"Off the record. Not so brave now, are you, you little p.r.i.c.k?"

"What do you want?"

"When the mikes come back on, which has to be fast because we're going to say it's a technical error, we're going to negotiate a plea deal."

"I'm not talking to you without my lawyer."

"Shut up and listen. You take the conviction. Plead out. We'll give you a light sentence. Two years."

Two years of my life for something I didn't even do? I was about tell him what I thought about that, and him, and his ugly necktie, when he raised his hand.

"I know it's a s.h.i.tty deal. Here's the other condition."

He dropped a folder on the table. My chains rattled as I pulled it to me and spread it open.

Pictures of me and Brittany. At the pizza parlor. Surveillance stills of me walking into the vault after she did.

So what? Were they threatening her, or...

Oh.

Oh G.o.d.

"We show the girl the pictures. Proof you've been f.u.c.king another woman."

"I didn't," I snap. "I never, this is a lie-"

"That's not you?"

"It is. I was working with her to gather evidence on..." I trailed off.

"Working with her missionary, or bent over the desk?"

"a.s.shole," I snarled. "f.u.c.k you. I'm not taking any deal. You don't have s.h.i.t on me, I didn't do anything illegal. So go f.u.c.k yourself."

He made a gesture. The tapes were rolling again. I couldn't tell, exactly, I could just feel it.

Christ.

"So," he said, "Let's talk deal."

"Lawyer," I said.

Four hours of pleading, yelling, threatening, arguing, reasoning, and then finally stony silence, and I never said another word.

I was one hundred percent certain that Eve would take my side, that she would never, ever believe a filthy lie about me cheating on her.

I didn't figure on one thing.

I didn't figure on Brittany backing up their bulls.h.i.t.

Chapter Seventeen.

Victor It was a long six weeks in that solitary cell. Technically, it was a luxury, to protect the rich boy from general population. I was in jail, not yet in prison, where they house petty criminals serving short sentences along with people who've been arrested and charged but not yet tried, or are undergoing trial. Still, there were plenty of people there that would get off on teaching the rich boy a lesson. They let me out to eat lunch, at least, and I got an hour of exercise a day.

I spent that pacing in circles in a caged-in pen, by myself, watched by a guard who looked about as interested in me as I was in the cracks on the floor, which depending on the day could be not at all or very intensely. I had my lawyer in the first twenty-four hours. He was a friend of my Dad's, a good guy named Morty Grieg. He brought with him a partner, a woman named Claire Barnes. Together, they promised me they would take care of all of this.

They didn't.

The trial lasted for seventeen days. That translated to three weeks, since we skipped a Wednesday because a juror had a doctor's appointment and the trial did not continue on Fridays. Everything was very stiff and formal. This was federal court, I was charged with federal crimes. Insider trading, wire fraud, and embezzlement.

The biggest piece of evidence was the papers in my attache, and all the papers in the vault with my fingerprints on them. Brittany wasn't watching Martin, she was setting me up. She showed me paper after paper, even had me sign stuff, and I didn't realize what I was doing. The vault recorded every time I was in and out and there were signatures from the sign-in books, and they brought in people to testify that I'd been seen more frequently in the office for the last six weeks or so. I just sat there and absorbed it. My lawyers would tear them apart. It didn't mean jack s.h.i.t, there was no proof I actually did anything, only that I knew. I was waiting for the big Perry Mason moment when my lawyers would turn and dramatically accuse Martin where he sat in the gallery with Mom and Eve.

Any comfort that thought might bring me turned to ashes in my mouth when I saw her. Eve looked like somebody died. Her eyes were always red, and there were tracks burned in her cheeks from crying. She looked like a drowned rat in ill fitting clothes, staring down at the floor most of the time with my mother's arm around her, listening.

They had other evidence. It was all bulls.h.i.t but they had it.

They spun a story and it went like this: Some three years ago when I started sleeping with Martin's daughter, I began scheming to get rid of him, because he could catch me at my games. According to the prosecution, I'd been running the company behind the scenes for two full years while Martin was in the dark, trying to put out my fires without knowing the cause. His main concern was maintaining the trust and my family's accounts, and his wife.

I wanted to throw up.

My instrument to achieve this was Brittany. She lied to me, she hadn't been working with the company for a few weeks, she'd been working at Amsel since she graduated from college herself, almost four years ago.

According to them, it was two years ago when we started the affair.

Immunity. They gave her immunity to testify against me.

The rest of it was a blur, but I remember the day she said her piece with crystalline, focused clarity.

She sat in the witness box in a dark suit, like she was going to a funeral. Her frizzy hair was smoothed, bound in a severe bun. She looked twice as old as she did the day I met her, but she had a childlike vulnerability that must have absolutely wowed the jury. She sat primly in the box and waited.

Ronald Powers asked the questions himself.

"Can you tell us your full name?"

"Brittany Lynne Andrews."

They had her swear in. No book or So Help Me G.o.d like TV, it was all very formal.

When she was done with that he looked over at me and said, "Can you identify that man, please."

"His name is Victor Amsel."

"Thank you. Can you describe the nature of your relationship with him?"

She cleared her throat, and turned red. It was very, very convincing. I would have been fooled myself. She looked guiltily at the jury, looked past me at Eve, and never once set her eyes on me. She swallowed hard and said, "For the last two years, he and I were engaged in a s.e.xual affair."

