A Chanel bag and a BMW owner, Lara Henderson, was not used to places like these. Cinder block walls, once gray, were now faded and grimy. Fluorescent lights hummed annoyingly, making everyone's skin look dull. It wasn't a welcoming sight. But neither was the sour scent of sweat nor the acrid smell of institutional disinfectant.

She felt so out of place.

As her eyes scanned the area, she could tell her clothes were worth more than everyone else's combined. Although sticking to a simple, sleeveless turtleneck and wide leg pants seemed like a good idea, now she wasn’t so sure it was. Both were cream in color and this place didn’t feel clean. Maybe she shouldn't have come here. It wasn't a place for people like her.

She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for her turn. A metal detector beeped sporadically as other visitors were searched. She watched as some had to remove their jewelry and belts. She was glad she'd done her research and wore none. 

When her turn finally came, a large, balding man told her to walk through the metal detector. She went past a dangerous-looking German Shepherd. The dog's eyes followed her, but he made no move.

Her stomach turned. It was too late to back out now. She was really doing it.

She was meeting her brother's murderer.

As she was led into the visitation area, she repeated everything she wanted to tell him in her head, all the questions she wanted to ask. But the second she saw the long, metal counter lined with chairs and glass partitions, her mind went blank. Her heart pounded. She swallowed hard and sat at one of the seats. It was cold and hard, but her only focus was the heart that felt like it might burst from her chest.