for the president of the United States, he thought, with that regal and confident bearing.
He was lucky to have her representing him.
“First things first,” she told him, her voice even, all business. “The arraignment Friday morning. How much do you know about the process?”
Blake missed the warmth, but calmed in the wake of her professionalism.
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Okay.” She nodded, fire-lit curls falling over her shoulders. Blake would give almost anything to be back nine years, losing himself in those curls, instead of sitting there facing possible imprisonment. “It goes like this…”
Blake fought to remain calm and attentive as she spent the next ten minutes describing the actual procedure of the upcoming hearing. As each second passed, a sense of calm grew more elusive. More than anything, he needed to be out on the beach. Running. As fast and as far as he could.
“I’m assuming, from all you’ve said, that you intend to enter a not-guilty plea.”
“Absolutely.” There was a measure of peace in just saying the word. Of having even this minute bit of control—this one thing about which he was completely certain.
“And another thing.” He could be cutting his own throat, but there was no room for compromise on this one. “We do this honestly.”
Juliet’s face hardened. “I always tell the truth.”
Where were all the years’ worth of people skills he’d acquired when he needed them most?
“Listen,” he said, rubbing his hands together as he leaned forward. “I don’t mean to offend you at all. I just know one thing about my life and particularly now, it’s all I have to stand on. I am always honest. I don’t play with the truth, or tell parts of it. I can lose my business, my health, my loved ones. In the end, all I have is my integrity and if I waver now when I’m facing the biggest challenge ever, then whether I beat the charges or not, I’ve lost everything.”
The words renewed his strength. At least for the moment.
“I understand.” Juliet crossed one leg over the other. “And I feel just as strongly about integrity as you do. I also happen to know that there are many levels of truth and sometimes you have to look beyond the obvious to get to the part that counts.”
A logical justification for living life in shades of gray? Or one of those mysterious understandings that made life rich and full?
He had no idea. And a lot to think about.
Juliet spoke then about release conditions.
Blake’s skin grew cold. Clammy. After his meeting with her in his office, he’d immersed himself in work. He hadn’t given any more thought to what happened next. “What does that mean?” He’d assumed when they hadn’t already arrested him that he was free, at least until after the trial.
“The judge will determine at the arraignment whether or not you should be held on bond and, if so, how much it will be. With these charges, it could be as much as a million dollars. You’ll be taken into custody until the amount is paid.”
God in heaven, take me now. Even he couldn’t scrape up that amount all at once. He’d be arrested. Sent to jail.
A pen tapping lightly on his knee brought his mind back from the abyss he’d been repeatedly falling into since Schuster’s visit five days before. Juliet leaned down, bringing her face directly in front of his. “We don’t want that,” she said, her glossy lips giving him something to concentrate on. “The other option is to release you on your own recognizance. That’s what we want.”
His own recognizance. Blake liked the sound of that. He could handle that.
Still bent over, he looked up at her. “How does that happen?”
She sat back, her eyes steady as she watched him. “Hopefully the prosecutor will recommend it.”
“Schuster?”
She nodded. “I suspect that’s what will happen. Considering the facts, it should. If for some reason it doesn’t, then it’s up to me to convince the judge that it would be appropriate for you to be released without bond.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “Can you do it?”
He’d feel a lot better if she’d smiled right then. “I’ll do my best, but we could be hurt by the fact that you left the country for four years without a single visit. To counteract that, I need to know everything there is to know about every single tie you have to this community. Your address, whether or not you own your home, for how long, your exact job title and where you stand with Ramsden Enterprises, any other property you own, employees you have, local family, friends.”
Blake sat up. Finally something to do. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
And he did. He owned his home, had been in residence there—camping at first—since construction began five years before. He was owner and CEO of Ramsden, which was a nonstock company with an impressive year-end bottom line. In addition to his own home, he owned several properties that were being developed, he had more than one hundred employees, many more subcontractors he knew well and trusted, many acquaintances, no living relatives anywhere, not many close friends. Except Donkor and Jamila Rahman.
“They’re here, locally?”
Blake shook his head. “Egypt.”
Sighing, Juliet said, “The idea is to convince the judge you’re going to stay here, not flee to friends on another continent,” she told him. And then, looking up with the familiar warmth in her eyes, asked, “When was the last time you saw them?”
“A little over three weeks ago. At Amunet’s funeral.”
“And before that?”
“A few years. But we’re in touch regularly.”
“Once the trial gets going, would they be willing to testify on your behalf?”
Fly across the world to come to his aid?
“Yes.” Another certainty.
Blake hadn’t even thought about Donkor finding out about all of this. His employees, customers and business associates didn’t even know yet. But they all would. Soon enough, too soon, everyone was going to know that Blake Ramsden was on trial for nine counts of felonious crimes. Even if he was able to prove his innocence, that stigma would never completely go away. There would be some who wouldn’t forget.
Some who would always have doubts about him.
He’d done nothing but work hard, pay his bills and tell the truth. Yet, in the space of a few days, his image, his reputation and his life had been irrevocably changed.
“MY MOM ALWAYS tells the truth!”
Pumping as hard as she could, Mary Jane tried to get high enough not to hear what that stupid Jeff Turner was saying. She shoulda’ picked the monkey bars for recess instead of the swings. No one
