The Chosen Heir

Chapter 7: You can't win

The next day, Ash woke before his alarm, though the shrill beep still cut into his thoughts like a warning he couldn’t shake. His eyes felt heavy, but he refused to stay in bed, today he had to see his brother and somehow make it to work on time.

He stood in front of the cracked mirror in his tiny bathroom, buttoning a pale blue shirt that had seen better years. The fabric was so thin from repeated washing that he feared if he moved too quickly, the seams might split. He pressed the ironed collar flat, though the cuffs had long lost their stiffness. His tie, a dull brown with frayed edges, dangled from his neck like an afterthought.

By 7:30 a.m., he was outside, the morning air sharp against his cheeks. He hailed a yellow cab, the driver barely glancing at him before jerking the car to the curb.

“County jail,” Ash said, sliding in and clutching the brown paper bag that held his brother’s breakfast. He’d woken early to buy it, scrambled eggs, sausage, and a small carton of juice. His brother hadn’t had a decent meal since being locked up, and Ash had pictured the relief on his face when he took that first bite.

The cab rattled through potholes, each jolt making Ash's stomach churn. He kept glancing at his watch, time was ticking, and he still had to get to work.

When they reached the jail, the driver muttered the fare. Ash paid quickly, but before he could take two steps toward the entrance, two uniformed officers emerged from the shadows near the gate.

“Hold up,” one said, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. “Visiting hours are packed today. Might be a long wait for you.”

Ash forced a polite smile. “That’s fine, I just need a few minutes with my brother.”

The second officer leaned in slightly, his breath tinged with coffee. “Or…” He paused, glancing at the first officer. “You could make things… faster.”

Ash understood instantly. His chest tightened. He wasn’t naive, he’d heard about “greasing the wheels” before. He didn’t have extra money to throw away, but the thought of leaving without seeing his brother made his decision for him.

“How much?” he asked quietly.

The first officer smirked. “Fifty.”

Ash’s heart sank. That was half of what he had left for the week. He hesitated, then pulled the bills from his wallet and handed them over. The officers exchanged a knowing look before waving him inside.

Inside, the air was damp, tinged with disinfectant and something sour beneath it. He walked past the metal detector, holding out the paper bag for inspection.

“What’s in here?” the guard asked.

“Breakfast for my brother,” Ash replied.

The guard rifled through it carelessly, poking the eggs with gloved fingers before handing it back. “Fine.”

Ash was led down a narrow corridor lined with peeling paint and flickering lights. The metallic clang of doors echoed in the distance, each one closing like a verdict. Finally, they reached the holding cell area. His younger brother, Ben, was sitting on a bench, his shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Ash” Ben said softly, looking up. His voice was hoarse.

Ash crouched beside the bars, slipping the paper bag through the slot. “Brought you something good. Eggs, sausage… juice.”

Ben’s face softened. “Thanks, man. I’m starving.”

Before Ben could take a bite, another officer, this one with a stocky build and a face set in permanent disapproval, appeared. “What’s this?” he asked, yanking the bag from Ben’s hands.

“That’s my breakfast,” Ben said, his tone sharpening.

The officer looked inside, frowned, then reached into a cart nearby and pulled out a small plastic container. He shoved it through the slot toward Ben. “Policy change. Outside food can’t be given directly anymore. Here. Eat this.”

Ash stared at the container, the food inside looked like congealed oatmeal and something vaguely resembling meatloaf.

Ben’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t..”

“Eat it,” the officer barked, walking away with Ash’s carefully chosen breakfast still in hand.

Ash felt his cheeks burn, a mix of anger and humiliation. He had spent his last good bills on that meal. “Why would they...”

Ben cut him off with a shrug. Stupid boy. How did he even end up here. “It’s how it works here. You can’t win.”

Ash wanted to argue, but the guard by the door suddenly called, “Time’s up!”

“What? I just got here!” Ash protested.

The guard didn’t even look at him. “Rules. Move along.”

Ash stood there for a moment, gripping the bars. “I’m trying to get you out. I even talked to the officers at the gate. Gave them...”

Ben gave a bitter laugh. “You gave them money, didn’t you? And let me guess… they told you nothing.”

Ash’s stomach dropped. “How did you...”

“They’ve been doing it for years. Take cash from desperate people, promise a call to the right person, then forget about you as soon as you walk away.” He said as if he'd had been there for years or has been working there.

Ash’s voice cracked. “I just wanted to help.”

Ben shook his head slowly. “You can’t fix this with kindness, Ash. Not here.”

The guard clanged the door again. “I said move!”

Reluctantly, Ash stepped back. He glanced over his shoulder one last time at his brother, who was poking at the pale, lumpy food with a plastic spoon, his appetite gone.

As Ash walked back through the corridor, the damp smell clinging to his clothes, he realized he’d just lost both his breakfast money and half his dignity in under an hour. Outside, the officers at the gate gave him the same smirking nod they had earlier, as if they’d just watched a game they’d already won.