Chapter 15 - The Sentence Harold Hated Most
Harold’s sentence was twenty eight years effective.
At sixty nine, prison likely meant rest of life.
But what he hated most was not time.
It was losing authority.
His appeals failed.
The conviction for Jake’s assault affirmed.
The federal second degree murder conviction affirmed.
The court rejected argument that Gray’s testimony alone caused verdict because documentary evidence and access records corroborated.
One obstruction count was merged for sentencing.
His effective term changed by less than a year.
Headlines said SENTENCE REDUCED.
Jake panicked.
I explained:
“He is not coming home.”
Then years.
Harold sent letters to Christine.
Some blamed me.
Some blamed Mason.
Some blamed Gray.
None blamed Harold.
Christine stopped reading.
Brian read for longer.
Scott stopped.
At seventy six, Harold finally wrote Jake:
I should not have struck you.
Then:
But you entered a room that held dangerous information.
Jake was twenty one.
He sent letter back unopened after first page.
No need.
Harold died at eighty in federal medical center.
He had served eleven years? Wait from 69 to 80 = 11, despite sentence 28. Fine. Natural illness.
No final confession.
No hidden key.
No estate worth much.
His remaining property proceeds and prison account applied toward restitution and legal obligations.
Brian handled burial.
Christine did not attend.
Scott did.
Jake did not.
I did not.
Mason texted:
Bennett died.
I answered:
Okay.
That was all.
Then Jake asked:
“Do you feel happy?”
“No.”
“Sad?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“Finished.”
May you like
He nodded.
That word fit.
