Chapter Fourteen
Desmond
Prison. Not a place I expected to spend my Boxing Day.
I wouldn’t even call the place where I drove to, a prison.
Inside the security gates, it looked more like a hotel with guards to me, the inmates roaming freely and dressed in regular clothing with only an ankle monitor to keep them from making a run for it.
I guessed that was one of the perks of coming from money when you were a criminal.
When the call came about Conn, I didn’t know what to think.
I was only told that there was a situation regarding him.
Since my grandparents, aunt, and uncle were stuck on a boat on the ocean, I was the closest relative to deal with the matter.
For a brief moment, I had hoped that my biological father had wanted to make some kind of amends.
But that didn’t make sense since my grandfather had been their first contact.
At the gate, I showed my identification.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the guard said before directing me where to park.
It wasn’t until I headed inside that I processed his words. My loss? Conn died?
I slowed my steps as I headed toward the next gate.
The father I had never met was dead. That was what had brought me to the place where he’d lived out the rest of his life.
Not a single request to see me or even an acknowledgement that I was his son.
It wasn’t until he died that he needed me, that I was finally recognized as being related.
I hesitated before reaching the guard’s station. Why was I there? What pain did he want to put me through now?
“Can I help you?” the guard asked through the speaker.
I stepped closer. “I, um, I got a call about Conn Adan.”
“Ah, you’re his son.” The guard waved me forward, not realizing how much his words stung.
I nodded, unable to form any words.
“Come with me.” He opened the gate then stepped out of his booth, guiding me into the building. When we reached the elevator, we headed down instead of up. “The morgue is down this way.”
Unlike the main floor of the prison, the hallway I walked down was cold and sterile, everything painted white or made of some form of steel. Our footfalls echoed throughout the floor.
“He was found late Christmas Eve,” the guard said. “The coroner determined it was a stroke. Poor guy’s been pretty much holed up in his room lately because of a sore knee. I guess his inactivity could have caused a blood clot.”
Yeah, the “poor guy” came from money but still defrauded hundreds of people and used those who were desperate to run drugs. Not to mention all the ways he used my mother. “Sure.” I couldn’t feel sorry for him in any way.
When we reached the steel door at the end of the hall, the guard pulled it open but didn’t go inside. “Dr. Lim is waiting for you. I’ll be out here when you’re done.”
I nodded, still unsure why they’d even called me. I couldn’t do anything for Conn now.
Walking in, I spotted the doctor wearing a white lab coat, black-rimmed glasses, a plastic face shield, and a surgical headlight. He had his palm over the bare chest of a naked male and held a scalpel to his skin.
“Um, hello?” I didn’t want to interrupt his procedure, but didn’t want to be present for it, either.
He glanced up, squinting at me. “And you are?”
“Desmond Banks.” I stared at the floor, not wanting to acknowledge the dead body. “I’m here about Conn Adan.”
“Oh, yes. The son.”
I heard the ting as he set his instruments onto a steel tray, and the click as he turned off the headlight.
“Over here,” he called, leading me over to a wall of smaller steel doors. He pulled open one, the cool air condensing into the warmer air. Then he tugged on the tray inside. It contained another body. One I recognized.
Sure, I’d never met the man in person, but I’d seen him all over the television screen when he was arrested. Plus, my grandparents still had the occasional family picture hung in their house with him in it.
Dr. Lim held a clipboard and a pen in front of me. “I need you to confirm and sign that this is your father before we can send him to the crematorium before his memorial service.”
My stomach twisted and my hand shook as I took the pen.
I hoped everything had already been arranged for that service because I wanted nothing to do with any of it.
I could sign a piece of paper to identify him but refused to be part of anything else regarding his death. The man meant absolutely nothing to me.
After writing my signature, I went to leave, not wanting to be around anymore dead bodies.
“Wait a minute,” Dr. Lim called. “I have a bag of his belongings for you. I’ll need another signature for them.”
I nodded again, signing where I needed to, and taking the bag. I didn’t look at it on my way out, tossing it in my trunk as soon as I got to my car. I planned to drop it off at my grandparents’ house right away. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want anything to do with that man.