Chapter 2: The Prisoner Who Knew My Father
I stared at the number on the paper until my eyes started to hurt.
I knew that number.
Not because I had memorized prison records.
Not because I had seen it during intake.
Because I had seen it years ago.
Buried inside a file I was never supposed to find.
The ink on the paper looked fresh, but the meaning behind it felt ancient.
The number belonged to Marcus Reed.
Tank.
The man who had thrown food in my face hours earlier.
The man who had tried to break me in front of the entire chow hall.
The man who now apparently knew something about my father.
I folded the paper and slid it under my mattress.
A minute later, the hallway lights turned on.
The sudden brightness filled my cell.
A guard walked past.
Then another.
Nobody said anything.
Nobody looked at me.
But I could feel it.
Something had changed.
In prison, information was currency.
And somehow, my arrival had created a rumor nobody could control.
The next morning, they escorted me to breakfast.
The guard assigned to me didn't say a word.
He didn't need to.
The way he watched me told me everything.
He expected trouble.
When the doors opened to the chow hall, every conversation slowed.
Not stopped.
Slowed.
People were watching.
I walked inside.
The same table from yesterday was still there.
The broken pieces had been cleaned up.
But nobody sat near it.
Not even Tank's crew.
I grabbed my tray.
This time, I didn't look for an empty seat.
I looked straight ahead.
Then I heard a voice.
"New fish.""
I stopped.
One of Tank's men stood near the wall.
His arms were crossed.
His eyes were different from yesterday.
Less arrogant.
More careful.
"Tank wants to see you.""
I looked at him.
"Tell him to come find me.""
The inmate frowned.
A few people nearby stopped eating.
"You don't understand how this works.""
I took a sip of water.
"No.""
I looked at him.
"You don't understand how I work.""
For a second, nobody moved.
Then the inmate walked away.
Five minutes later, two guards appeared.
"Cole.""
I looked up.
"Let's go.""
I knew immediately.
Tank.
They took me across the yard to a small interview room.
A single table.
Two chairs.
A scratched mirror on the wall.
I sat down.
The door opened.
Tank walked in.
But the man who entered wasn't the same man from the chow hall.
Yesterday, he walked like he owned the building.
Today, he looked like someone carrying a weight.
The guards removed his cuffs.
He sat across from me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he touched the scar on his eyebrow.
"You still move the same way.""
I watched him.
"What does that mean?""
He looked down.
"It means your father trained you well.""
The room suddenly felt smaller.
I leaned forward.
"Start talking.""
Tank looked toward the door.
Then at the camera in the corner.
"You still don't know who runs this place.""
"I know who runs the prison.""
He shook his head.
"No.""
His voice dropped.
"You know who wears the uniform.""
A chill moved through me.
"Then tell me who does.""
Tank didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he asked:
"Did they tell you why you were sent here?""
I laughed once.
Bitterly.
"They said I assaulted a man during a business investigation.""
Tank studied my face.
"And did you?""
I remembered the night.
The warehouse.
The missing evidence.
The man who attacked first.
The trial that ended with everyone believing I was guilty.
"I defended myself.""
Tank nodded slowly.
"That's what I thought.""
"What does that have to do with my father?""
His expression changed.
"Everything.""
He leaned closer.
"Your father wasn't just some random man, Ethan.""
I stared at him.
"Don't call me that.""
His eyes narrowed.
"Why?""
"Because you don't know me.""
A sad smile appeared on his face.
"I knew you before you knew yourself.""
That sentence bothered me more than any threat.
I stood.
"Enough games.""
Tank didn't react.
"Your father came to Stateville twenty years ago.""
I froze.
"My father was never in prison.""
Tank looked at me.
"That's what they wanted everyone to believe.""
The room went silent.
I sat back down slowly.
"Why?""
Tank rubbed his hands together.
Because for the first time since I saw him, he looked nervous.
"Because your father found something.""
"What?""
"A system.""
I frowned.
"What system?""
Tank looked directly into my eyes.
"A hidden operation inside the prison.""
I waited.
He continued.
"Certain inmates weren't here because they committed crimes.""
I felt my jaw tighten.
"What are you saying?""
"I'm saying some people were brought here because they knew too much.""
I thought about my own conviction.
The evidence that disappeared.
The witnesses who changed their stories.
The prosecutor who refused to explain anything.
I had always believed I was unlucky.
Maybe I was wrong.
Tank reached into his shirt pocket.
The guards had searched him before entering.
Whatever he had, he had hidden it well.
He pulled out a small piece of folded paper.
He pushed it across the table.
I opened it.
My father's handwriting stared back at me.
I knew it immediately.
My father had written me birthday cards until the year he died.
The handwriting was burned into my memory.
My hands tightened around the paper.
"Where did you get this?""
Tank looked away.
"He gave it to me.""
"When?""
"Before he disappeared.""
I looked up sharply.
"You said he died.""
Tank didn't answer.
"Where is he?""
Silence.
Then he said:
"He isn't dead.""
The words hit harder than the tray in the chow hall.
I couldn't breathe for a second.
"No.""
Tank looked at me.
"I saw him.""
"Where?""
"In Stateville.""
I pushed away from the table.
"You expect me to believe my father has been alive for fifteen years and nobody told me?""
Tank's face hardened.
"Nobody told you because nobody wanted you looking.""
The door suddenly opened.
A guard stepped inside.
"Time's up.""
Tank stood.
But before he walked away, he looked at me.
"Your father left something behind.""
"What?""
Tank stopped at the door.
"A message.""
I waited.
"What message?""
His eyes moved toward the camera.
Then back to me.
"He said if Ethan Cole ever entered Stateville...""
The guard grabbed his arm.
"Move.""
Tank kept staring.
"He said the first person you should trust is the person everyone else fears.""
The door closed.
I sat alone.
Trying to understand.
The person everyone else feared.
Tank.
The man who attacked me.
The man who ran the north wing.
The man who knew my father.
I looked at the note again.
There was something written at the bottom.
A small line I hadn't noticed before.
My father's handwriting.
Three words.
"Trust the monster.""
That night, I returned to my cell.
But I wasn't alone.
Someone had been waiting.
A message was scratched into my wall.
Fresh marks.
New concrete dust on the floor.
I stepped closer.
My blood went cold.
Because it wasn't my last name this time.
It was a warning.
*"YOUR FATHER LIED TO YOU.""*
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And underneath it, carved deeper than the rest:
*"ASK TANK WHAT HE DID THE NIGHT YOUR FAMILY DIED.""*
