Danielle Steel: Lightning

The foreman was a woman in this case, and she called out their verdicts loudly and clearly. They began with Tom, and named each of the thirteen charges against him, and to each of them she responded with a single word. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. It droned on eternally, and again the same with Larry, and with Simon. There was a huge stir in the courtroom, and the press was going wild as the judge rapped his gavel furiously and called everyone to order.

And then it was Sam's turn, and this time, the verdict was “not guilty” to all the charges of embezzlement, but to all the charges relating to fraud, and conspiracy to commit fraud, he was found guilty. Alex sat rooted to the spot, as she looked at him. He stood very quietly, listening to the judge, who was saying that they were to return thirty days from that date for sentencing, and he would take their cases, and their probation reports, under advisement until then. They were each being released on five-hundred-thousand-dollars bail, which meant a fifty-thousand-dollar bond, which Sam had put up for himself as soon as he was arrested. And then the judge reminded each of them that they were not to leave the state or country. He then rapped his gavel, and dismissed the court, and there was an instant uproar. Photographers flashed photographs of all of them and Alex had to fight to get where Sam was standing with Phillip.

Sam looked like he was in shock when she got to him, and there were tears in his eyes, understandably. Larry's and Tom's wives were sobbing openly, but she said nothing to them. And Simon left the courtroom almost immediately with his lawyer.

“I'm so sorry, Sam,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear her, as someone took their picture.

“Let's get out of here,” he said miserably, and she leaned over to Phillip then to ask him if he needed to talk to his client, but he shook his head. He was very disappointed by the verdict. Now all their efforts would be to reduce sentencing, but there was little chance of that now. Sam was going to prison.

She followed him outside, as news cameras and microphones were shoved into their faces, and finally they darted through the crowd and into a cab before anyone could stop them.

“Are you all right?” she asked him. He looked terrible, and she was suddenly worried he'd have a heart attack or a stroke. At fifty that wasn't completely impossible, although it was unlikely.

“I don't know. I think I'm numb. I kept telling myself I expected it, but I guess I didn't …let's go to the Carlyle.”

But at the hotel, they found reporters waiting for him. They went around to the Madison Avenue side, and hurried in, and he asked her if she'd come upstairs with him for a few minutes. And once there, he called room service and ordered drinks for both of them. Scotch for him, and coffee for her. She wasn't a drinker.

“I don't know what to say,” Alex said honestly, she was bereft of words. All she had left were feelings. Grief for him, and Annabelle who was about to lose her father, for twenty years or more. It was impossible to think of.

It was going to be hard on everyone until sentencing, but now they just had to live through it. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked helplessly. She felt almost as helpless as he had when he found out she had cancer. There was nothing she could do to change it.

“Take good care of Annabelle,” he said, and then burst into tears. He sat with his face in his hands for a long time, sobbing, and she said nothing, and walked over to him and gently held his shoulders. When room service came, she signed for it, and brought the tray in herself, and handed him the Scotch. He took it gratefully, and apologized for his lack of composure.

“Don't be silly, Sam. It's all right,” she said gently, touching his shoulder. But there was nothing they could do. He had been found guilty, and he'd have to go to prison. They knew that.

He took a sip of his drink and looked at her. “It can't have felt any better when they told you you had cancer.”

“It didn't,” she confirmed, and then smiled sadly. “But I'd rather have chemotherapy than go to jail.”

He laughed cynically at what she'd said, and took another swig of Scotch. “Thanks. I don't think they're offering the option.”

“Believe me, you wouldn't like it.”

“I remember that,” he said sorrowfully, feeling grim at how he had failed her. “My God, you were sick. I kept blocking it out because I couldn't stand it. I even let Daphne help me do it. She kept feeling sorry for me instead of you, and I agreed with her completely. We were really nice people. Mr. and Miss Terrific.” He looked into Alex's eyes , grateful beyond words that she had survived it.

“Have you heard from her?” she asked out of curiosity, and he shook his head.

“Not a word, the little dear. I'm sure she's moved on to greener pastures. She'll fall on her feet, wherever she is. Daphne's a smart girl, when it comes to Daphne.” And then he looked at his wife with an expression of immeasurable sadness. “Why are you here? You shouldn't be by now.” It was true, but she was a faithful sort and they both knew that. Besides, Brock was right. Eighteen years had woven a powerful bond between them.

“I loved you for a long time. It's hard to forget that,” she said honestly, no longer afraid that he would hurt her. She knew he couldn't. She was too far removed now.

“You'd better forget it soon,” Sam said. “Thirty days. I'll file before that, by the way. I'm sure your young lawyer friend will be relieved. The poor guy looks daggers at me everytime he sees me. Tell him he can relax now, I'm going.” She smiled at the irony of his words. They knew each other well. He had finally figured out who Brock was. Though he'd been a lot slower than she had been in figuring out Sam's relationship to Daphne. But there were no secrets between them now. “Isn't he a little young for you?” There was a hint of jealousy in his voice when he asked, which reminded her of Brock and made her smile. They were both being silly.

“I say that to him every day, but he's very stubborn.” Alex smiled, thinking of Brock. “He was incredible to me when I was sick. He spent the first five months with me throwing up on the bathroom floor of my office before he ever invited me anywhere.”

“He's a good man,” Sam said fairly. “I wish I'd been decent enough to do that.” And then he thought of the result of the trial again, and shrugged unhappily. “Maybe it's just as well I didn't stick by you. I don't want to take you down with me on this. You need your freedom.”

“So do you,” she said gently.

“Tell it to the judge,” he said, and stood up. He knew he had no right to keep her any longer, and it only made him feel worse to be near her. It was so obviously over for her, it was hard being around her. “Tell Annabelle I'll come by tomorrow to pick her up. I want to do lots of things with her this month.” He only had one month of freedom left, probably, and he was going to spend it all with her. He would have liked to spend it with Alex too, but he would never have asked that. He knew he couldn't.

Alex was sad when she went home to Annabelle that night, and Brock called to say he had seen it on the news and was sorry. He was working late, and he'd come over in a while, but when he did, Alex was irritated by his attitude about Sam. He was supercilious and overtly pleased that Sam had been convicted. He said that Sam had messed up his life in every way possible, and basically deserved what had happened.

“I think twenty years in jail might be a pretty high price for his mess, wouldn't you say? Who the hell hasn't made mistakes? He was stupid and self-centered, and naively trusting of his partners, but he doesn't deserve to lose everything, nor does Annabelle because of his mistakes. She needs her father.”