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Chapter One

My conversation with Mom had been predictably emotional, and later, in bed, I tossed and turned, unable to think of anything but my court appearance and the notoriety it’s sure to bring. I woke this morning, feeling more anxious than ever.

I’m hoping Mandi and Samuel’s presence will help settle my nerves. They’re both arriving this morning; in fact, Mandi’s plane was due to land ten minutes ago, so she should be here shortly. I offered to pick her up, of course, but she insisted on taking a cab. “Use the time to get ready,” she said, and, frankly, given my current state, I’m pleased I capitulated.

She’s staying with me, and Samuel, with a friend of an ex-Marine buddy. He called yesterday to say he’d meet us at the courthouse. When Mandi arrives, we cling to each other. “It’ll be fine,” she whispers repeatedly. I wish I could believe her, but, sadly, I don’t. She hasn’t met Adam Thorne.

Later, in the kitchen, she studies me critically. “Aren’t you having anything?” she asks over the rim of her coffee cup.

“I had a slice earlier; I’ll just have tea,” I say, handing her a slice of toast with honey.

“Angel, you have to eat, you’re looking pale,” she chastises me.

“I feel a bit sick, and I don’t want to throw up.”

“We’ll get some crackers or something. I don’t want you fainting.”

There’s no point in arguing when Mandi’s made up her mind, so I let it slide. “I should get dressed,” I say, starting to clear up the kitchen. “Do you need the bathroom?”

“I’d like to brush my teeth and retouch my make-up before we go. You get ready; I’ll finish up here.” She dismisses me with a wave of her hand.

I’ve chosen to wear a simple, dark blue suit and black pumps. My hair’s pulled back into a low ponytail, and I’ve kept my makeup natural because no amount of red lipstick will give me the confidence I’m so fervently praying for today. Done, I stare at myself in the mirror and, for some reason, Adam Thorne’s warning about being photographed and having my character assassinated by the media springs to mind. I feel even sicker after that.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost?” Mandi walks into the bathroom.

“Just nervous,” I say, my voice sounding cracked.

“You need a shot of self-confidence. What about a brighter lipstick?”

“I don’t want to look like everyone’s stereotype of an escort,” I respond unnecessarily sharply.

“I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your spirit. Save it for the bastard,” she grins, referring to Adam Thorne’s courtroom reputation. I can’t help but smile in return. Mandi’s irrepressible nature is just what I need right now.

“That’s better!” She leans over to hug me. “The people who love you don’t judge you, Angel. Everyone in the courtroom may have an opinion, but they don’t and shouldn’t matter. Just tell the truth and be yourself; that’s the message your Mom asked me to give you.”

Tears spill over as our eyes meet in the mirror. She tightens her arms around me. “Pretend you’re talking to Samuel and me and try to forget everyone else,” she says. “Now, fix your makeup while I’ll go and find that confidence booster.”

“Here, these are perfect,” she returns a short while later with her hand outstretched.

“You’re right,” I say with a tiny smile as I accept Mom’s earrings.

Images

“How much longer do we have to sit here and wait?” Mandi complains and gets up to pace the small room.

An eager young man from the DA’s office, who introduced himself as Andrew, met us on arrival. He advised that I’d be called second and offered us the choice of waiting outside the courtroom or in this room. Afraid of attracting unwanted attention, I chose here.

“What’s the time?” I ask for the umpteenth time.

“Eleven-ten. It’s been nearly two hours. How much longer can they question one person?” Mandi huffs. I wish she hadn’t reminded me of what I may be in for.

“Where’s Samuel? Did he know what time you were told to be here?” she asks, and I must admit I’ve been wondering the same thing.

“Yes—I hope everything’s all right.”

“Samuel’s more capable of taking care of himself than anyone I know, Angel. He’ll be here.”

“I know he’d never let me down,” I say, more to reassure myself than in response to her statement.

“Ms. Bain?” Andrew looks apologetic as he steps into the room.

“Are they ready for me?” I ask, suddenly feeling sick again.

“No. The judge called an early lunch recess, and I suggest you take the opportunity to have something to eat. There are coffee shops and restaurants nearby, just make sure you’re back within the hour.

“That’s a brilliant idea,” Mandi announces enthusiastically.

“Has everyone left?” I ask, reluctant to leave my little sanctuary.

