Story code: ST-000296
Part 2: The Decibel Limit
Lettie’s throat tightened. The concrete walls seemed to press inward, the cold air clinging to her skin. She kept her eyes fixed on the webcam, refusing to look at Carter’s feed on the split-screen display.
“Oakhaven State Penitentiary,” Lettie said, her voice dropping a fraction of an octave in the cavernous room. “Maximum Security Wing, Cell Block 4.”
On his side of the monitor, Carter paused mid-sip. A slow, mocking smirk spread across his perfectly moisturized face. He set his stainless-steel water bottle down on his mahogany desk with a soft, expensive thud.
“I’m sorry, did she say Maximum Security?” Carter asked, leaning toward his camera. His audio was perfectly synced now, every condescending syllable crystal clear. “Admin Alvarez, I was under the impression this was a standard civil dispute. Is it customary protocol to waste the court’s bandwidth with someone classified as a high-risk offender? My legal team assured me she was in a standard minimum holding facility.”
Admin Alvarez continued her heavy, mechanical typing, her face devoid of emotion. “An individual’s incarceration status does not strictly preclude their right to civil arbitration, Mr. Hayes. However, Ms. Barton, your facility designation does trigger an automated security override on the court’s network.”
A heavy, digitized beep echoed through Lettie’s room, bouncing violently off the cinderblock walls. On the lower right corner of her monitor, a bright yellow padlock icon materialized, pulsing with a slow, rhythmic warning.
“What does that mean?” Lettie asked, her fingernails scraping against the frost-chilled steel of her table. The bitter temperature of the metal was steadily seeping up her forearms.
“It means your audio and video feeds are now subject to institutional behavioral algorithms,” Alvarez replied without looking up from her secondary monitor. “Any sudden movements, loud vocalizations, or attempts to obscure your face will result in an automatic, unappealable termination of this call. Do you understand?”
Lettie’s breath hitched. She was already trapped in a steel box, and now the software itself was a cage. “I understand,” she murmured.
“Speak up, please,” Carter interjected, casually adjusting the cuffs of his tailored shirt. “The acoustics in her… cell are atrocious. I can barely hear her over the hum of whatever cheap ventilation system they use down there. It’s giving my feed a terrible static. I require a calm environment for my wellness.”
“I understand,” Lettie repeated, forcing the words out louder, though her chest ached with the effort of suppressing her rising panic.
“Excellent,” Alvarez said. “We will proceed to the discovery review. Ms. Barton, you initiated this hearing to submit supplemental financial logs regarding the collapse of Hayes-Barton Logistics. You claim these logs prove Mr. Hayes authorized the offshore transfers.”
“Yes,” Lettie said, leaning forward an inch, desperate to finally drag the truth into the light. “I uploaded Exhibit A to the court portal yesterday. The server logs clearly show his administrative credentials routing the company’s pension funds into a shell corporation.”
She waited for the click of Alvarez’s keyboard, for the vindication of a neutral third party viewing the irrefutable proof. Instead, there was only silence from the mediator’s square.
Carter sighed loudly, picking up a silver pen and twirling it between his manicured fingers. “I suppose I should let my counsel handle this, but it’s just too tedious. Admin Alvarez, could you please check the status of Exhibit A?”
Alvarez squinted at her screen. “Exhibit A is currently locked behind a cryptographic firewall. It has been flagged by the respondent’s legal counsel under the Cyber Security Inmate Restriction Act.”
Lettie’s stomach plummeted. “What? No, that’s a standard spreadsheet. It’s just numbers and timestamps. There is no security threat!”
“Ms. Barton,” Alvarez warned, her tone sharpening. “Your volume.”
Lettie glanced at the padlock icon on her screen. It had flashed from yellow to a harsh, warning orange. She swallowed the shout building in her throat, forcing her shoulders to lower, making herself small. She had to stay under the decibel limit. She had to play by their impossible rules.
“The Act,” Carter explained casually, as if he were giving a lecture to a slow intern, “prevents maximum-security inmates from submitting digital files that could contain malicious code, spyware, or encrypted communications to the outside world. My lawyers simply pointed out that taking a digital file from a high-risk inmate’s prison network poses a severe threat to the court’s servers.”
“That is a lie,” Lettie said, her voice shaking with the effort of keeping it quiet. “He’s just using a loophole to block the evidence. Admin Alvarez, if you just open the file in a sandbox environment, you’ll see the ledger.”
“The court does not have the jurisdiction to bypass a federal cybersecurity injunction,” Alvarez stated flatly. “Unless you have a physical copy of the document present with you, Exhibit A is deemed inadmissible for this hearing.”
A physical copy. Lettie looked around her barren, gray room. Inmates in Cell Block 4 were not allowed paper. They were not allowed pens. They were allowed the clothes on their backs and one hour of monitored screen time for approved legal proceedings. Carter knew this. His lawyers knew this. They had designed a trap she couldn’t escape.
Carter reached out of frame and brought back a small, ceramic plate holding a solitary, artisanal pastry. He broke off a piece, chewing thoughtfully. “Well, since the plaintiff has failed to provide any admissible evidence to substantiate her slanderous claims, I believe we are done here. I have a massage therapy session in twenty minutes, and I’d like to prep for it.”
Lettie stared at the pastry. She hadn’t eaten anything besides nutrient-fortified gray mash in three days. The sheer absurdity of the situation-Carter enjoying a spa day while she sat welded to the floor in a freezing concrete box-threatened to snap the last of her self-control. He had stolen her company, framed her for his embezzlement, and used the stolen money to buy his way into a luxury facility while condemning her to hell.
“You can’t dismiss this,” Lettie pleaded, gripping the edge of the metal table so hard her joints popped. The cold bit deeply into her skin, numbing her fingers. “The burden of proof is in those files. He knows it. That’s why he had them sealed!”
“Ms. Barton, I am warning you,” Alvarez said. The padlock icon on the screen was now flashing a rapid, frantic red.
“She’s clearly becoming unstable,” Carter said, feigning concern. “Admin Alvarez, for my own mental wellbeing, I must request we terminate this connection. She is raising her voice, and it’s violating the terms of the injunction.”
“Admin, please,” Lettie begged, her voice cracking. “Just look at the file!”
A sharp, deafening beep pierced the room.
The audio in Lettie’s headset instantly cut out. A massive red banner dropped across the top of her monitor: MICROPHONE MUTED. DECIBEL LIMIT EXCEEDED.
Lettie gasped, her mouth opening, but no sound transmitted. She watched in horror as Carter smiled warmly at the camera, his lips moving as he spoke to the mediator, entirely unchallenged.
Alvarez typed a final, heavy command, her voice crackling through Lettie’s earpiece one last time.
“Ms. Barton, your audio privileges have been suspended by the automated system. Opposing counsel has just filed a motion for immediate dismissal with prejudice. You have exactly one minute to submit a legally binding written rebuttal via the chat interface, or your case is permanently closed.”