The answer came after an uncomfortable pause.
“Unofficially, maybe.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means certain people trusted him to move things quietly.”
“What things?”
“Robert, I’m retired.”
“So am I, almost.”
“Then you know when not to ask a question too loudly.”
Mitchell hung up with a heaviness in his chest.
The prison no longer felt like solid ground. It felt like a building whose foundation had cracked years ago while everyone kept repainting the walls.
That evening, Reed entered Mitchell’s office without knocking.
Mitchell looked up slowly.
“You wanted something?”
Reed closed the door behind him. “We should talk.”
“About?”
“Cole.”
Mitchell folded his hands on the desk. “What about him?”
“I heard you moved him.”
“He was moved for administrative reasons.”
“I’m deputy warden, Robert.”
“I’m aware.”
“I should have been informed.”
“You are now.”
Reed’s expression hardened for the first time. The polished calm thinned, revealing something colder beneath.