“The area should be clear by now,” Andrew assures me.

“Thanks,” I give him a weak smile before following Mandi.

“Should we return here?” I turn back to ask.

“It would probably be best to wait outside the courtroom. You’ll be called as soon as court’s called to order,” he says, and my stomach, predictably, twists at that information.

“Angelique!” A familiar voice calls out as we make out way out.

“Samuel!” I smile, relief flooding me. “What’s wrong?” I ask when seeing his dark expression.

“Nothing. How are you?” he says, but I can tell he’s deflecting.

“Fine,” I brush off his concern, intending to press him for answers, but Mandi intervenes. “She’s feeling sick,” she tells Samuel.

“Come on, court’s adjourned.” He bends to kiss my cheek before cupping my elbow.

“How do you know?” I ask suspiciously.

“I heard the judge make the announcement,” he replies. “I’ll tell you over lunch,” he adds at my questioning look and firmly and leads me away.

“You were in court?” I ask as soon as we’re seated in a coffee shop.

“Yes. Yesterday also.”

“But… I thought you got in this morning.”

“I’ve been here for two days, Angelique.”

“You didn’t say anything when I spoke to you before you left—wait were you already—”

“I called from the courthouse. And before you ask; I didn’t want to get into an argument about it,” he says, his voice challenging me to deny his statement.

“But why?” I ask before catching a glimpse of Mandi’ smile.

“Did you know?” I accuse her.

“No, but I wish I’d thought of it,” she grins.

“Why?” I insist, turning back to Samuel.

“I wanted to see that bastard squirm, and I wanted to warn him to stay away from you,” he says grimly.

“What have you done?” I demand, afraid when remembering his earlier expression.

“I haven’t done anything. I just told Wade and his lawyer friend a few things that needed to be said.”

“I told you I was—”

“And I’m not stupid enough to believe you weren’t taken advantage of!” he hisses, interrupting me.

“Angel, Samuel’s right. They need to know you’re not alone. I wish you’d kicked them both in the balls,” she tells Samuel crudely, and then raises her brow, daring me to argue. I don’t; it’s not worth another long lecture from either or both of them.

Samuel insists that I have ginger ale to settle my stomach. He swears it helped Nic through her pregnancy. I also try to force down a toasted cheese sandwich to appease Mandi but end up leaving more than half uneaten. I’m quiet, preferring to listen to them talk about the happenings in their lives, thankful that they understand my need to conserve whatever strength I have.

Sooner than I’d like, Samuel announces that we should be getting back. I repress a shudder as we pass the throng of reporters gathered outside the courthouse. If Adam Thorne’s prediction becomes a reality, then this is probably the last time, for a while, that I’ll be unrecognizable.

A commotion breaks out just as we reach the top of the steps. Shouts of ‘Mr. Thorne’ and ‘Adam’ ring out, and, like a moth drawn to a flame, I turn to watch as he and his two companions are accosted. He speaks to Jodi, who immediately moves close; but it’s his action to ensure the safety of the other woman, a beautiful blonde, that holds my attention. ‘Is there no end to the stunning women in his life?’ I wonder as he wraps a protective arm around her. He ignores the shouted questions, confidently pushing forward while frequently checking on Jodi. Someone must ask something that amuses both him and the blonde because he bends his head to look at her. She looks up, their affection evident in the shared smile. For some unfathomable reason, the sight leaves me feeling empty.

A number of reporters veer off, and I let out an audible gasp when recognizing their new target. Tom, Justin, Cynthia Buchannan, an older woman, and another man fight their way through the throng. Justin, holding Cynthia’s hand, ignores the media. Something twists painfully in my chest at the sight of them. It’s not jealousy, I know, because I don’t and have never loved Justin. What I feel is shame and regret.

I turn away, only to find myself caught in Adam Thorne’s laser-like gaze. My face burns like an inferno at the knowledge that this man, who’s about to publicly interrogate me about my relationship with Justin, has just witnessed my humiliation.

“Are you all right?” Mandi asks, and all I can do is nod dumbly. “Fucking pricks,” Samuel curses, glaring at Justin. He wraps his arm around me and leads me away.

