Текст книги "Truth "
Автор книги: Aleatha Romig
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Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 42 страниц)
Published by Aleatha Romig
Author’s Edition 2012
Copyright © 2012 Aleatha Romig
978-0-9884891-0-3 ISBN Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Acknowledgements
Continued appreciation to my patient family! Thank you for allowing me to pursue my dream and spend hour after hour living in a world created upon my well-worn, slightly damp laptop! (a few tears and some wine!)
A million thank yous to my prized group of readers! Val, Heather, Sherry, Kelli, and Angie... TRUTH would not have materialized as it did without your help. Your honest comments and opinions along with your time and energy helped me in ways I can never express!
Thank you to the many readers of CONSEQUENCES. It may be because I’m new at this, or because I care, but I have read every review and have seen every rating. It thrills me to learn readers feel as passionate about my characters as I do. Hopefully, the twists and turns of TRUTH will be as enthralling and unexpected as those in CONSEQUENCES.
My very last acknowledgement is to Claire Nichols and Anthony Rawlings... never in my wildest dreams did I expect your story to find its way into the hearts of so many!
Be prepared, their saga will continue with CONVICTED, due out the end of 2013!
It has been said that something as small as the flutter of a butterfly's wing can ultimately cause a typhoon halfway around the world. —Chaos Theory
Prologue
July 2011...
The tires of their Chevy Equinox bounced along the worn pavement and dilapidated surface of Bristol Road. Peering through the windshield at the signs of a dying city, Rich Bosley wondered if this was how the old west felt when the gold rush ended. Acres and acres of fenced concrete occupied each side of the decrepit street. At one time during Flint, Michigan’s prime, cars filled these parking lots twenty-four hours a day. Three shifts of workers came and went from these factories. Today it represented urban decay at its utmost.
In 1908 General Motors opened their newly founded headquarters in Flint. Generations of workers walked through the doors; each generation believed theirs would do better than the one before. The tides turned with the oil crisis of the seventies and the nationwide plant closings of the eighties.
But, like rain to the parched ground, optimism returned to Flint at the turn of the century. GM invested 60 million dollars to upgrade the plant. Over 2,000 hourly workers and 180 salaried workers frequented the building they passed. Honest work for honest pay. This blue collar haven once again bustled with activity.
Then during the latter part of the first decade, the auto industry suffered collapse. Some plants scheduled for closing were saved by private investors. Businessmen and women gave hope where hope was lost. These saviors required assistance. Workers agreed to lesser wages. The dream for better became a need for anything. Michigan’s government granted tax breaks in the supreme effort to keep the factories open and give people purpose.
The tax breaks expired. Workers were asked to accept even lower wages. It was inconsequential; the economy couldn’t support the product. Only the bottom line mattered. With no incentive to keep the doors open, men and women in insulated executive offices, miles away, made lofty decisions. The result filled Rich’s view: building upon empty building, decaying skeletons of what once was.
Rich thought about his father’s recent proposal. The prospect of moving back to Iowa felt like defeat. After all, was the banking business better in Iowa than in Michigan? The economy was a national issue. Rich and his wife, Sarah, had faith in this city. They were willing to work to make it better for their son and children to come.
Rich peered to his right and smiled at his lovely wife engrossed in her magazine. “How can you read with all of these bumps?” Her normally styled hair hung from the opening in her baseball cap, and her business attire replaced with jeans and a Tiger’s t-shirt. It was their son’s first year of baseball, rookie league. It was more about learning team work than learning baseball. However, if you ask the players, it was more about snacks. Sarah provided homemade cupcakes – a homerun!
“I’m just so amazed by this article.”
“What are you reading?”
“Vanity Fair. It’s the cover story from a couple months ago. I forgot I’d left the magazine in here. I just found it.” Rich nodded; he wasn’t interested. “It’s about Anthony Rawlings and his wife. Didn’t your dad go to their wedding?”
“Yes, I think so. It’s one of the perks of being Richard Bosley, the great governor of Iowa. You get to smooze with big donors.”
“I remember him mentioning it. It sounds amazing.” Sarah rambled, “The wedding was at their estate. So that means your dad went to their estate?”
