He looked at the clock on the wall.
11:42 a.m.
Gavin Cole was scheduled to die at 6:00 p.m.
Mitchell turned toward the door and called for the guards.
When they entered, he spoke with a firmness that made everyone stand straighter.
“Get the attorney general’s office on the phone. Now. And contact Gavin Cole’s counsel.”
One guard blinked. “Sir?”
“Now.”
Within twenty minutes, the visitation room had been cleared. Chloe was taken to a quiet office with Denise, where she was given juice, crackers, and a blanket that smelled faintly of prison laundry detergent.
Gavin was returned to a holding cell, though Mitchell personally ordered that he remain off the final transfer schedule until further notice.
That decision alone was enough to ripple through the unit.
By 12:30 p.m., phones were ringing in offices across Texas.
By 1:15 p.m., Gavin’s attorney, Amelia Grant, arrived at the prison with her hair pulled into an untidy knot and a stack of folders pressed to her chest.