“Let’s sit here,” he says, pointing to a bench outside the nominated courtroom. He and Mandi flank me like sentinels. She holds my hand while Samuel scowls at anyone who even dares glance our way. At the moment, it happens to be Adam Thorne, who’s expression, for once, holds neither animosity nor censure.

I don’t have time to ponder this fact. My stomach plummets as Justin’s group approaches. His eyes widen when he sees me. He drops Cynthia’s hand, and she looks at him, surprise and irritation on her face, and then, glancing around, she notices me. Her mouth purses. “Whore,” she clearly mouths.

I feel like I’ve been slapped—hard—and lower my head at the unwelcome onset of tears. Mandi squeezes my trembling hand, and Samuel, I can tell, is about to launch himself at Justin. I shake my head, silently begging him not to. He huffs a frustrated breath, places his arm protectively around me and glowers menacingly as Justin steps forward. Tom blocks his path. “You can’t talk to her!” he says.

Blood pounds in my ears. I don’t think it’s possible to feel more embarrassed than I am at being at the center of this spectacle. In my periphery, I see Jodi reach up to talk to Adam Thorne. He nods once and says something in response. Then, with one last, indefinable glance at me, he takes the blonde woman’s elbow and walks away. Jodi approaches, Samuel moves to intervene, but I place a hand on his arm.

“Ms. Bain—Mr. Thorne’s given me permission to offer you another chance to cooperate,” she says, sounding hopeful, and for one, fleeting moment, I feel like grasping the opportunity. But I dismiss the errant thought. ‘If you don’t have your word, you have nothing,’ I remind myself.

“Ms. Maddox…. I… thank you. That’s very considerate, but I’ve made up my mind,” I stammer, feeling overwhelmed by her apparent concern.

“Angelique, what’s going on?” Samuel demands, and Jodi, sensing a potential ally, turns to him.

“I’m Jodi Maddox, Assistant District Attorney. Ms. Bain’s refusal to cooperate has forced us to declare her hostile, but Mr. Thorne’s willing, even at this late stage, to inform the court of a change in circumstances.

“It would make it so much easier on you,” she says to me.

“How will it be easier?” Mandi asks just as Samuel jumps up to tower over Tom, who’s edged closer.

“This is none of your business; why don’t you get out of here?” he threatens, and with one last, lingering look my way, which I refuse to hold, Justin leads his group away.

“Go ahead,” Samuel tells Jodi.

“Well, either attorney can request that the judge declares a witness hostile. If granted, it provides the right to treat that witness as if he or she were under cross-examination. In this case, Mr. Thorne will be allowed to challenge Ms. Bain’s testimony, in short, force answers from her.”

“Angelique, you need to drop this misguided sense of loyalty. I’ve seen Thorne in action, and I don’t want him treating you like that,” Samuel appeals.

“He’s right,” Mandi tries to reason.

I choke back the lump in my throat. “I…I can’t. I’m sorry… I can’t go back on my word.”

“Angelique…” Samuel admonishes.

“Samuel, please, I don’t want to argue with you—not now.”

“God, you’re the most infuriating woman! I understand loyalty; believe me. I’ve seen it cost men their lives and never questioned it, but you’re wasting yours on Wade. Have you forgotten how he and his friends behaved just now?” He glowers at me, then gets up to pace, and I know he’s trying to control his temper.

“Angel, please think about it,” Mandi beseeches.

“I’m not doing this because I promised Tom, or even for Justin anymore. I’m doing it for me—I have to hold onto something of the person my parents raised—”

“We don’t have much time,” Jodi interrupts. “Mr. Thorne’s waiting.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Maddox, and I thank you for being so kind, but I haven’t changed my mind.”

She smiles tightly. “I regret your decision. Good luck.” She walks away and turns to glance over her shoulder, just once, before disappearing into the courtroom.

“Samuel?” I appeal, and he sighs loudly.

“I’ve said all I’m going to. I’d rather you spent what the time you have left to prepare yourself. Just remember we love you; nothing’s going to change that,” he says, pulling me into a hug and kissing the top of my head.

I’ve never felt so vulnerable or alone as I do when making my way to the witness stand. I do my best to ignore the many eyes I can feel boring into me—praying all the way that I don’t succumb to the urge to throw up.