“I guess. I’m honestly not impressed.”
“Why not? It sounds like they’re both involved in charity work. Did you know his wife was a bartender when he met her?”
“The man makes his money harming other people.”
“It doesn’t sound like that. It sounds like an amazing love story. Can you imagine, being an out of work meteorologist, working as a bartender, and falling in love with one of the countries billionaires?”
“Again, where did those billions come from?”
“It says something about the internet.”
“Yes. According to my father that’s where it started. Anthony Rawlings has managed to take that start and feed off of the unfortunate circumstances of others. He’s personally unemployed enough people to fill these factories.”
“He also employs enough people to fill these factories.” Sarah peered at the barren landscape. “I think people are just jealous. I mean, I could be. What woman wouldn’t love to suddenly have Claire Rawlings’ life?”
The sound of their son’s voice refocused the couple’s thoughts. Instead of dwelling on urban decay and the nation’s economy, Rich saw the blond hair of hope in the backseat. “Dad, I need to pee.” Ryan pleaded wide eyed at his dad in the rearview mirror.
“Ryan, we’ll be home in a few minutes. You can wait.”
“No, Dad, I can’t. I gots to pee now!”
Rich’s eyes met his wife’s. Her expression said everything he already knew; this wasn’t the neighborhood to stop. If they could just drive a little further. However, Ryan’s voice whined and his little legs fidgeted with need. “I see a gas station. Stop, pl-ea-se.” The last word elongated into three extended syllables.
Against his better judgment Richard Bosley II, turned the Equinox into a parking space outside of a Speedway. He turned to his wife, “I’ll go in with him. Besides, it’s the middle of the day, and it doesn’t look busy.”
Sarah smiled and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Okay guys, let’s get this over with and back on the road. We have a baseball game to watch. I recorded the whole thing. Ryan, wait until you see yourself get that great hit!”
A film of smudge and finger prints plastered the heavy glass doors. Rich scanned the interior looking for the sign indicating a restroom. The odor of hot dogs cooked to the firmness of rubber permeated their senses. Merchandise sat sparsely upon shelves that packed the room, leaving no discernible path. The dirt and scuffs upon the cracked linoleum were the true indicators of foot traffic. Looking to the cashier, Rich noticed the small unsecured cubical. He scanned the glass square for help, but saw only empty chairs. Then he noticed the open drawer of the cash register.
“Dad, I see the sign.” Ryan’s voice cut the thick silent air.
Suddenly, a commotion of racket resonated from the hallway containing the bathrooms. Some moments hang suspended in time as if the electrons slow, protons release their pull, and atoms no longer cement into matter; for example, the second a newborn baby releases its first cry. Some instants occur in a flash; like lightening refusing capture upon film. Others are an amalgamation.
A thick man moved toward them, his face concealed behind a black ski mask. Rich’s first thought, it’s July, why would you wear a ski mask? was only a blimp before the realization of their situation, “Run! Back to the car!” The words cascaded from his lips with alarm and authority.
Preoccupied with the search of her purse, Sarah’s husband’s tone propelled her to flight. She seized her son’s small hand and spun toward the smudged glass door. The echoing pop of gunfire erupted so abruptly she never saw her husband fall and thankfully neither did Ryan. The last thing either of them saw was the shower of red as their blood added another dimension to the filth on the floor and windows.
Months earlier and miles away a business executive chose to close a stamping plant no longer showing profits. That one decision resulted in thousands of unemployed workers. One of which was a father with a sick child and no wife. In a moment of desperation the out of work father decided his only option to pay the mounting medical bills and save his son, was crime. A few robberies later, with money too attractive and too easy, he had a new profession…
There is no limit to what a man can do, or where he can go,
if he does not mind who gets the credit.
—Charles Edward Montague
Chapter 1
Looking around his office, Richard Bosley I contemplated his place in history. The stately office reeked of prestige. Impressive bookshelves covered the walls, and his mahogany desk created a platform of regality. The flags of both the United States and Iowa hung conspicuously behind his leather chair. Only fifteen months into his second term as governor, he had so many goals to accomplish. The voters rallied around him after the tragic death of his only son and his family. They put their trust in him, in his ideas, and in his values. Staring at the family photo of him with his son, daughter-in-law, and grandson, he questioned his own values. Perhaps they’d been too lofty. Perhaps if he had stayed out of public office... things would have been different.
