Chapter 239 Visitor
Monica Caldwell sat across from her lawyer, Elias Grant, at the scratched metal table in the attorney-client visitation room of the Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn. It had been exactly one week since the FBI arrested her at her Manhattan home. , handcuffs clicking in front of news cameras, her silk robe slipping off one shoulder, her face frozen in the kind of dignified panic only years of socialite training could produce.
The visitation room was small, sterile, and cold, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, thick plexiglass partitions on one side for monitoring, and a guard standing outside the glass door with arms crossed. Monica wore the standard orange jumpsuit, hair pulled into a messy knot, makeup long gone. The woman who once hosted charity galas now looked small, fragile, and very alone.
Elias placed a thick file folder between them and sighed.
“Monica,” he began, his voice careful but calm, “we need to be realistic.”
She looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed but still sharp. “How long until the hearing?”
“Preliminary hearing is scheduled for next Wednesday, six days from now. Arraignment was fast-tracked because of the media attention and the severity of the charges. The judge won’t grant bail. Not with the flight risk and the nature of the allegations.”
Monica swallowed. “So I stay here until trial?”
“Unless we can negotiate a plea,” Elias said. “And even then… the mountain of evidence is… substantial.”
He opened the folder and slid a single page toward her, summary of charges.
“Conspiracy to commit sexual assault of a minor. Child endangerment. Accessory after the fact to repeated felony sexual abuse. Fraudulent medical consent forms. Financial transactions in furtherance of felony conduct. And now, perjury and obstruction, because you told investigators Genesis was sent abroad for school when she was locked in your home the entire time.”
Monica stared at the paper like it might bite.
Elias continued gently. “The tapes are authenticated. The payment records are ironclad. Reeves’s logs are in his handwriting. Genesis’s statement to the FBI is devastating, she detailed the physical and emotional abuse in the house. She described being told never to speak again. The jury will hear that.”
Monica’s hands trembled. “What are we looking at if I fight it?”
Elias exhaled. “Realistically? If convicted on all counts… 25 to life. Possibly more with the perjury and obstruction stacked on. Federal sentencing guidelines are harsh on child sex crimes, especially when the defendant was in a position of trust.”
Monica’s breath hitched. “And if I plead?”
“We could push for a deal. Cooperation, testimony against Reeves if he’s ever found, full disclosure on any other victims or enablers. The U.S. Attorney might drop some counts, recommend concurrent sentencing. Best case? 12 to 18 years. With good behavior, parole eligibility in 8 to 10.”
Monica laughed once, short and bitter, the sound broken.
“Eight to ten years in prison. For trying to help my stepdaughter with her… behavioral problems.”
She was still lying. Still deceiving herself, refusing to admit the real reason behind everything she’d done.
Elias didn’t smile. “Monica. The evidence doesn't show you were trying to help her and the jury won’t see it that way. They’ll see a woman who paid a predator to drug and rape a child. Repeatedly. For money.”
Tears slipped down Monica’s cheeks. She wiped them angrily.
“Do you have any leads on my sons?” she whispered. “Mark and Jimmy. Have you heard anything?”
Elias shook his head slowly. “No confirmed sightings. They vanished the day of your arrest. Phones off, credit cards unused, no flights in their names. We’re looking, but… they’re smart enough to stay off the grid.”
Monica’s voice cracked. “The FBI won’t go after them, will they? They were teenagers when this happened. They knew nothing. They were children themselves.”
Elias looked at her for a long moment, long enough that Monica’s stomach dropped.
“Yeah,” he said carefully. “With your statement that they had no knowledge, no involvement… the FBI probably wouldn’t pursue them. Unless…”
“Unless what?” Monica snapped, panic rising. “What do you mean?”
Elias sighed and leaned closer. “This isn’t just about the tapes anymore, Monica. Genesis told the agents everything. Not just the doctor visits. The abuse in the house. The beatings. The starvation. The locked rooms. And she told them your sons were there. That they participated.”
Monica’s face paled. “They didn’t…”
“They might have,” Elias said bluntly. “And if Genesis is called to the stand and she will be, the prosecution could ask her point-blank: ‘Did your stepbrothers ever hurt you? Did they ever touch you inappropriately? Did they rape you?’”
Monica’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
“They wouldn’t,” she whispered. “My boys would never…”
“Are you sure?” Elias asked quietly.
Monica stared at him, eyes glassy.
Then the memory hit her,sharp, sudden, unwanted.
Genesis was sixteen. Monica had come home late from an event, heels clicking down the hallway. She made her way upstairs when she heard a noise from Genesis’s room, soft, muffled crying. She’d opened the door without knocking.
Genesis was on the floor, knees to chest, nightgown torn at the shoulder. Mark stood over her, belt in hand, face flushed. Jimmy was by the window, laughing, nervous, high-pitched, like he couldn’t believe what they’d done.
Monica had frozen.
Then she’d closed the door.
Quietly.
She’d told herself it was discipline. That Genesis had “acted out.” That boys would be boys. That it wasn’t her fault. She’d gone to bed and never spoken of it again.
The memory faded.
Monica looked at Elias, face ashen.
“I…” She couldn’t finish.
Elias reached across the table and squeezed her hand, brief, professional comfort.
“Look,” he said softly. “It’s hypothetical. The prosecution might not ask. They might focus only on the tapes and your role. Just… hold on. Don’t say anything to anyone. We’ll fight this.”
He stood, gathering his files.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. Try to rest.”
The guard opened the door.
Monica didn’t move.
Elias left.
The door clanged shut.
Monica sat alone in the silence, tears falling freely now.
“My sons would never do that,” she whispered to the empty room. “They wouldn’t. They couldn’t.”
But the memory wouldn’t leave her.
And the doubt had already taken root.
A few minutes later, the slot in the door slid open.
“Visitor,” the guard grunted.
Monica’s heart leaped, Mark? Jimmy? Please, God, let it be one of them.
She stood quickly, smoothing her jumpsuit with shaking hands.
The door opened.
And Genesis stepped inside.
Alone.
No guards. Just her, pregnant, composed, eyes cold and unreadable.
Monica froze.
Genesis looked at her for a long moment.
Then she spoke, voice soft, steady, lethal.
“Hello, Monica.”
Monica’s knees buckled.
She sank back onto the bench, staring at the daughter she’d broken… now standing tall, unbreakable.
And for the first time in her life, Monica Caldwell had nothing left to say.