I tremble when asked to swear on the bible, and my voice breaks as I state my name and occupation. “My name is Angelique Bain, and I’m a dance teacher,” I say, and then, when told, I take the seat in the witness box. Justin’s sitting at the front, I know, and is probably watching me. But it’s not his eyes I feel. I’m more aware of another’s gaze—the man rising from prosecution table, the one about to question me.

Images

“You say you teach dance, Ms. Bain?” he asks, his tone scathing. I thought he was intimidating before, but it pales into insignificance when compared to the way he commands this room. He’s drawn everyone’s attention. Each person appears riveted, eagerly hanging onto every word uttered in that silky-smooth voice with the ability to go from persuasive to cutting in a heartbeat.

“That’s right.” I try to sound strong and confident. These people don’t matter; the people who do don’t judge me, I remind myself.

“I thought you worked as a dancer at Liaison, Ms. Bain?” I blush at his inference.

“I once danced for a living, but I’ve been teaching for some years,” I say, barely able to look at him.

“Where exactly do you teach?”

“At a small community ballet studio,” I answer more confidently.

“Ballet? You teach ballet, Ms. Bain; I thought your job entailed dancing of a more sexual nature?”

My face flames. “Yes, I teach ballet, and I have never performed a dance that is overtly sexual.”

“So you deny having been employed to dance at Liaison, a club where by all accounts, the dancers perform overtly sexual routines for the pleasure of its male clientele?” he asks in a deceptively even tone.

“I don’t deny having danced at Liaison, what I said…”

“A simple yes or no, Ms. Bain,” he interrupts. “Do you deny you were employed to dance at Liaison?”

For the second time in his presence, I, who have almost never had the urge to resort to violence, feel like slapping Adam Thorne.

“No,” I reply tersely.

“How often did you dance at the club?”

“I haven’t danced there in over a year.”

“So you haven’t been an employee of Liaison for over a year?” He raises an incredulous brow, and I blush again, knowing I’m being skilfully set up. This is what both he and Jodi tried to warn me about, I realize.

“I was employed by Liaison until some months ago when the club closed down.”

“You mean, when it was forcibly closed down because its owners were operating an illegal prostitution business?”

“You know why it closed down,” I all but snap, but the judge intervenes and tells me to answer the question.

“Yes, I was employed by the club until it was closed down,” I admit, feeling like a reprimanded child.

“You’ve said you haven’t danced at the club for over a year; what were you employed to do in that time?”

I glance around until, finally, I find them. Mandi gives me an encouraging nod. Samuel leans forward, and I can tell just how much he wants to get up and protect me.

“Do you need me to repeat the question, Ms. Bain?”

“No. I was employed as a companion to Senator Wade.” My face heats, and I fight hard not to look at Justin.

“A companion? What kind of companion? Were you employed to accompany him to social events, on visits to his constituents?”

Tom objects, claiming that I’m being badgered. I sigh in relief, but my respite is short-lived when Adam Thorne convinces the judge to rule in his favor. “Miss Bain, what kind of companionship were you paid to provide the defendant?” he repeats. My heart hammers in my chest; all I can think of is that Mom is going to hear or read about this.

“I was paid to sleep with him, but…”

“You were paid to have sex with the defendant?” he cuts me off, feigning incredulity. I wanted to explain that I didn’t want to be someone who took money for sex, that I tried, desperately, to avoid it, but I realize how weak my excuses are. In the eyes of the man before me, in the eyes of the world, I’m no more than a prostitute; and they’re right.

“Yes,” I say, and my humiliation’s increased a hundredfold when the judge reminds me to speak up for the court to hear.

“Yes,” I repeat, fighting back the sting of tears.

He continues his attack by asking about my employment contract and forces me to outline the conditions. Tom tries to stop his onslaught by objecting, but even the small victory he gains at winning the ruling does little to stop Adam Thorne from drawing the humiliating facts from me. He makes me admit what I’d been paid each month.

“You were paid five thousand dollars to be at the defendant’s sexual beck and call?”

“Ms. Bain?” he demands when I hesitate.

““Yes! Are you happy now?” I snap, humiliated beyond belief, and then realizing my error, apologize to the judge, who kindly but firmly reminds me that I must answer, no matter how difficult it may be. Adam Thorne refers to a contract between Joseph and Justin, and, when he turns to accept the document from Jodi, I catch a brief glimpse of Justin’s pained expression.

