When the guard returned, Joe was ready. "Have a good life, Kid," Pierce told him. "And don’t look back."

Joe followed the guard down to the warden’s office where he was given a set of clothing Fenton had brought with him. Joe used the warden’s private restroom to change in. The clothes, some he had owned before, fit snugly against his self-enhanced physique.

"What’s this?" Joe asked, once he had returned to the front of the warden’s desk and been handed a check.

"Your parents put the maximum allowed into your account every week," the warden informed him. "That is the accumulated amount."

Joe tossed it on the desk. "I don’t want it," he refused. He wanted nothing to do with the Hardys...including their money.

"We can’t keep it," the warden told him, frowning. He had the feeling Fenton Hardy and his family were in for a major shock.

Joe scowled for a minute, then smiled. "Let Pierce have it," he said, taking his copy of his release papers and leaving the office.

***

"What’s taking so long?" Laura asked anxiously for the twentieth time, staring at the closed gates to the prison entrance.

Fenton put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a tight squeeze. "He’ll be out soon," he replied, his voice calm even though his stomach was filled with what felt like hummingbirds.

Frank’s gaze remained focused on the gate as his back rested against the car. He was primed. As soon as the gate opened, he would be there waiting. Five more minutes passed. Frank had never felt so nervous. His throat was dry and he felt like he was about to throw-up but he refused to move an inch for fear he would miss Joe’s exit.

Fenton stared at the gate, his arm resting on Laura’s shoulder. But even in the state she was in, she could sense the tension and fear in her husband. Joe had refused to see them every time they came to visit. He hadn’t answered any of their letters and, like Frank, she and Fenton had written every day; mailing two letters on Monday because the post was closed on Sundays.

The gate began to move. Frank raced forward, his parents following at a slower pace, unable to keep up. But when Joe finally walked out, they were all standing there; waiting.

Joe looked into the eyes of the woman who had given him birth. He saw her anxiety; hope.

He looked into his father’s eyes and saw sadness and fear.

Lastly, he looked into Frank’s eyes. Concern and worry were mixed in with a kind of joy. Not even blinking, Joe turned to his left and began walking away.