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've 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.
"I trust you were happy with the job?"
His client smiled. "Very happy. She trusted you completely."
"Then our business is concluded."
Frank Hammond started the engine. His client put a hand on his arm.
"There are no grounds for appeal, are there?"
"None whatsoever. Unless, of course, the FBI happens to find that missing money. But that's not going to happen, is it, John?"
"No. It isn't. N-not in this lifetime."