Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 307

Amber ties up loose ends with deadly precision.

Wednesday, August 28, 12:50 am

"I'm outside the building. Please watch for my text."

Amber Bell hung up her phone and adjusted her glasses as she looked up at the strange building before her. It was a collection of large glass cylinders and spheres combined in an avant-garde design. Highly inefficient, incredibly expensive, and an eyesore if Amber were to be asked. Especially considering every other building in the immediate area was constructed in the mid-century modern design typical for this area—no doubt the vanity project of a mayor or other local politician hoping to make a name for themselves. A large piece of the building jutted off the side with a sign attached to it: Christoph Jarden Correctional and Rehabilitation Facility.

"Hm," Amber said, her lips tightening as she stared at the sign. Hardly a prison, Christoph Jarden was more of an involuntary 'Club Med' for the wealthy, powerful, and influential who just so happened to get caught one too many times for the public's liking. It had squash courts, comfortable beds, indoor butterfly gardens, and Michelin-quality cuisine. It was a chance for the wealthy to enjoy the finer things while appearing to pay the incurred debt for their crimes while padding the pockets of other wealthy individuals who invested in these facilities.

As she ascended the stairs, Amber approached the front door just as a police officer emerged and held the door open. "Ma'am," he said, smiling at her.

The reaction was expected. Amber would never grace the cover of a lingerie magazine, but she was not unattractive. Her long, shimmering copper hair was one of her best physical features, and she wore it long, hanging straight down to the middle of her back. It was parted to the side, with long bangs tucked behind her ear. She wore a blouse that plunged just enough to tease a bit of cleavage—it was her second-best asset. Hip-hugging khaki pants were a final touch to show off the ripe curves of a middle-aged woman without breaking the image of professionalism. It was unfortunate that physical traits carried so much influence in modern society, but at the same time, they afforded Amber natural tools that man did not possess. She would never have men falling all over themselves for her, but occasionally bending over to allow a neckline to droop or wearing something form-fitting to show off a well-formed buttock had made for an occasional interesting outcome, and she wasn't above using whatever tools she had to work with. It was practical, after all.

"Thank you, officer," Amber said without looking at the man. She never entirely understood why so many people were so free with eye contact. Amber found such prolonged ocular intimacy… off-putting.

The sound of her heels clacking on the floor echoed through the halls as she approached the metal detector and scanner standing between her and her quarry. A male officer was manning the scanner while a female and another male were waiting for her to approach. They both gave her tight-lipped smiles and nods.

"Morning," the uniformed female said. "If you would, just place your bag on the belt. Place any keys, phone, rings… all that goes in one of those trays."

"Of course," Amber said, complying. After emptying her pockets, she waited for someone to tell her to step through the metal detector. The female guard waved and said, "Ma'am, if you'd just step through here."

Amber did so without setting off any alarms. The officer gave her a nod and stepped aside, gesturing at the tray holding her keys, phone, glasses, expensive-looking pen, and roughly two dollars in change. Amber scooped them up and slid her glasses back where they belonged; she was practically blind without them.

"And what's your business here?" The male officer asked.

"Gwen Bartlet here to see Phillip Castor as his defense attorney."

The man picked up a tablet and skimmed through it. "Ah. Got it. One o'clock appointment." He handed the tablet to the female officer and said, "Ma'am, if you'll follow me, I'll take you to the visitor's center.

"Of course, officer," Amber repeated as she hefted her leather business bag off the table and followed the man as he led her through the double doors and to a set of elevators. Neither spoke as they waited for their ride nor exchanged pleasantries as the lift's doors closed behind them, and they began to ascend. It would have been labeled an uncomfortable silence if Amber had been able to feel such a thing. Instead, she pulled out her phone and texted: I'm in the elevator. Please begin.