Sidney Sheldon's After the Darkness

  Kevin McGuire kept trying to get her to focus on the present, to acknowledge the fact that she may well be sent to prison. But Kevin didn’t understand. Prison didn’t frighten Grace. It didn’t matter what happened to her. Without Lenny, nothing mattered anymore. The world could hold no joy for Grace, no hope. They may as well lock me up. My life’s already over.

  Once again, it was John Merrivale who had ridden to her rescue and made her see sense. The whole world was accusing Grace of betraying him, of conspiring with Lenny to “steal” his stake in Quorum, but John’s loyalty remained unwavering. “It’s a mistake, Grace, all right? A mistake. I don’t know why Lenny d-did it, but he must have had his reasons.”

  “You know he would never have tried to cheat you John. Neither of us would.”

  “Of c-course I do, sweetheart. Of course I do.”

  When John heard the advice Kevin McGuire was giving Grace, he forced her to fire him on the spot.

  “But Kevin’s an old friend,” Grace protested.

  “I daresay. But he’s talking nonsense. P-plead guilty indeed! That’s insanity. We need to get you Frank Hammond. He’s the best.”

  John was right, as usual. Frank Hammond burst into Grace’s life like a cyclone. From the moment she met him, Grace felt her hope returning. She began to see light at the end of the tunnel. Here, at last, was her champion, a strong man, an advocate, someone who believed her and would fight for her. Just being in Frank Hammond’s presence made Grace feel better.

  She asked shyly, “What about bail? Do you think there’s any chance…?”

  “I’ve already applied. The hearing’s tomorrow. I’m going to get you out of here.”

  “You do realize I…I don’t have any money. I can’t pay you.”

  Grace was embarrassed, but Frank Hammond was unfazed.

  “Forget it. It’s taken care of. Now I want you to listen to me. Can you do that?”

  Grace nodded.

  “Forget about the charges against you. Forget about the trial, forget about what people out there are saying. It’s my job to straighten all that out. Understood?”

  “Understood.” He’s so reassuring. I feel like I’m talking to Lenny.

  “Your job is to hold on tight to the truth. You did not steal any money. Lenny did not steal any money. The fact that a whole bunch of money has gone missing means that someone must have stolen it. Whoever that person is framed you and your husband. That’s our case.”

  “But who would do that?”

  Frank Hammond smiled, revealing a row of jagged, yellowing, old man’s teeth. Clearly he did not spend any of his astronomical fees at the dentist’s office.

  “Who would steal seventy billion dollars? Ninety-nine percent of Americans, if they thought they could get away with it.”

  “All right, then. Who did steal it?”

  “I have no idea. It doesn’t matter. All we need to do is establish reasonable doubt. The D.A. has to prove that you and your husband were responsible.”

  Grace was silent. After a few moments, she asked, “Mr. Hammond, do you believe my husband killed himself?”

  Frank Hammond looked his client directly in the eye. “No, Mrs. Brookstein. I do not.”

  From that moment on, Grace knew she could trust Frank Hammond implicitly. He’s going to win the case. He’s going to set me free. And when he does, I’m going to find out who stole that money and clear Lenny’s name.

  NINE

  GRACE BROOKSTEIN PLAYED WITH THE BUTTONS on her Chanel bouclé jacket as the jury filed back into Court 14. She was nervous, but not about the verdict. She knew she would be found innocent. Frank Hammond had told her so.

  “Just do exactly what I tell you, Grace, and leave the rest to me. The jury will acquit you.”

  When Frank spoke, it was like listening to the voice of the prophet. Grace had followed his instructions to the letter, even down to her courtroom attire.

  “It’s not your job to look contrite. You’re innocent. I want you to walk into that courtroom proudly, with your head held high. Remember, you’re representing Lenny as well as yourself.”

  Lenny. Darling, Lenny. Are you watching, sweetheart? Are you proud of me?

