Trent Holloway was already in prison. Had been for weeks, ever since I dismantled his life for what he did to Emma—while I was blissfully unaware my sister was drowning ten feet from shore.
But prison?
Prison was just the trailer.
I was here for the full feature.
I hold grudges the way responsible adults hold investment portfolios—long-term, diversified, and designed to compound aggressively over time.
And prisons, like the outside world, obeyed one sacred principle: money talks louder than morality. Pay the right people, and suddenly the system becomes… flexible.
For example:pay the warden enough, and Trent's life could be transformed into a legally ambiguous nightmare.
Privileges misplaced. Meals forgotten. Transfers mishandled. Cell assignments re-evaluated with an eye toward inmates who viewed sex offenders as stress balls. Guards who developed acute, selective blindness in corners without cameras.