The cold March Iowa wind blew outside the window and created a low howl through the insulated panes. Seeing his reflection against the black night sky, Richard Bosley I knew the truth: “perhapses” meant nothing! His family was gone and his third round of chemo would start tomorrow. The second round took his hair and energy. The third may very well take his life. If it didn’t, the cancer surely would. Seeing his gaunt reflection and viewing his hands, he saw the gray pallor. His skin was merely an oversized casing, loosely hanging over his bones. It reminded him how life wasn’t fair. He prayed death would be.
Richard Bosley I would officially resign as governor of Iowa at a press conference scheduled for tomorrow at noon. The lieutenant governor, Sheldon Preston, would immediately be sworn in office for the remaining term. Tonight, alone in the executive office, Governor Bosley chose to make decisions. He had nothing left to lose. To hell with the executive board; tonight the only opinion that mattered was his.
Who can truly say if good done for the wrong reason was still good? Right now, his soul told him to take another look. Do not leave this place of power without knowing you’ve done all that you can do. Easing himself into the splendid leather chair, he decided to do just that. History would write itself.
The stack of petitions for pardon were discussed, debated, and decreased. The news of his impending resignation spurred many requests. The executive board reviewed the multiple petitions for pardon and decided upon ten. Ten applicants now serving time in one of Iowa’s penitentiaries who would soon be free. Ten people, who tomorrow would be informed their verdict was overturned and their sentence was over. Governor Bosley eyed the stack of pages to his left. Within that stack were eleven other people. According to the board of review, these inmates would remain in prison. They would serve out their sentences as handed down by the mighty and lofty judges of this great state.
With trembling hands, more from the chemicals within his veins than emotion, Governor Bosley reviewed the stack of prisoners destined to remain behind bars for the eternity of their sentence.
The lists of offenses varied: rapists, burglars, prostitutes. Somehow through the diseased cells infiltrating his brain, Richard remembered his quest. One more time he leafed through the stack. Finally, he found the name he sought. Yes, she’d been married to Anthony Rawlings. Hell, he attended their wedding. Suddenly, Richard Bosley’s mouth formed a grin. There had been so few reasons to smile lately. The facial muscles would soon tire, but he enjoyed the brief euphoria.
He reread the file: Claire Nichols – no contest plea to the charge of attempted murder, thus not officially found guilty. Good behavior since incarceration. No marks of disobedience. No prior offenses. Sentenced to seven years. Served fourteen months. With the multitude of sins represented by the prisoners already scheduled for pardon, Governor Bosley could question why the executive board allowed this woman to remain in prison. However, he knew. The board consisted of five individuals of political power or at least promise in Iowa, and each served a four year term. Everyone knew, success in Iowa wasn’t found by crossing Anthony Rawlings.
Richard Bosley I found himself with the rare opportunity to avenge his son’s death. Dealing with politicians and individuals like Anthony Rawlings taught him many things. Closing his eyes, he saw the esteemed businessman smiling, shaking hands, and making promises. However, Governor Bosley knew Rawlings’ decision to close that plant in Flint, Michigan, cost dearly. It may not be Christian to seek revenge, but looking at the page before him, he pondered how anyone but God could present him this opportunity.
Without a second thought, Governor Richard Bosley signed his name to the bottom of the petition. He took the official Iowa stamp and made the document legal. Yes, the original ten names of prisoners receiving pardons were already released to the press. It would be all right. The newspapers would momentarily miss this great human interest story: “State Official Rights a Wrong and Releases Ex-wife of Top Executive from Prison.” The newspaper wouldn’t miss the aftermath. Richard Bosley I was confident Mr. Rawlings’s publicist would somehow spin this in his direction. However, just maybe, by avoiding the first list of pardons, Ms. Nichols would have the opportunity to write her own story.