You could hear a pin drop, except for the soft sound of weeping. Eve.

I didn't look at her. I couldn't make myself.

Stop it, I thought. I was starting to get angry with her. How dare she believe this bulls.h.i.t. My hands clenched into fists.

Morty grabbed my arm. "Quiet," he murmured.

"That's not at issue here," Powers said, slyly. "What else can you tell us about your relationship?"

"It is an issue," she said, calmly. "That's how it started. I didn't know he had a girlfriend. I'm older, dedicated to my career. I didn't get out much, and the heir to the company was showering me with attention, but he was just using me."

"How was he using you?"

She sniffed and scrubbed at her eyes. "He needed me to cover his tracks. He's been stealing money from the company and running bust-outs on some of the companies Amsel bought into for over two years now. I kept notes."

"You did?"

"I did. I thought... I thought he was going to... propose to me," she said, sighing. "He bought an engagement ring. He took me with him to look at it, but it was for her. Then he came to me with this plan. He was going to blow everything open and blame his stepfather. He needed to get rid of him. Everything we did was a constant game of cat and mouse, avoiding Martin Ross catching us in the act. I was terrified. When I wanted to stop, he threatened me."

"Threatened you?"

"Yes. He said I was nothing to someone like him, he could make me disappear with a phone call and no one would care. I was scared, so I started putting together a file. Like insurance. I started getting material to tie him to his crimes. Then I found out he was going to propose to Martin's daughter. He... he hit me," she broke down, "he said if I told anyone about us he'd kill me himself, and-"

"Objection," Morty snarled, "This is all hearsay, and-"

"Overruled," the judge said, calmly.

I blinked. It wasn't supposed to work like that. I mean, the whole objection-overruled thing is a TV schtick, right? They usually go talk in the judge's office and s.h.i.t. What the h.e.l.l was this? Morty was purple, beside himself with fury. His partner leaned over and whispered.

"Let them. This is all fodder for the appeal. They don't have anything on you, Vic. They have no evidence. What they do have points to Martin!"

There was a commotion behind me. Mom and Martin led Eve out of the gallery. She was sobbing, her shoulders shaking. She was completely breaking down and there was nothing I could do. I was chained to the f.u.c.king floor. The bailiff gave me the stink eye if I even thought about getting up, like he just knew.

The rest of Brittany's testimony was boring. Dates and places we met, half of them fabricated.

It went on for almost five hours. There was a lot of information.

That evening, I was led out of the holding cell. Morty and Claire were waiting for me in the fish tank, with Powers. The guards sat me down, chained me to the table, and stepped out.

"We're here for a plea bargain," Morty said to me, his voice heavy with doubt.

"This is what happens," said Powers, seating himself across from me. "You had your shot, rich boy. You sign the papers now and take this plea agreement. If you do not, tomorrow we will call Evelyn Ross to the stand and ask her several very pointed questions.

"About what?"

"Where you were, what you were doing, and where you told her you were on several key dates."

"This is bulls.h.i.t," Claire declared, firmly. "Don't take anything, don't sign anything, Vic."

"How long?" I rasped.

"Six years. Five with good behavior."

"Their case is a joke," Morty said to me. "This is a formality. Don't take the deal."

"If I don't take it, you call Eve to testify," I said.

"That's right," Powers said, softly. "What do you think about that?"

"Six years. Five with good behavior."

I slid the papers over to Morty. "Read this and make sure he's not lying about what it says."

"Vic..." Claire said, pleading with me.

"Just do it."

Morty gave me a sad look. "For the sake of the love I bore your father, don't sign this."

"Is it legit?"

"Yea. You'll be pleading to lesser chargers, they agreed to drop a couple."

"It doesn't matter. I could go to jail for a week and I still lose my inheritance."

"Prison," Powers corrected. "Jail is for pre-trial detention. Your inheritance. Oh no, we couldn't have you lose that."

"I don't give a f.u.c.k about my inheritance. Just leave Evelyn alone."

I signed the papers. I signed my life away.

I couldn't let them put Eve up there. I had to find another way. I just needed to talk to her.

Things proceeded. Eve did not attend the trial after that. It wasn't much of one. The judge read over the agreement, approved it. Words were said. I was remanded to custody.

I went to prison.

First thing, it wasn't like the movies. There wasn't a whole thing with a bunch of guys shouting fresh fish, nor was I going to a hardcore supermax. In fact, I was going to medium security, one step above let-you-out-on weekends. They were not letting me out on weekends. I had to go through the whole procedure again, get a new uniform, still bright orange.

It was pretty late when they led me into my cell and I met my cellmate. I didn't know what to expect. He was on the bottom bunk, reading a book propped open in the biggest, hairiest hands I've ever seen. Every part of him was hairy except for his shiny bald egg head. I thought he was fat at first but he was all ma.s.s, moving with a strange grace when I walked into the cell carrying an armful of cheap, stiff linens. My mattress looked more like a blanket. It didn't matter. It could be a king-size memory foam whatever and it would be the worst bed in the world without Eve. It was starting to sink in that it was all over, that I would never be waking up next to her again. I must have just stood there for a while.

"Vitali," my cellmate announced, thrusting out his hand.

I dropped my things on the top bunk and took his hand. He gave me a firm, almost brutal shake.