Fifth Avenue in Chicago. “Mrs. Rawlings, did you use your credit card on these occasions?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?” he asked, pointing at a photo.
“I am in Manhattan.”
“So you are shopping in Manhattan. The inhumanity of this prison! How much did you have to spend, or let me ask, do you know how much you spent on this particular shopping trip?”
Claire did. “Yes, I spent $ 5,000. But I was told to—”
“Mrs. Rawlings, let’s continue. Did you have a credit card once you were married?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever have the opportunity to use it?”
“Yes.”
He was looking right at her. “This money thing wasn’t so bad now, was it?”
“I didn’t want the money. I don’t want the money. I told Tony that I didn’t care about his money—”
Showing Claire an e-mail address and telephone number, “Mrs. Rawlings do you recognize this e-mail address?”
“Yes.”
“It is yours. Is that correct?”
“Yes, it is, but—”
“Mrs. Rawlings, whose cell phone number is this?”
“Mine.”
“Mrs. Rawlings, I thought that you said you were isolated, no way to communicate. Let me see, I believe I have photos of you and your husband in Hawaii, Lake Tahoe, San Francisco, and yes, in Europe. Mrs. Rawlings, did you enjoy the south of France?” Claire’s head pounded with increasing intensity.
Mr. Evergreen went into a long tirade about how an unemployed weather girl deep in debt latched on to a lonely wealthy businessman with no heirs. This was an entrepreneur that not only made his fortune through hard work but was highly regarded due to his benevolent endeavors. She then seduced him into employing her as a live-in prostitute and lured him into marrying her without a prenuptial agreement. Given the perfect opportunity, this tawdry woman put poison into her poor unsuspecting husband’s coffee. If that wasn’t enough, sent his driver away on a wild-goose chase and drove away. It would have worked, except that with technology as it was, fifteen people witnessed the collapse and help arrived in time. The prosecution had many character witnesses that would testify to the generous spirit and good-heartedness of Mr. Rawlings. No one will back her slanderous accusations of this respectable man.
Hadn’t Claire been told over and over again that appearances were everything? The small room became smaller. Claire’s head hurt, her heart hurt. She saw the pictures and the expressions of her attorneys. She heard Marcus Evergreen’s accusations and tasted the sour bile as her stomach twisted and turned.
We cannot change our memories, but we can change their meaning and the power they have over us.
—David Seamands
Chapter 50
He stared at the paint on the cinder block wall. Why did they always use that pale green? If it was supposed to look cheery, it failed. Anton continued to watch the wall even though he’d heard the door and knew the guard and prisoner had entered. He couldn’t bear to see his grandfather being led around.
Anton waited, hands in pockets, until he heard the door close again. Turning around, he met the eyes, the dark defiant eyes. If his grandfather were wearing a suit and if the metal table were a mahogany desk, Nathaniel would look like he did in Anton’s memory. His expression hadn’t changed. They may’ve put him in this damn prison, but they sure as hell weren’t keeping his mind here.
“So, boy, did you learn his identity?” Cole Mathews worked side by side with Nathaniel Rawls for almost two years. The day before Nathaniel’s arrest, he didn’t show for work. He didn’t call. He disappeared. Almost a year later, information that only insiders would know helped lead to Mr. Rawls’s conviction. The only released information was that an FBI agent had been embedded to investigate federal allegations. Of course, to protect his identity, his name was never released. But this was the eighties, and Anton Rawls knew his way around a computer better than most. Hacking was such a negative term for research.
Anton placed the manila folder in front of his grandfather. “Yes, sir. I found his name and enough personal information to track him down.”
“I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” He opened the folder and scanned the contents. “He has a wife and family.” He spent a few more minutes reading the pages. Then abruptly, he shut the folder, slamming his hand against the table. “This son of a bitch will pay!” His chair hit the wall as he forcefully stood. “Do you hear me, boy?”
“Yes, sir, I hear you.” Anton watched as his grandfather paced in his prison garb.