The following day, in front of local and national press, Governor Bosley signed ten petitions. Under the Iowa State Constitution, a pardoned person was entitled to an expunction of all arrest records relating to the conviction. A full pardon restored all citizenship rights forfeited by law as the result of a criminal conviction and officially nullifies the punishment or other legal consequences of the crime. The person will forever be regarded as innocent and regain the status as if she never committed the offense for which she was convicted.
Most importantly, a pardon granted by a state executive was final and irrevocable. Governor Bosley placed the ten documents into the manila folder already containing one. Smiling weakly at the cameras he stood and walked to the podium. “Ladies and gentleman, you witnessed my final act as governor of this great state. It’s with a solemn heart today that I resign from this prestigious office…”
The clerk took the manila folder and placed each document inside its appropriate envelope. Counsel representing each individual would be contacted, prisoners would be informed, and if accepted by each prisoner, the pardon could not be overturned. Finally, the courts would be notified of each pardon. With so much activity and emotion, even the clerk didn’t realize she had filed eleven pardons instead of ten.
*****
Down the street from the State House, in another office building Jane Allyson, Attorney, paced nervously around her small office willing her telephone to ring. This was her first petition for pardon. She’d waited anxiously for verdicts from juries, verdicts that determined the freedom and future of her clients. Somehow this seemed different – surreal. Her client had already lost her freedom and future by willingly pleading no contest to the charge of attempted murder.
Jane remembered standing next to Ms. Nichols with an overwhelming sense of helplessness – complete impotence – as they listened to the judge discuss the consequences of Claire’s plea. Early in law school, Jane learned to remain emotionally detached from her clients. She usually succeeded. It was a matter of survival. She wouldn’t be able to help the next client if her thoughts lingered on the one she failed. However, that day, a year ago, Jane wanted to sit and cry with Claire Nichols. It was all so wrong.
Time passes and seasons change. New clients come and go. Opportunities arise. Esquire Allyson now practiced with a firm in the heart of Iowa’s capital. Life was busy. Jane moved on – until three days earlier, when a courier delivered a certified letter labeled: Confidential: Esquire Jane Allyson. Within the envelope she found the completed Petition for Pardon for Claire Nichols. No work on Jane’s part was required, except to sign as representing counsel. The attached typed note was short:
Ms. Allyson, Perhaps you remember a client from about a year ago, Claire Nichols. Enclosed please find a petition for pardon to Governor Bosley. As you are probably aware, his time in office is short. This MUST reach his office today. All that is required of you is your signature. Enclosed please find a certified check to reimburse you for your undertaking. Thank you.
Perhaps it was the check – $100,000, made payable to Cash or the unsigned note, but accepting this assignment screamed wrong. What attorney in her right mind would accept a task and payment from an unknown source? Her future as well and law license may hinge on this decision. Jane knew she should consult the partners of her firm. That was her intent, until the small digital readout at the bottom of her computer screen caught her attention: 4:32 PM. The governor’s office was a ten minute walk.
Jane delivered the signed petition.
Now, she nervously awaited the future. The governor’s decision was made. Jane had watched his press conference on the web. Pacing her office, she continued to question the ethics and legality of her decision. If her telephone never rang, if the pardon wasn’t granted, no one would ever know she filed the petition. The check would remain in her file cabinet. No matter the governor’s decision, cashing the check seemed immoral and unethical.
On the wall in an impressive oak frame, matted against distinguished slate backing was her diploma from the University of Iowa, College of Law. The official seal reflected light even through the glass. Could her decision to help this woman and accept this assignment void those years of education?
She continued to pace the carpeted floor. She had plenty of work she could be doing. But, with the press conference an hour ago, she couldn’t concentrate on anything except willing her phone to ring. If the call didn’t come soon, it never would.
The memories of Claire Nichols’ case flooded Jane’s thoughts. The idea to request a pardon had never occurred to her, but it was a good idea. The part that scared her – hell, it must have scared the person who sent her the application – was Anthony Rawlings. The man was extremely influential. There would be repercussions if the pardon was actually granted. Jane pushed those thoughts away. She couldn’t think about that now. She could only wait.
