"Pride and curiosity are the two scourges of our souls. The latter prompts us to poke our noses into everything, and the former forbids us to leave anything unresolved and undecided." – Michel de Montaigne
Charlotte patiently permitted the police officers to escort her through the prison. The only mild comfort she was afforded, in return, was that she was surrounded by law enforcement, should Conrad dare try to attempt anything illegal. His kind words in letter form had little meaning, and Charlotte feared for her safety.
"Your full name, please."
One of her new and temporary guardians for the afternoon quickly scribbled down her name beneath his own, Mark Connors, and led her further into the facility. She grimaced, when the final traces of sunshine disappeared beyond the square, barred windows. Finally, they arrived at a private interrogation room, which she dutifully entered. Inside, an elderly man hunched over the table, his wrists cuffed to the middle of it. The inmate's head rose at the click of the door and he smiled, "Charlotte." His smile was one of admiration, disbelief even, and pure love. She mirrored her namesake, so much so that, if Conrad squinted, he could pretend it was his own daughter stood before him. "I'm so pleased you agreed to come."
Charlotte avoided eye contact, "I wasn't aware I had another choice."
Her Grandfather feigned bemusement, though, internally, her comment pained him. He was not the bully that she had been led to believe. He did not seek control over her every decision. "Of course you had another choice. You were more than entitled to refuse, Charlotte, and, if anyone made led you to believe otherwise, then you have my sincere apology." Conrad tilted his head and studied her appearance, "It's been some time since your mother brought you here. How are you?"
"Fine," Charlotte answered, shortly.
"I apologise, if you felt corralled into coming here but, when my letter didn't prompt a visit, I decided to take matters into my own hands," he admitted. "I'm sure it's no secret that I am not a well man; I have very little time left," Conrad confirmed. The inhumane disease had spread beyond his pancreas and started to rot his bones, burn out his other organs and Conrad sensed his time on earth had reached its end. "For a man in my position, that may very well be considered a blessing." He motioned toward the brick walls that encroached upon them and Charlotte appreciated his sense of claustrophobia. "I can't deny the things I've done, I can only apologise and live out the days of punishment for my crime. I'm not proud, Charlotte. The horrors I inflicted on David Clarke and his child were inconceivable."
She rose an eyebrow, "Were?"
"Are," Conrad clarified, and returned his eyes to his hands. "But I'm not the first man, or woman, to play with reality. Appearances can, and already have, deceived you, Charlotte."
"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"
"I've had plenty of time to reflect. For some, it's all you can do here." He explained, "Some regret the consequences of their actions, others regret that they were caught out, in the first place, and some are determined to discover how they were caught out."
"You are the only to blame for the position you're in, Conrad. You framed an innocent man. You were partially responsible for the murder of hundreds of innocent people." Articulating the words for herself only horrified Charlotte further, and her disgust at his lack of morality showed clear as day. "This isn't justice."
"Perhaps not," Conrad placated her with reluctant agreement. "But, doesn't it strike you as add; I fabricated a truth for America to believe, I spun that web of lies for years - decades, even. The minute your mother entered our lives, it all fall apart." Charlotte's confidence dove, with the same ferociousness that her heart plummeted in her chest. "Victoria had been right, from day one." A smile of admiration settled across his lips, "That woman had more intuition than I gave her credit for." His wistful compliment hung in the tension-filled atmosphere. "Your mother's arrival heralded the downfall of my father's good name, and so many others; Lydia, Bill Harmon, Tom Kingsley, Michelle Banks, Frank Stevens, Mason Treadwell -"
"Those leeches deserved every bit of misfortune," Charlotte dismissively replied. Her studies as a law student had included America's most infamous trials and David Clarke's trial was the crowning jewel of the list. "I'm sorry your little bubble burst but my mother had no involvement."
"The Fire and Ice Ball, Daniel was arrested for the murder of Tyler Barrol..." her Grandfather rattled on, and Charlotte frowned. The name Tyler Barrol wasn't one she had ever heard of before, and why hadn't she known her father had been arrested for murder? Admittedly, it wasn't something to be proud of but her parents, particularly her father, had always been so transparent about their family history. "Our lives became a magnet for chaos, more so than ever before." Conrad shook his head, like a man scorned, "Your dear mother was at the centre of it all. Of course, Victoria was convinced Amanda Clarke was the culprit. Little did she know they were on in the same."
Charlotte's hazel eyes pierced his blue ones, as he spoke. They were filled with confidence and Charlotte knew deep down, underneath the complete trust she had in her parents, that Conrad was telling the truth. "You had me brought here, against my will. You sent me letters, which practically begged for repentance, but the truth is that you don't really want forgiveness, because you're not really sorry. You only want to lay more blame and cause my family pain."
"I didn't expect you to take my word for it, Charlie." Her spine tingled, when he addressed her with the nickname only close friends and family had the privilege to use.
"You think you can trick me, into not trusting my own mother?"
"I think you're a Grayson, by blood." He overrode her, "One day, your curiosity will get the better of you." Charlotte prepared to leave and Conrad snatched her hand, his grip forceful. "Charlotte, I've risked my life to bring you here. Don't make me regret it."
Confusion shot through Charlotte's veins and she leapt from her seat, storming out of the room. The guards eyed her carefully, before she slammed the heavy door shut. Near-darkness embraced her, as she exited the prison and Charlotte winced; her mother would demand an explanation for her whereabouts and she didn't have one.