Page 66 of Imprisoned

I pull up the inmate status records, scrolling through until I find his name. My lips part in surprise.

“Axel Morrison—Released from solitary confinement at six a.m.”

Relief floods through me. I slump back in my chair, tension draining from my shoulders. He’s out, so our plan can move forward.

I close the records quickly, feeling almost guilty for checking on them. I can’t risk raising suspicions now, not when we’re so close. Just a few more days, and we’ll be free.

I open a private browser window and log into the offshore account through several proxies. My heart races as I check the balance. Over half of it was my inheritance, but I’ve slowly amassed the rest ever since I decided I’d break Axel out by skimming prison funds. The place is so understaffed that it became clear after the first few smaller amounts that no one is checking on expenses.

Right now, we have just over $280,000.

It’s not enough.

Opening another tab, I access the prison’s financial system. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I debate how much to transfer this time. Too large an amount would raise flags, and too small would not get us where we need to be.

I pull up the commissary records and create a false invoice for supplies—$4,750—which is small enough to slip under the radar. I authorize the payment, routing it through three separate accounts before it lands in our Cayman Islands holding.

The confirmation appears on the screen. The transfer is complete. I quickly delete the browser history and close all windows.

It’s $284,750 total now. We’re getting closer to what we’ll need, but we’re still not quite there. I mentally note to transfer another chunk tomorrow—maybe through the medical supplies budget. They never audit those properly.

My phone buzzes. A text from Axel’s burner number.

How much do we have?

I bite my lip and type the total into a text. A few moments later, he replies.

We need more.

A shiver runs through me. I pull up the maintenance budget and start scanning for opportunities. There’s always money flowing through a prison this size. Small amounts here and there, spread across different departments. No one notices when a few thousand disappear into the system.

I falsify another invoice, this time for cleaning supplies. It’s for $3,250. Submit, route, transfer, and delete.

$288,000 even. Better, but still not enough for what we’ll need.

“Just a few more days.” I double check the routing numbers.

A sharp knock at my door makes me jump. I quickly minimize the browser window.

“Dr. Matthews?” Two men in suits flash their badges. “I’m Detective Roberts, this is Detective Lorenzo. We need to discuss the recent murders.”

My mouth goes dry. “Of course, come in.” I gesture to the chairs on the other side of my desk.

“We spoke with you at the time of the murders, but as you might have heard, the investigation is ongoing. We have a few additional questions if you don’t mind.”

It’s not an option, so I nod and force what I hope is a professional, calm smile. “Not at all, though I’m unsure what else I can add.”

“Last time we spoke, you were treating Axel Morrison?”

My mouth feels like sawdust. Detective Roberts pulls out a notepad.

“Yes, that’s correct.” I keep my voice steady.

“According to the statement you gave us at that time, you had a session with Morrison during the estimated time of death.”Detective Lorenzo leans forward. “Can you confirm this for us again?”

I nod, keeping my expression neutral despite my racing pulse. “Yes, we had our regularly scheduled session from three until five p.m. that day.”

“And how would you describe his mental state during that time?” Detective Roberts scribbles in his notepad.

---