The visitation room at the detention center smelled of damp and mildew.
Ryan sat on the other side of the glass, unshaven, his tailored suit long since traded for a prison uniform.
"Honey! Zoe! You came!"
He lurched to his feet. His handcuffs struck the metal table with a harsh clang.
"You have to get me out of here! She fell on her own. I didn't do anything to her! Just grease a few palms and I'll walk free."
I settled into the chair across from him with perfect composure, studying him through the thick glass: a man stripped of everything, barely holding himself together.
"Pay who? With what money?"
I reached into my bag and drew out a property sale contract. I pressed it flat against the glass.
"Do you remember this place, Ryan? The home we moved into when we got married. I sold