  No, Grace’s nerves were not about the verdict. They were about what would happen once the case was over. How am I going to find out who framed Lenny? So far the FBI had conspicuously failed to track down more than a few million of the missing Quorum money. If they can’t find that money, what hope do I have? But she had to do it. She had to clear Lenny’s name. He’d been gone six months now. It was already December, almost Christmas. My first Christmas as a widow. Despite being Jewish, Lenny had always loved Christmas, the present giving, the parties. He had such a generous spirit.

  The judge’s voice sounded distant, unreal. He addressed the foreman of the jury.

  “Have you reached your verdict?”

  I suppose I’ll spend Christmas with the Merrivales.

  Christmas was a time for family, but both Grace’s sisters had let her down badly. Neither of them had called or visited since she’d been arrested. Grace had half hoped, half expected to see them in the public gallery when the trial started, but Connie and Honor were both conspicuous by their absence.

  Once I’m found innocent, I’m sure they’ll come back to me. When they do, I’ll forgive them. I’m going to need their support if I’m going to put things right. If I’m going to find out who really stole that money. Who framed my darling Lenny.

  The foreman looked at Grace and smiled. Grace smiled back. He seemed like a nice man.

  “How do you find the defendant, on the charge of securities fraud?”

  “Guilty.”

  District Attorney Angelo Michele punched the air. So there wasn’t a strategy! Big Frank Hammond just screwed this thing up. He’s not so invincible after all.

  Grace started to feel the first stirrings of panic. She looked at Frank Hammond, but his eyes were fixed on the judge.

  “And on the charge of money laundering?”

  “Guilty.”

  No! I’m not guilty. This is a mistake! I did everything Frank told me to.

  “On the charge of perjury…wire fraud…mail fraud…”

  The words tore into Grace like razor blades.

  “Guilty…guilty…guilty.”

  “This is wrong! Please, Your Honor. This is all a mistake. I’m innocent and so is my husband! We were framed!”

  The boos and catcalls from the public gallery were so deafening, Grace could barely hear her own words. It took a full minute for the judge to restore order. When he did, he turned to Grace with chilling anger.

  “Grace Brookstein. Between you, you and your husband robbed your investors of an almost unimaginable sum of money. The human suffering brought about by your actions has been profound. Yet at no point have you shown the slightest remorse. You seem to have taken a view that because of your privileged position in society, the laws of this great nation do not apply to you. They do.”

  The gallery roared their approval. Grace could hear the muffled cheers from the crowds gathered outside, watching the proceedings on specially erected screens.

  “Your decision to plead not guilty in this courtroom, knowing the overwhelming evidence against you, compounds an already despicable crime. It is this utter disregard for the law, as well as for the pain your victims have suffered, that has informed my decision with regard to your sentence. I do not doubt that your denial of any knowledge of your husband’s business practices is a lie, a lie you have shamelessly repeated both to this court and to the authorities struggling to repay your husband’s victims. For this, I intend to see to it that you spend the remainder of natural life deprived of your freedom.”

  The judge was still speaking, passing sentence, but Grace no longer heard him. What the hell happened? What went wrong?

  Frank Hammond sat beside her slumped over the table, his head in his hands.

  As she felt the bailiff’s grip tighten on her arm, Grace look
ed up at John Merrivale. He mouthed the words “Don’t worry,” but his stricken face said it all. Even Caroline, who’d been cold and unsupportive in the run-up to the trial, looked shocked.

  Grace felt sick, not for herself but for Lenny.

  I’ve failed him. I’ve let him down.

  How am I ever going to prove his innocence now?

  ON THE STEPS OF THE COURTHOUSE, Angelo Michele was being mobbed. Throngs of people pressed forward to shake his hand and pat him on the back. He had avenged them, avenged New York, avenged the poor, the dispossessed, the homeless, avenged all the victims of the Brooksteins’ avarice and greed.

  A reporter pulled Harry Bain aside. “Look at Michele. They love him. It’s like he’s Joe DiMaggio back from the dead or something. The guy’s a rock star.”

  “He’s more than that,” Harry Bain said. “He’s a hero.”

  For Angelo Michele, the show was over. But for Harry Bain and Gavin Williams, it had barely begun.

  They still had to find that money.

