No guards.
No rivals.
No mansion.
Just Roman.
He hated the experience.
Which meant Walter probably would have approved.
Every Thursday, a letter arrived.
Renley.
She wrote about school.
The kitchen.
Mrs. Alvarez's terrible attempts at baking.
Her mother's new job.
Her bicycle chain breaking.
Sometimes she asked serious questions.
Do you think bad people know they're bad?
Roman took three days to answer.
Most people don't wake up thinking they're villains. They build excuses one choice at a time. That's why small choices matter.
Another week:
Do you miss being rich?
Roman wrote:
I miss good coffee. The rest surprised me.
Renley sent drawings.
One showed Walter holding soup.
Another showed Roman with cartoonishly large muscles.
Roman complained.
She sent an even worse one.
Years passed.
Victor Dane was convicted.
Andrew Mercer received a lengthy sentence.
Corrupt officials resigned or were prosecuted.
Mara visited Roman twice a year.
Samuel entered a rehabilitation program and later started working with investigators teaching financial crime prevention.
Miles opened an auto repair shop.
Jonah became a security consultant.
None became saints.
They simply stopped pretending their past didn't exist.
Roman served his sentence quietly.
In year three, he qualified for educational programs.
He studied nonprofit management.
The irony amused Renley.
“You're going from mafia boss to charity accountant?”
Roman wrote:
Apparently humiliation is part of rehabilitation.
The community kitchen expanded.
Surrendered assets from Victor's network created a court-supervised restitution fund.
Roman was not allowed to control it.
That mattered.
He wanted to help.
But help without control was new to him.
Renley grew.
At fifteen, she became taller than Mrs. Alvarez.
At sixteen, she learned to drive but still used the bicycle for Thursday deliveries.
At seventeen, she applied to colleges.
Then a letter arrived from Roman.
Don't choose a career because Walter died.
She frowned.
She had been considering social work.
Roman continued.
You are allowed to build a life that isn't repayment for everyone you couldn't save.
Renley cried.
Walter's death had become the invisible compass behind many decisions.
Roman somehow saw it from prison.
She wrote back.
What if helping people is what I actually want?
His response:
Then do it because you love life, not because you fear death.
She kept that letter.
During Roman's sixth year, Elena received a call.
Roman might qualify for early release because of cooperation, good conduct, and completion of required programs.
Renley was eighteen.
She drove to the hearing with her mother.
Roman looked older.
Some gray near his temples.
Less muscle.
Softer eyes.
He saw Renley and stared.
“You got old.”
She laughed.
“You got gray.”
“Cruel.”
The board asked Roman difficult questions.
Did he feel remorse?
“Yes.”
How would he avoid returning to criminal associations?
“By not pretending those relationships are harmless.”
What did rehabilitation mean?
Roman thought.
Then answered.
“Learning that fear is not respect.”
The final decision came ten days later.
Release approved.
Six years and four months after sentencing, Roman walked out.
Renley waited outside.
So did Elena.
Mara.
Mrs. Alvarez.
Miles.
Jonah and Daniel.
Samuel.
Roman stopped.
Nobody cheered.
Nobody needed to.
Renley held something behind her back.
Roman narrowed his eyes.
“What is that?”
She revealed a paper bag.
Soup and bread.
Roman laughed so hard he nearly cried.
“Seriously?”
“Thursday delivery.”
“It is Tuesday.”
“I know.”
He hugged her.
For the first time since Walter's death, Roman felt something that once seemed impossible.
Home.
But release came with another problem.
Roman no longer owned the mansion.
The government had seized and auctioned most of his property.
Renley asked where he would live.
Roman shrugged.
“I rented an apartment.”
“Where?”
He gave the address.
Renley stared.
“No.”
“What?”
The building stood across the street from Walter Pike's old apartment.
Roman smiled.
“I thought I'd try living somewhere nobody is afraid to knock.”
Renley smiled.
Then Samuel approached holding an envelope.
“This arrived for you six years ago.”
Roman frowned.
“Why didn't you send it?”
“Instructions said it could only be delivered after release.”
Roman's expression changed.
“From whom?”
Samuel handed it over.
Walter Vale.
Roman stared at his dead father's handwriting.
May you like
Six years after the last mystery began, Walter had left one final secret.
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