Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 308

Apparently, her escort didn't feel the same way about uncomfortable silences.

"These are some of the slowest elevators I've ever been on," the guard finally said.

"Yes, well… this used to be a hospital, you see," Amber said, staring at the floor indicator above the door. "I believe it went bankrupt about ten years ago and was bought out by another company. They refurbished it as a prison."

The man's eyebrows climbed up his head as he looked at her. "What does that have to do with the elevators being slow?"

"At the time, in the state of Colorado, there was a local ordinance that required slow elevator speeds in hospitals due to health issues. The law was repealed twelve years ago, but the hospital was constructed eleven years prior to the removal." Amber's eyes hadn't once drifted away from the floor indicator.

Before the officer could reply, the doors slid open, and the pair left the elevator, took a right, and headed down a corridor well-lit in a warm, incandescent glow. It was much different than the cold florescent lights of regular prisons, and the hallways of those didn't have pleasant classical music piped through speakers in the walls. If one must go to prison, this was the way to do it.

The guard stopped in front of a door and opened it. "Officer Estes should be here in a few minutes with Mr. Castor.

Nodding her head once, Amber walked into the room and looked around, unbothered as the door shut behind her. The spacious lounge would have been impressive if such things had impressed Amber. As she stood there, she took in the sight of cucumber water, lounge chairs, a large-screen television, a comfortable-looking full-sized bed, and a bar filled with snacks and drinks. It was hardly a drab place where people went to think about their crimes in remorse and sorrow.

Instead of enjoying one of the loungers, Amber went to the small square table and sat in one of the seats. She pulled out her pen and notepad, set it on the table, folded her hands on the paper, and simply waited as she stared around the room.

Almost fifteen minutes had passed before the door she'd walked through opened, and in walked a man who appeared to be in his early to mid-fifties. He had short salt-and-pepper hair and a five-o'clock shadow. He was wearing cargo pants and a button-down short-sleeve shirt, making it look more like he was on a beach vacation than serving a sentence in prison.

"You're not Bianca," he said, stopping short as he looked at her in confusion. The prison door swung shut behind him.

"No," Amber said, rising out of her chair. "I certainly am not."

The man's easy manner was replaced by a look of nervousness; his dark eyes darted around the room as if looking for someone else. He suddenly looked like a man being hunted for sport.

"Please," the lawyer said, gesturing to one of the other chairs at the table. "Have a seat. You're not in any danger. Your name is Phillip Castor, correct?"

The man eyed the seat warily but didn't move. "Who sent you? What do you want?"

Turning back to the table, she reached into her bag, pulled out several sheets of paper, and laid them on the surface. "My name is Amber Bell, and I represent Brantwood Holdings. They've expressed an interest in filling the void left by your partner's… ehm… demise."

"Thanks," Castor said, still not moving. "I'm good."

"Nonsense," Amber said. "Everyone can always be made better."

"Not me. Everything I need's taken care of."

"You... did hear that Colin Gerrard died, yes?" Amber said.

"Yes, but my deal still holds."

Amber gave him a doubtful look. "For now, but Gerrard's grandson has inherited his estate and has a different set of principles that guide his actions. He's already begun the first steps of reforming his flagship company."

Castor's eyes wandered across her features uncertainly. "That… shouldn't matter, right?"

"Normally, no," Amber said. "However, in your case, the legality of your agreement with the late Colin Gerrard is… tenuous at best. I'm afraid if you were to challenge any change or discontinuation of the deal you made, it would attract untoward attention. I'm sure your family would not appreciate having their income or security ripped from them, and I wonder how long you would last in a prison…" She looked around the room as if trying to grasp the right words, then leveled her gaze back at Castor. "With less amenities."

Phillip visibly tensed, approached the woman, and sat at the table to her right. "Are you threatening my family?"

Amber retook her seat, trying to puzzle out how best to respond to the man. "Not at all, Mr. Castor. My firm is interested in continuing the relationship between you and Mr. Gerrard. Your deal would continue as-is with no difference."

"First, how does your firm know about the deal, and why would they be interested in continuing it?"

"Because you have something they want," Amber said, pushing the papers toward the man along with the pen. "The ledger you stole from Mr. Gerrard."

"Christ," Castor guffawed. "You're not asking for much."

"It's the payment Brantwood requires for their… generous offer," Amber said.