  TEN

  GRACE BROOKSTEIN’S CONVICTION AND LIFE SENTENCE—the cumulative punishment for all five charges was over one hundred years in jail—was the lead item on news reports around the globe. Grace was no longer a woman, an individual with thoughts and hopes and regrets. She was an emblem, a symbol of all that was greedy and corrupt and rotten in America, of the forces of evil that had brought the country to the brink of economic collapse and caused so much suffering and anguish. When Grace was taken from the courtroom to await transfer to the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for Women, she was jostled and jeered by a bloodthirsty mob. One woman managed to scratch her face, her talonlike acrylic nail slicing into Grace’s flesh. Images of Grace Brookstein clutching her bleeding cheek as she was bundled into a police van were beamed across America. The mighty had truly fallen.

  After a terrifying night alone in a cell, Grace was allowed to make a phone call at five A.M. On instinct, she reached for her family.

  “Gracie?” Honor’s voice sounded groggy with sleep. “Is that you?”

  Thank God. She’s home. Grace could have wept with relief.

  “Yes, it’s me. Oh, Honor, it’s terrible. I don’t know what happened. My attorney told me it would all be okay, but—”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m in jail. I’m still in New York, I…I don’t know where exactly. It’s awful. They’re transferring me tomorrow. Somewhere near you. Bedford, I think? That might be better. But, Honor, you have to help me.”

  There was a long silence. Eventually, Honor said, “I don’t see how I can, Gracie. You’ve been found guilty in a court of law.”

  “I know, but—”

  “And you didn’t exactly help yourself during the trial. Your clothes. What were you thinking?”

  “Frank Hammond told me to wear them!”

  “You see, there you go again. Connie was right.”

  “What do you mean?” Grace was close to tears. “Connie was right about what?”

  “About you. Listen to yourself, Grace: ‘Lenny told me. My attorney told me. John told me.’ When are you going to start taking responsibility for your own actions? Your own life? You’re not Daddy’s little princess anymore, Gracie. You can’t keep expecting me and Connie to fix everything for you.”

  Grace bit her lip till it bled. She’d needed her sister’s support so desperately but all Honor wanted to do was lecture her. Clearly, Connie felt the same way.

  “Please, Honor! I don’t know where to turn. Can’t you ask Jack? He’s a senator, he must have some influence. This is all a terrible mistake. I didn’t steal any money. And Lenny would never—”

  “I’m sorry, Grace. Jack can’t possibly get involved. This sort of scandal could ruin us.”

  “Ruin you? Honor, they’re locking me up! Lenny’s dead, accused of a crime you know he didn’t commit.”

  “I don’t know that, Grace. For God’s sake, wake up! That money didn’t just vanish. Of course Lenny took it. He took it, and he left you holding the bag.”

  The words were like a knife in Grace’s heart. It was bad enough that strangers thought Lenny was a thief. But Honor knew him. She knew him. How could she possibly believe it?

  Honor spoke her next words with chilling finality. “You made your own bed, Gracie. I’m sorry.” The connection was broken.

  You’re sorry?

  So am I.

  Good-bye, Honor.

  THE RIDE ON THE PRISON VAN to Bedford Hills was long and uncomfortable. The van was freezing and smelly, and the women inside huddled together for warmth. Grace looked at their faces. These women had nothing in common with her. Some were frightened. Some defiant. Some despairing. But all wore the haggard lines of poverty and exhaustion on their faces. They looked at Grace with naked, murderous hatred.

  Grace closed her eyes. She was nine years old, in East Hampton with her father. It was Christmas Eve and Cooper Knowles was lifting her up on his shoulders to put the star on the top of the tree.

  “You can do it, Grace. Just stretch a little farther!”

  She was on the podium, aged fifteen, surrounded by her gymnast friends. The judges were placing a gold medal around her neck. Grace scanned the crowd for her mother’s face, but she wasn’t there. Her coach told her, “Forget it, Grace. If you want to be a winner, you have to win for yourself, not for others.”

  It was her wedding night. Lenny was making love to her, softly, tenderly. “I’m going to take care of you, Grace. You’ll never have to worry about anything ever again.” And Grace replied, “I love you, Lenny. I’m so happy.”

