The Glass Wall

The heavy steel door clanged shut, but inside the small room, the air was electric with recognition. Elena stared at the woman on the other side of the glass. The lines around her mother’s eyes were deeper, her hair gray instead of the chestnut brown Elena remembered, but the face was the same. It was the face Elena saw in the mirror every morning, aged by a lifetime of stolen years.

"Aunt Claire," Elena whispered, the name tasting like ash. "She’s been running this place?"

Meredith nodded, her eyes darting to the door. "Since 1995. When Arthur moved me here. He set it up so she would have total control. No one questions her. No one checks the files in her private office."

Elena gripped the counter. "Does she know you're... you?"

"Of course she knows," Meredith said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "She enjoys it, Elena. She comes down here once a month to 'review my progress.' She tells me how much better off you are. How Arthur saved you from my 'instability.'"

A wave of nausea rolled through Elena. The cruelty wasn't just Arthur's. It was a family heirloom, passed down and polished until it shone.

"We have to get those files," Elena said. "If Claire has the originals... the real medical reports, the police notes... that's the proof."

"You can't just walk into the administrator's office," Meredith said. "It's on the third floor. Secure access. Keycard entry."

"I don't need a keycard," Elena said. "I have a distraction."

She looked at her watch. 10:15 AM. Marcus should be at the AG's office by now. If he had delivered the evidence, the wheels would be turning. But bureaucracy was slow. She needed something faster.

She pulled out her phone. It had been returned to her by the officer at the station, a small mercy. She had one contact left who might be willing to burn the world down.

She texted Sarah.

*I'm at the prison. I know about Aunt Claire. And I know about the trust fund clause.*

She hit send.

Then she added: *If I don't walk out of here with Mom in an hour, I send the recording of Arthur to the press. The clause says 'authorities.' It doesn't say anything about CNN.*

It was a bluff. The recording was in the evidence locker at the police station. But Sarah didn't know that.

Meredith watched her, hope and terror warring in her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Starting a fire," Elena said.

The door to the visitation room buzzed. A guard stepped in. "Time's up."

"No," Elena said. "I just got here."

"Warden's orders," the guard said, his face impassive. "Visitation is terminated immediately. Facility lockdown."

Elena’s heart slammed against her ribs. Lockdown. That meant someone knew she was here. Someone with authority.

Claire.

The guard moved toward her, reaching for her arm. "Let's go, ma'am."

"Wait!" Meredith shouted, slamming her hand against the glass.

Elena looked back. Meredith’s palm was pressed flat against the partition.

Without thinking, Elena reached out. She pressed her hand against the glass, lining it up with her mother’s.

Their fingers matched perfectly. The same long, slender shape. The same curve of the thumb.

"I'm coming back," Elena promised. "I'm not leaving without you."

The guard grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

"Move it," he grunted.

He marched her out of the room, down the corridor. But he didn't take her back to the reception area. He turned left, toward a heavy door marked *Admin Only.*

"Where are we going?" Elena asked, digging her heels in.

"Warden wants to see you," the guard said.

He swiped his card. The door hissed open.

They stepped into an elevator. The guard pressed the button for the third floor.

Elena’s pulse thudded in her ears. She was being delivered straight to the architect of her mother’s imprisonment.

The elevator dinged. The doors opened onto a plush, carpeted hallway that looked more like a law firm than a prison.

At the end of the hall was a set of double doors. *C. Vance - Administrator.*

The guard knocked once, then opened the door.

"Ms. Vance," he said.

A woman sat behind a massive mahogany desk. She was silver-haired, elegant, wearing a tailored suit that cost more than Elena’s car. She looked up from a file she was reading.

It was the face from the family albums. The aunt who had "died" of cancer in 1988.

Claire Vance smiled. It was Arthur’s smile.

"Hello, Elena," she said. "You look just like your mother."

She stood up and walked around the desk.

"I've been expecting you."

She put her hand on the glass. Her palm matched Elena's perfectly.