Lost in her own thoughts, the ringing of her telephone made her heart race and body flinch. Momentarily, she stared at the devise. Was it her imagination? Were the sounds truly resonating from the small plastic telephone? Reaching for the receiver, with a trembling hand, she utilized her courtroom skills and steadied her voice. “Hello, yes, this is Jane Allyson…”
Jane’s grip upon the steering wheel blanched her knuckles. The drive from Des Moines to Mitchellville took less than thirty minutes, and at two fifteen in the afternoon traffic wasn’t an issue. The issue which lingered in Jane’s mind was her continual work under the radar. No one on planet Earth knew what she was doing. It added to the mystery.
The dichotomous March sky stretched before her, gray upon gray. The shades weren’t the same, yet they weren’t different. Just clouds upon clouds. Turning east onto highway I 80 Jane thought about the prisoner only a few miles ahead. In her briefcase, on the seat next to her, was the one page document that would change Claire Nichols’ life forever.
Three days ago, this document didn’t exist. Jane Allyson wondered about the petition and the check. Right or wrong, she decided to keep the assignment to herself. In the world of money and influence, anyone could be tempted to inform Anthony Rawlings of her impending quest.
She wasn’t accusing anyone, at any level, of wrong doing. It was only that Claire made claims, real valiant assertions and accusations. Like mist from a lake into the cool evening sky, her testimony evaporated. Over a year later, no one – not even nosey reporters – had the slightest inclination of the possible alternate personality of Iowa’s golden boy. Some small voice within Jane’s soul warned her not to share her current activities. Once complete, she would request a meeting with the partners of the firm. Hopefully, they would understand. At this moment, Jane chose to worry about Claire, instead of possible personal consequences.
Unbelievably, the list of pardoned individuals released to the media following the press conference didn’t include Claire Nichols. Yet, the document was in Jane’s possession. Pulling into the visitor’s parking area, Jane Allyson tingled with anticipation. Fourteen months ago she wasn’t able to help her client. Today she would.
The elation vaporized with an unexpected realization. Jane stood statuesque, her hand upon the door, immobilized by a thought, who has $100,000 available to free Claire from prison? She’d been so attached to the premise that it was someone who feared Anthony Rawlings. What if instead of someone who feared him, what if it was him? Could it be? But why?
By submitting the petition, instead of being a rebel, could Jane be a pawn? What if the freedom she was about to grant Claire was nothing more than an enticement to a web? Her hand held the door handle, and her stomach lurched. Jane couldn’t let these thoughts stop her forward progress. Claire Nichols deserved freedom. Jane needed to intercede and assure Claire’s freedom wasn’t only from the state of Iowa, but out of Iowa.
An eerie florescent glow illuminated the small dingy visitor’s room. The artificial light added to the coolness of the metal table and chairs. Jane continued to check her watch. How long does it take to bring a prisoner to this room?
The answer was thirteen minutes. Nearly thirteen minutes after Jane’s arrival to the small colorless room the door opened. Accompanied by a guard, Claire Nichols entered and sat in the opposing chair. She looked much as Jane remembered, with her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. Although her complexion was pale, even without makeup, her eyes were still the vivid green. Though similar in stature to herself, the prisoner appeared more petite inside her Iowa issued jumpsuit.
“Jane, I’m surprised to see you. Why are you here?” Claire’s inquiry sounded amazingly strong.
“Have you heard of a pardon?’
“Yes, it’s something the president does before he leaves office. Why?”
“Because it’s also something the governor does before leaving office.”
Claire’s green eyes narrowed as she searched for words. “I don’t understand.”
“Governor Bosley has cancer. He resigned from office today.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I believe he attended my wedding.” She paused momentarily contemplating the information, “What did you just say about a pardon?”
“Claire, he signed a number of pardons before his resignation. The one I came to talk to you about is yours.”
Claire heard Jane’s words. She tried diligently to process the information, but it wasn’t making sense. Words weren’t forming. Tears were.
Jane watched as her former client struggled with her new reality. “First, you must accept the pardon.” Jane pulled the paper from her brief case and placed it on the smooth surface in front of Claire. “Once you do, you are free.”