  “Get out!”

  The female guard grabbed Grace roughly by the arm. Grace hadn’t even noticed that the van had stopped. Moments later she was shivering in a desolate courtyard with the other women prisoners. It was late afternoon, already dark, and there was snow on the ground. In front of Grace was a depressing gray stone building. Behind her, and to the left and right, were row after row of barbed-wire fences, jutting violently into the purple night sky. Grace was ashamed to find herself crying.

  “Welcome to Bedford Hills, ladies. Enjoy your stay.”

  IT WAS THREE HOURS BEFORE GRACE reached the cell she was to share with two other women. By that time, she knew she would not survive a week at Bedford Hills, never mind the rest of her life.

  I have to get out of here! I have to reach John Merrivale. John will get me out.

  The physical examination was the worst part. A brutal, degrading experience, it was designed to strip prisoners of all human dignity. It worked. Grace was forced to strip naked in a room full of people. A prison doctor inserted a speculum into her vagina and took a Pap smear. Next Grace was made to bend over while a latex-gloved finger probed her anus, presumably for hidden drugs. Her pubic hairs were pulled painfully in search of lice. Throughout the procedure prison guards of both sexes laughed and made disgusting, lewd comments. Grace felt as if she’d been raped.

  After that, she was herded like an animal into a tepid shower and told to wash with antiseptic soap that burned her skin. Next, still naked, she stood in line to have her long hair cropped boy-short. The haircut took all of fifteen seconds but it was a harrowing procedure, robbing Grace of her femininity, her entire identity as a woman. Grace never saw her own clothes again. They were gone, along with every other vestige of the person she had been on the outside. They even took her wedding ring, wrenching it painfully off her finger. In place of her old clothes, Grace was given three pairs of underwear, a bra that didn’t fit and a scratchy orange prison uniform two sizes too big for her.

  “In here.”

  A stocky, female prison guard opened the door of a cell and pushed Grace inside. Two Latina women lay on bunks in the grim, twelve-by-nine-foot box. They muttered something to each other in Spanish as Grace staggered in, but otherwise ignored her.

  Screwing up her courage, Grace turned to the guard. “There’s been a mistake. I’d like to see the warden, please. I believe I’v
e been transferred to the wrong facility.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. This is a maximum-security prison. I was convicted of fraud, not murder. I don’t belong here.”

  The Latina women’s eyes widened. But if the guard was shocked, she didn’t show it. “You can see the warden in the morning. Now you sleep.” The cell door closed.

  Grace lay back on her bunk. She couldn’t sleep. Her mind was racing.

  In the morning I’ll see the warden. I’ll be transferred to a better prison. That’s the first step. Then I can call John Merrivale and start my appeal.

  She should have called John in the first place. She didn’t know what stupid, childish impulse had made her turn to Honor instead. It was a hard thing to admit that she couldn’t trust her own family, but that was the reality. Grace had to face it.

  Lenny looked on John as a brother. John’s my family now. He’s all I’ve got.

  Clearly, hiring Frank Hammond had been a titanic mistake. But Grace couldn’t blame John for that. The point now was to move forward.

  Tomorrow. Things will be better tomorrow.

  FRANK HAMMOND SAT ALONE IN HIS car in a deserted parking lot. He watched the familiar figure of his client making his way toward him through the shadows. Every few seconds the man glanced over his shoulder nervously, afraid he was being watched.

  Big Frank thought, He looks so pathetic. So weak. Like a deer caught in the headlights. No one would suspect a man like that of doing something this audacious. I suppose that’s how he got away with it.

  The man got into the car and thrust a piece of paper into Frank Hammond’s hands.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s a receipt. The wire transfer went through an hour ago.”

  “To my offshore account?”

  “Of course. Just as we agreed.”

  “Thank you.”

  Twenty-five million dollars. It was a lot of money. But was it enough? After he’d publicly screwed up Grace Brookstein’s defense, Frank Hammond’s reputation was in tatters. He might never get hired again. Still, it was too late for regrets.