My hand trembles as I read. I bite down on my lip so hard to stop myself from crying that I taste blood. The sense of betrayal makes me want to curl into a ball. Adam Thorne and Jodi both tried to warn me, but somehow, I convinced myself they were bluffing. I told myself no such contract existed, but here it is in black and white, signed by both Justin and Joseph.

I’m still battling to come to terms with the details contained in the documents, the demeaning language they used when referring to me, when he asks whether I’d been aware of the contract’s existence. I shake my head, and he looks almost regretful when he asks me to answer out loud.

“No,” I say, feeling stripped naked.

I hoped his onslaught would stop there, but he’s relentless, patiently waiting for me to speak or badgering me for answers. He asks whether I escorted anyone before the exclusive agreement with Justin. I glance at my friends, thankful to see no sign of recrimination, only concern.

“Yes, I escorted before that,” I say, my voice echoing the resignation I feel.

“Did you have a liaison with the defendant before you were appointed to service him exclusively?” My entire body flames at the term service, like I was some animal, at the fact Mom will hear or read this.

“Yes,” I say, my voice almost a whisper, then, realizing my mistake, I repeat it out loud before I’m reminded.

“Before or after you escorted anyone else?” he asks as if the question is of little significance, but I know exactly where he’s leading.

“Does it really matter?” I appeal to the judge, who tells me to respond.

“J…Senator Wade was the first person I escorted,” I say, glaring at my interrogator, but it makes no difference. He asks how Justin reacted to my escorting other clients, and whether he’d discussed his decision to approach Joseph about securing my exclusivity with me. I manage to answer with composure.

“Were you aware of the defendant’s ownership of Liaison and other nightclubs operating the same business?” he asks next, and I say no.

“What if I told you the defendant entered into a business partnership with Joseph Cordi in exchange for your sexual exclusivity? What if I said his reward was not only the exclusive rights to your body but that he, in fact, also profited financially from your sexual exploitation and that of every woman employed in Joseph Cordi’s prostitution network?”

Tom objects before I can respond. He wins the appeal, but Adam Thorne seems unfazed, in fact, he appears downright satisfied and effortlessly moves on to ask whether Justin had discussed his private life and work with me. I say, ‘sometimes’.

“So, your relationship was such that you touched on personal matters?”

I came to regard the senator as a friend,” I tell him.

“Your friends pay you for sex?” he questions with mock incredulity.

“Of course not.”

“So you deny being a prostitute? You deny that the defendant paid you for sex?” he challenges, his brow quirked in feigned disbelief.

I stammer some useless response, but he cuts me off, lobbing question after question at me about Justin’s knowledge of the actual nature of Liaison’s business. He challenges me to deny that I’d been paid to have sex with him. I try to keep up with his quick mind and answer as truthfully as I can, but I’m out of my depth. I just don’t have the ability to outthink him.

Tom objects, citing ‘compound question. He’s overruled, but Adam Thorne is warned to contain himself to one question at a time. It doesn’t matter, though; nothing will stop him, and nothing will lessen my humiliation.

“And do you acknowledge that Senator Wade knew of the prostitution business conducted at Liaison before entering into the agreement for your exclusivity

“I do.”

“Do you also acknowledge that you had ongoing sexual trysts with the defendant in exchange for money? Do you admit that even before entering into the agreement with Joseph Cordi, the defendant paid to have sex with you? Do you, in fact, acknowledge that he was the very first person you had sex with for money?”

“I do,” I say, no longer able to contain my tears. I brush them away.

I’m humiliated and defeated. I’ve done exactly what Adam Thorne said I would; I’ve answered his questions. I can’t help wondering how much suffering I could have saved myself, if I’d chosen to cooperate.

I dismiss the thought, preferring to hold onto my anger toward Adam Thorne, not just for breaking me down today, but for every time he’s shamed me because I swear, anger’s the only emotion that’s preventing me from completely falling apart right now. I nearly collapse with relief when he announces no further questions.

My hand trembles when reaching for the water the bailiff had pointed out earlier. I unscrew the cap and take a sip, trying to dispel the lump that feels like a boulder in my throat.

“Does Defence wish to examine the witness?” The judge asks, and my heart sinks to my feet at the thought of more questioning. A muted buzz breaks out when the judge has to repeat his question to Tom.

