Killing Chase Read Online Free PDF Page A

the trial, as criminal defense was out of his purview. We hired Jackson Ellis, a renowned criminal defense attorney out of Atlanta, and a good friend of my father’s. I wanted a trial, but Mr. Ellis thought a plea deal would be a better option, since I had already admitted to kicking Cam twice in the head after the fight ended. Plus, the prosecution had eyewitnesses to back this up. I wanted to argue self-defense, but he turned that argument into Swiss cheese. The fight was over when he went down from my kick.
    The prosecution had already portrayed me as the rich kid who thought he could buy his way out of prison. It was class warfare at its finest. Jack argued that a two-week trial would be risky and could make the jury look at me in a harsher light. We acquiesced and Jack began sentence bargaining, a process where the two sides agree in advance on what the sentence will be. Cam’s family was pressing hard to have me locked away, with the key dumped in the deep Atlantic.
    Jack began with an offer of five years in a minimum- security prison. Allen Banks, the DA, countered with twenty years in a medium-security facility. Back and forth we went for two days until I reluctantly agreed to a 12-year sentence in a medium-security prison, with the possibility of parole in ten years, if I had no blemishes on my record. At the beginning of my ninth year, I would be moved to a minimum-security prison, where I would serve out the remaining four years, unless I was paroled in the tenth year. Got all that.
    The agreement was reached on February 10th and I was given a reporting date of March 17. I began to focus on March 17, 2015 as a possible parole date, and this date was still on my mind, until a visitor showed up a couple of weeks ago.

Chapter 4
     
    March 1, 2012
    I was leaving laundry after lunch when a corrections officer by the name of Patterson told me I was needed in medical. I asked him if they needed me to scrub in for surgery. That got a laugh out of him, but he offered no more information. I hoisted my canvas laundry bag over my shoulder and followed him, wondering what was going on. Prison is a highly structured environment, and deviation from the norm seldom happened.
    We walked past the locked door that led to the administrative offices, took a right into the empty lobby of the clinic, and walked down a narrow hall that smelled vaguely antiseptic. Patterson opened a door labeled “Exam Room 9” and ushered me in.
    “I’ll escort you back when you’re done,” he said as he closed the door and stepped back into the hall.
    Seated on a rolling doctor’s stool was a rumpled-looking man in an even more rumpled black suit. He had a mop of unruly black hair, flecked with bits of gray, and deep-set eyes. Worry lines creased his face. He could’ve been fifty or seventy-five.
    “Mr. Hampton, I’m FBI Special Agent Rollin Schmidt,” he said, offering his hand. He showed me his worn credentials and offered me the wooden straight-back chair that was set against the wall.
    “Sir, I don’t know what trouble I’m in, but I’ve got a pretty airtight alibi for the last seven years,” I said in jest as I sat down.
    “Relax, Mr. Hampton. I just need your undivided attention for the next fifteen minutes and your promise that what we talk about does not leave this room. Can you agree to that?”
    “You have my undivided attention, Special Agent Schmidt.”
    He nodded his head and seemed unsure of how to begin.
    “Chase, did you play monopoly growing up?”
    “Once or twice.”
    “Are you familiar with the Get Out of Jail card?”
    “I am, but I believe it’s called the Get Out of Jail Free card, Mr. Schmidt.”
    “What we have in mind isn’t free, but it will get you out of prison if you agree to our offer.”
    “Out of prison?” I said in disbelief.
    “Yes, in about two weeks, give or take a day or two. A great deal of thought and planning has gone into this endeavor already, even without your agreeing, and while I