31. Willow
31
WILLOW
I look up as Thompson enters my office unannounced, his thick frame blocking the doorway. My pulse quickens, but I keep my expression neutral.
“Dr. Matthews, we need to discuss your activities with Morrison.” He pulls out his phone and shows me footage from our sessions.
I stand slowly, my fingers trailing across my desk. “And what exactly do you think you have there, Thompson?”
“Enough to end your career. Maybe even get you some jail time.” His smirk makes my skin crawl. “Unless we can come to an arrangement.”
A dark laugh escapes my lips, surprising us both. “Oh, Thompson. You really should have done your homework.” I pull out my own phone, bringing up screenshots of bank transfers and text messages. “See, I’ve been watching too. Those payments from Marcus? The contraband you’ve been smuggling? The ‘arrangements’ you’ve made with other inmates?”
His face pales. “You’re bluffing.”
“Am I?” I step closer, my voice dropping. “I have copies stored in multiple locations. If anything happens to me, or if this footage somehow leaks, everything I have goes straight to Internal Affairs. And trust me, they’ll be very interested in your extracurricular activities.”
Thompson’s jaw clenches. “You think you’re so clever?—”
“I know I am.” I cut him off, feeling the power surge through me. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’ll delete that footage, and we’ll forget this conversation happened. In return, I’ll keep your dirty little secrets. Do we understand each other?”
He glares at me for a long moment before nodding stiffly.
“Good. Now get out of my office.”
My heart thunders as I close the door behind Thompson. I slide down against it, my heart thundering in my chest. That was too close. The confrontation replays in my mind - his smug face, the way he thought he had me cornered. But something’s changed in me these past weeks. The old Willow would have crumbled, begged, maybe even given in to his demands.
I push myself up and head to my computer. We’re breaking out tomorrow, and I can’t leave any loose ends. My fingers fly across the keyboard as I access the prison’s cloud storage, where hundreds of hours of security footage are stored.
“Come on, come on,” I mutter, scanning through the timestamps. The system keeps footage for thirty days before automatically deleting it.
I scan through hours of security footage, my fingers flying across the keyboard. The clock on my desk reads eleven forty-seven p.m, but I can’t stop now. Not when there’s still evidence of what Axel and I have done.
Camera twelve, hallway B—there. My breath hitches when I see myself slip into solitary confinement three nights ago and sometime after I leave.
Delete.
Gone.
My chest tightens as I find another clip from outside my office. The guard’s face appears as he pretends to check the restraints, leaving them loose enough for what comes next. My cheeks flush at the memory, but I force myself to focus.
Delete.
“Come on, come on,” I mutter, scrolling through more footage. Camera three catches me passing a note during group therapy.
Delete.
Camera seven shows our lingering eye contact in the yard.
Delete.
The external drive whirs as I transfer backup copies, just in case. I can’t leave any traces. I type in commands to wipe the originals from the system.
A sound in the hallway makes me freeze. Footsteps? No, just the building settling. Still, sweat beads on my forehead as I continue my work.
Camera fifteen, medical wing, shows footage of me visiting Axel after the fight with Marcus.
Delete.
I check my watch again. Eleven fifty-three p.m. Time’s slipping away too fast. More evidence could still be hidden in the archives, but I can’t risk staying much longer. The night guard will do his rounds soon.
My stomach is in knots as I initiate the final wipe sequence. The progress bar crawls across the screen:
87%... 92%... 98%...
Complete.
I sit back, rubbing my temples. The evidence is gone, but Thompson’s threat lingers. He won’t be the last to try to use this against us. Every second we stay here increases our risk of exposure.
My phone buzzes.
Ready for tomorrow?
Despite everything, a smile tugs at my lips.
The original footage is replaced with loops of empty hallways and routine checks. But doubt gnaws at me—did I get everything? Could I have missed something?
The weight of what I’ve done settles heavily in my chest. There’s no going back now.
I log into the prison’s financial system, my fingers dancing across the keyboard with practiced ease. The terminal’s glow illuminates my face in the dark office. Another wire transfer, another piece falling into place.
Ten thousand dollars—such a small amount compared to what we’ve already moved, but every bit counts. I route it through three different shell companies before it lands in our account in the Cayman Islands. The numbers on the screen make my heart race—$313,456.89 total.
The familiar rush of adrenaline courses through me as I confirm the transfer. Each time I do this, I expect alarms to blare and security to burst in. But nothing happens. The system accepts the transaction without question, just like all the others.
I check my watch—five hours until morning. That’s when I’ll make the final big move—$200,000 more. It’s risky to do so close to our escape, but timing is everything. The following chaos will mask the transfer, and we’ll be long gone when anyone notices.
Brazil.
New names, new lives, and enough money to start fresh. I close the terminal and gather my things, leaving everything exactly as found.
My hand brushes against the small USB drive in my pocket—our insurance policy containing every dirty secret this prison holds. Tomorrow morning, while everyone scrambles to contain the riot we’ll create, that final transfer will slip through unnoticed, and so will Axel and me.
I take one last look at my office. Five years of study and hoping to build a career, all sacrificed for a man who makes me feel more alive than ever. The old Willow would have been horrified. But I’m not her anymore.