“I apologize, Your Honor. With the court’s permission, I need a few minutes to confer with my client,” he finally responds. He and Japer embark on what appears to be a heated discussion. Justin shakes his head angrily, and Tom looks unhappy.

“No questions, Your Honor,” he says. Instead of feeling gratitude, all I can think of is Adam Thorne’s warning about them doing everything not to draw attention to my and Justin’s association. Perhaps this reprieve is not so much about saving me humiliation, as it is about saving Justin.

Excused from the stand, I force my legs to carry me forward without collapsing. My gaze accidently meets Adam Thorne’s in passing. He appears upset, almost apologetic, I think, but I put it down to my imagination or perhaps wishful thinking. I don’t glance in Justin’s direction, even though I sense him watching me.

I manage to contain myself as I pass the many rows of people, but my tears run unchecked when I reach the door being held open for me.

“Ms. Bain, is there anything I can do?” Andrew kindly asks, but I can’t muster the words to respond.

“Angel?” I let out an audible sob at the sound of Mandi’s voice and practically throw myself into her arms. “Shhh… you did well. I’m proud of you. Let’s get to the ladies room; people will be out here in a minute.”

“There’s a side exit. Just past the washrooms, you’ll find a doorway at the end of the corridor. It exits onto the side street,” Andrew says, and Mandi thanks him.

My stomach convulses as soon as we enter the restroom, and I rush into one of the stalls to become violently ill. “I’m sorry,” I apologize as Mandi rubs my back.

“Well, this is practically a rite of passage for most college students. Consider it making up for the time we lost. Just as well you already had your hair tied back,” she jokes.

“Ugh… this is disgusting…sorry,” I say again as I flush.

“Stop worrying about it; that’s what friends are for. Better?” she asks as we stand at the basins.

“Not really, but maybe the nausea will go away now.” I rinse my mouth.

“Let’s go; Samuel will be waiting,” Mandi suggests, pulling out her phone.

“Where is he?”

“Getting a cab. I just need to text him to let him know we’re leaving through the side door. Do you have his number?”

“Here, use mine.” I dig in my bag, pull up his details and hand it over.

A short while later, Samuel sends a message saying he’s waiting where Mandi instructed.

Images

It’s three days since my court appearance. I’ve avoided listening to or reading any news about the trial after I caught a glimpse of my face emblazoned across the front pages of a newspaper the day after my appearance. The article, which included a large photograph of me on the witness stand, featured a headline, ‘The Senator’s $5,000/month Escort’. Another, smaller picture of me visibly upset as I left the courtroom had been placed next to one of Justin and Cynthia entering the courthouse. I didn’t have to read the article to know what it meant to portray—her, the respectable, wronged woman, and me, the harlot.

The fact that I hadn’t known about Cynthia’s real position in Justin’s life hadn’t been considered, and I highly doubt that, had they known this fact, the media would have taken into account. I rushed home, completely forgetting about the groceries I wanted to stock up on. Since then, I’ve relied on Samuel and Mandi to keep me updated and haven’t spoken to anyone other than Mom and those I view as family. Mandi intercepted calls from Amy and Sarah, telling them that I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone associated with the case. They assured her they understand and left messages of support.

Samuel’s attended court each day, and I know it’s because he’s hoping to see Justin convicted. No matter how many times I’ve tried to convince him that I made the decision that led me here, he maintains that Joseph and Justin took advantage of me. He returns, each day, more convinced that Justin deserves to have the book thrown at him. His views on Joseph are too graphic to mention, and in some bizarre turn of events, Samuel seems to have developed admiration for Adam Thorne. He repeatedly tells Mandi and I that he seems like a ‘decent guy, who’s doing his best to see justice done’. When it evens look as if I’m about to protest, he reminds me that I’m one of the victims Adam Thorne’s defending.

Given his hatred for Justin, Tom, and Joseph it’s hardly surprising, I suppose, that he favors Adam Thorne. His verbal support of him started the evening of my court appearance when I left my bedroom to join him and Mandi for the dinner they’d ordered. She’d been upset at hearing my emotional conversation with Mom and railed against Justin and Joseph in general. She included Adam Thorne in her tirade for putting me through such an ordeal in court.

