I rounded the corner and saw the entrance to Holbrooke's office. I walked up the hallway, admiring the plush walls and wondering what Holbrooke must be like these days. No doubt he had rationalized the art theft he had committed as doing the prison some good. The prison owned you, so they can do antyhing they want. Or maybe he found a passage in the bible that said it was okay to take a sinner's possessions.
I was led into the waiting room and stayed there for a few minutes. It looked the same as the last time I was here--the same funky furniture, the same dorky art. Man, this guy was living in a bubble. I overheard him blabbing on the phone to some politician about how prisoners were being rehabilitated. I don't think they knew what the word meant.
Schultz motioned to me, and I went into Holbrooke's office.
"Schutz, I want to speak to Chambers in private. Stand guard outside."