Chapter 13 - Outside the Fence
Internal Affairs moved faster after the outside-payment entry.
The threat was no longer prison politics.
It was potential witness intimidation beyond the fence.
Renee’s sister was contacted by investigators and advised to change her daughter’s pickup routine temporarily.
The phone linked to Phelps revealed messages with Lucia’s cousin, Marco Vega, a man who owned a small towing company thirty miles from Redwood.
The money trail was embarrassingly small.
Twenty dollars here.
Fifty there.
Free meals.
Gift cards.
A used television delivered to Phelps’s garage.
Nothing looked like the price of corruption.
That was what made it believable.
Phelps had sold pieces of the prison for ordinary things.
Camera schedules.
Search times.
Staff rotations.
Information about which inmates had money in commissary.
Denise visited Ana two days later.
“You know what scares me?” Denise asked through the scratched plastic partition.
“What?”
“How cheap this was.”
Ana nodded.
“At work, my boss moved millions. I thought corruption had to look expensive.”
“It usually looks boring until somebody gets hurt.”
Ana sat back.
“Renee’s daughter could’ve been hurt.”
“But she wasn’t.”
“Because they got caught.”
“Because people spoke.”
Ana looked away.
That afternoon, Warden Keller announced a facility-wide audit of staff access and surveillance controls.
Three officers were reassigned pending review.
Two supervisors were placed on administrative leave.
Then came the surprise.
Ana received a transfer order.
Effective immediately.
Destination: Pine Hollow Correctional Facility, six hours south.
She read the paper twice.
“I never requested this.”
The records clerk shrugged. “Administrative transfer.”
“Signed by who?”
“Regional office.”
Ana’s stomach tightened.
Her disciplinary charge had not been resolved.
Her interviews were still ongoing.
And her testimony against Lucia and Phelps was scheduled for the next morning.
She asked to call Denise.
Denied.
She asked for Warden Keller.
Unavailable.
At 4:30, two transport officers arrived with waist chains.
Grant approached the desk, read the paperwork, and frowned.
“What?” Ana asked.
He looked at the signature block.
Then at the routing number.
“This isn’t right.”
One transport officer said, “Orders are orders.”
Grant shook his head.
“No. This routing code was retired last year.”
The transport officer reached for Ana’s arm.
Grant stepped between them.
“Nobody moves her.”
The man’s expression hardened.
“Officer, get out of the way.”
May you like
Grant did not move.
Then the transport officer quietly unfastened the snap on his pepper-spray holster.