“He was unnecessarily harsh,” she pointed out when Samuel argued that ‘the man was just doing his job’.

“Mandi, Angelique’s admitted that they warned her what would happen if didn’t cooperate—Now don’t go looking at me like that!” he admonished when she glared, ready to jump to my defense.

“I love Angelique like a sister, and I’d do anything for her, but I’m going to tell her when I think she’s wrong. I’m just stating facts here—if she cooperated, she would’ve ended up telling her story, not having details forced out of her. He’s a prosecutor; that’s what he’s supposed to do—prosecute. And I hope he nails all their asses to the proverbial mast,” he declared, daring us to disagree. Neither of us did.

Yesterday, the day after my appearance and the day I saw that newspaper article, Samuel reported Mick O’Flaherty’s failure to show. Court was adjourned because Tom asked for time to confer with his client.

This morning, Ruth called to let me know she received several calls from parents who expressed concern about my role at the studio. She assured me that no one’s demanded my dismissal. “If we just hang in there, everything should be okay,” she said. I can only hope her optimism turns out to be true.

Today, when Samuel returned from court, he broke the news that Justin surprised everyone by taking the stand. Adam Thorne had been merciless in his cross-examination, and Justin showed the kind of bravado one would expect from a fat cat politician, he said. In Samuel’s view, the prosecution proved Justin’s guilt without a doubt—a fact, which, after watching the news, Mandi agreed with.

Both sides are scheduled to make their closing arguments tomorrow, and I feel thankful that the trial will soon be over. I’ve taken leave from both jobs, but I’m due back at work on Monday. I only hope the end of the trial will also mean that the media interest, in me particularly, will end.

The next night, over dinner, Samuel describes both the defense and prosecution’s closing arguments. He describes Adam Thorne’s closing as masterful and stares at me pointedly when he relates how he’d told the court in no uncertain terms that I’d been victimized by both Justin and Joseph. Samuel’s convinced the jury will return a guilty verdict, and I try not to worry about what that would mean for Justin. Despite everything, I can’t bring myself to wish him in jail or for his career to suffer.

Mandi says she’d like to see the closing arguments for herself, so I’m cleaning up while they watch the news.

“Angel!” she suddenly yells. “You have to watch this!”

“What?” I ask, racing into the living room.

“Shhh—sit down!” she hisses, pointing at the television. I do and soon become engrossed.

“The assistant district attorney, usually the epitome of composure and control, seemed uncharacteristically rattled and passionate in his defense of Angelique Bain, the woman uncovered as Senator Wade’s paid escort,” the reporter says over a visual of Adam Thorne and Jodi surrounded by reporters.

“Counselor, how do you think the prosecution fared in this trial?”

“Do you think Senator Wade deserves to be found guilty?” the reporter perseveres.

“The evidence in this case is clear, and the defendant no different from any other citizen; he is subject to the same laws. I ask that the media evaluate the issues in the same way you would for an ordinary citizen. That is what our judicial system requires, that is what the Commonwealth has sought to live up to, and that is what the jury will do in their deliberations.”

“So you don’t care that your friendship with Senator Wade or Thomas Martin has suffered?” another asks.

“I think I’ve just answered that question.”

“Mr. Thorne, do you think that Angelique Bain should be charged?” a woman, this time, asks.

“Why should Ms. Bain be singled out? The Commonwealth’s laws dictate that a person has to be caught soliciting to be charged with prostitution; as a journalist, you should know that, Jill,” he practically snaps.

“The defendant has not been charged with soliciting, none of the sex workers at Liaison or any of the other clubs have been charged. What, in your mind, makes Ms. Bain’s situation different from those of Justin Wade, the other members of Liaison, or the other club workers? Her name has already been bandied about in the most damning way simply because she’d unwittingly found herself the bargaining chip between two men.

“Let me address any who are considering running with this storyline. The law is clear; we have no grounds on which to charge anyone involved in this case with soliciting. Ms. Bain will not be charged. She has done what the law required of her and testified in court. She should now be allowed to live her life in the same way other witnesses have been able to.”

I stare at the television, my brain swirling with confusion. I can’t believe what I’ve just witnessed. Samuel clears his throat loudly, and when I look over at him, he grins smugly.

“Well, maybe he’s not such a bastard after all,” Mandi says and turns the television off.