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 looked 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.
Chapter 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.