The prisoner stared at the document before her. She read her name and the charges. Governor Bosley’s signature was present with the official state stamp of Iowa. Only one line remained blank, the line for her signature. When her eyes left the paper and returned to the woman who’d been her defense counsel thirteen months ago, they sparkled with moisture which now coated her cheeks.
Claire needed reassurance. Too many times in her life she’d been deceived. “Why do I have a pardon… and free… what does that mean? Free as in free, or free as in I must be watched and monitored…” her voice faded into unsuppressed emotions.
Jane reached across the table and held Claire’s trembling hands. “If you sign this petition, you are free. A pardon means all charges are gone. They are expunged from your record. You are forgiven. You may leave this prison today and never look back.” As the words tumbled from Jane’s lips, Claire’s resolve melted. Her shoulders slumped and head bowed. Sounds didn’t indicate her sobs; it was the shuttering of her shoulders. Jane squeezed her hands. “You may go anywhere YOU want, whenever YOU want. Claire, where do you want to go?”
Her green eyes glistened as her gaze returned to her counsel. “Where do I want to go?” Claire’s mind spun, it had been so terribly long since she’d control of her future. “I don’t know.”
“I guess the first question you need to answer is: Do you accept the pardon?” Jane watched as Claire’s chest heaved. In desperation, the woman in orange attire nodded, words continued to fail her. “Then you need to sign the petition.” Claire nodded again.
It took some time for Jane to calm her client. Once done, they secured her signature. There was processing to do, but before this day was done, Claire would leave the penitentiary alongside Jane.
“When will I be released?” Claire found her voice, although more tentative than before.
“I’m not leaving today without you.”
Claire’s eyes beamed admiration toward her counsel. “What do I need to do?”
“Do you have anything in your cell you want to take with you?”
Claire debated her personal belongings. Yes, there were pictures, letters, research, and some tokens. She nodded.
“Then you go back to your cell with a guard. I’ll take this pardon to the main office. They’ll bring you to me in a short time.” Claire continued to nod in agreement. “I have some clothes in case the ones you wore during your arrest don’t fit. They’ll return all your belongings from that day.”
“Thank you.” Claire looked down at the table. “I don’t have any money to pay you for your work.”
Jane thought of the cashier’s check. “Let’s get you out of here, and then we’ll talk reimbursement.” Jane’s smile proved contagious. Claire returned the smile and squeezed Jane’s hands. “Before you go back to your cell, who can I call? Is there someone who can meet you? Someone to take you somewhere? Or do you want to stay in Iowa?” Jane silently prayed her client wanted to leave, and she had somewhere to go.
“Where can I go?”
“Anywhere you want. Who can I call?”
Claire contemplated the question. She wanted to leave Iowa and all its memories as soon as possible. But who could help her? She had no money. Her sister would come, but it would take her time. Besides, Emily didn’t have money either. Then she thought of someone, an albeit unlikely friend.
Many months ago, after receiving Anthony’s box of secrets, Claire decided to contact Amber McCoy, Simon Johnson’s fiancée. She felt a connection, two women done wrong by the actions of Anthony Rawlings. Today, Claire knew Amber was the one person who could help. “Amber McCoy, CEO of SiJo Gaming, Palo Alto, California. I don’t know her number.”
Writing everything down, Jane answered, “Don’t worry, I’ll get in contact with her before you reach me in the main office.”
“Thank you.” Claire stood and walked toward the door. With her hand in mid knock, she repeated, “Really Jane, thank you, I never expected this, ever.”
“We’ll talk more in the car. Now get your things, there is a big wonderful world waiting for you.” Jane watched as Claire lifted her head and squared her shoulders. Next, she knocked upon the door and was led to her cell. For a few more minutes Claire endured the indignation of her prisoner status. The guard didn’t know she was now a free woman. Unlike the last time, as Jane watched Claire escorted away, this time, she took comfort in knowing it was only temporary.
Jane wondered why it wasn’t more difficult. Removing a prisoner from a medium security penitentiary should be harder. Yet, with the governor’s signature and a piece of paper, Claire Nichols was now riding in the passenger seat of her Toyota Corolla, wearing jeans and hiking boots from fourteen months earlier.
