The Confession (29 page)

“What any of us did,” said his wife.

Jim inhaled slowly. “Anna needs to take the stand.”

“No,” said Alec flatly.

His lawyer rested his hands on his narrow hips. “I know you wanted her out of it, Alec . . .”

“No,” he said again.

“W-why?” I stammered. “Because Jessica Rowe lied about me?”

“Yes,” said Jim. “There are other ways to clear your name . . .”

“Then do them,” said Alec.

“There are other ways,” continued Jim, with a sigh, “but they won't be nearly as effective, and I'll be honest, this isn't the time to attempt to be stealthy. The prosecution has a solid case. We need to clear this up and move on.”

“
Without
Anna.”

“These are serious accusations,” said Jim. “We may not have a choice in the matter.”

“Alec,” I said. “Just hear him out.”

“No,” said Alec sharply. He turned me toward him. “I never would have done this—any of it—if I'd thought you'd be dragged into it. I'm sure as hell not changing course now.”

I touched his face. This sweet, stubborn man would risk everything just to protect me.

“Will it help keep Alec out of jail?” I asked Jim, without turning away from Alec.

“It might,” replied Jim.

“Then tell me what I need to do.”

O
nce I'd agreed to testify, Alec and I had been separated. He'd fought hard to keep me out of it; as I forced myself to walk away I heard him threatening to withdraw his testimony again.

I looked back at him one time, and reminded him of his promise.

A day passed. Then another. I was brought to a different hotel. Agent Tenner kept watch outside my door this time, but there was no trace of the man who'd begged me to make dinner in the safe house, and whined about how loud Alec and I had been in the bedroom. He was all business. He barely even acknowledged me apart from a stiff nod.

I wasn't permitted to talk to my father, or Amy, or even Marcos, and it was killing me not to hear if he'd had any leads on Jeremiah Barlow. I was stuck in that room, alone, with a television that seemed to only show updates of the trial, and room service I hated ordering because I had no one to share it with.

But I was helping Alec. And I was saving myself, too, because according to the prosecutor, no one else could prove that Jessica Rowe had been lying about me. If I refused to take the stand, I looked guilty, and the defense would use that to shift the blame off of the real criminal, Maxim Stein.

I didn't have a choice.

The morning I was brought into court, I wore a navy blue dress with silver buttons and swept my hair back into a neat knot at the base of my neck. I held my head high as I was led through the door by security, and as I was sworn in I thought of Jessica Rowe, and the jail time she would face when they found out she'd lied under oath.

It wasn't my first appearance in court. I'd been called as a witness before I'd become a masseuse, when I'd been assigned to children who'd been abused. It wasn't often, but occasionally a custody hearing would include the testimony given by the social worker on the case. Those experiences, and this one, were night and day. Before I'd been convinced I was doing what was right. Now I was just trying not to do something wrong.

Even so, I stared straight at Maxim Stein as I climbed the steps into the witness box, despite the fact that I'd been instructed not to look at him. I wanted him to know I wasn't afraid, even if I was, and that he might have stepped on everyone else in this world, but he couldn't crush Alec, and he sure as hell couldn't crush me.

The prosecutor rose first, and gave me a small reassuring wink.

“Can you state your name for the court, please?” he asked

All eyes were on me. The jury and judge, the attorneys, the stenographer with her ready-to-type fingers, and even the Bane of my Existence, Maxim Stein. I looked out over the audience in the back of the room and had to reign in the wave of emotion when I saw my father sitting near the aisle.

He'd always done what was right. He'd taught me to do the same.

There was no turning back now.

“Anna Rossi,” I said, irritated by the tremor in my voice. I leaned closer to the microphone and repeated my name more confidently.

I was prepared for every question he'd asked me thanks to Janelle. I'd even rehearsed my answers in the hotel room. The truth was easy to tell—Yes, I did know Maxim Stein and Jessica Rowe, his secretary. Yes, Alec had told me that Stein was planning on stealing the Green Fusion design without a patent. No, I had no intention of taking the patent for myself.

I told my story, but there was no relief when the prosecutor sat down. Now was where things got tricky.

The defense attorney looked slick with his unnaturally black hair and cuff links that cost more than my life. He gave me a polite, obligatory smile as he approached the stand, and though I'd been prepped for what he might say, I couldn't help but feel small.

I sat straight, and pictured Alec.

“Ms. Rossi, you met Maxim Stein in February, correct?” The attorney's face was hard to read. I reminded myself that his presentation was a crucial part of his arsenal of skills.

“Yes.”

“And you knew Charlotte MacAfee from Green Fusion, right?”

I pulled at the end of my skirt nervously.

“I did.”

“Would you say you met her between three and five times?”

Before I could stop myself, I pictured her the first way I'd seen her. Naked, with Maxim Stein plowing into her from behind.

I cleared my throat. These numbers must have come from the proceedings yesterday with Jessica.

“Something like that.” My magnified voice cut through the uncomfortable silence.

“Yes or no will be fine,” he said.

My jaw tightened. “Yes.”

He turned suddenly, as if remembering something, and walked back to the desk where Maxim Stein sat. I focused on Alec's old boss again, feeling the anger clear away some of the nerves while Stein's attorney rifled through some papers.

“You've lived in several places prior to landing in Florida, correct?”

Jim had told me to expect him to delve into my past, though how deep he would have been able to dig, I was unsure.

“Yes.”

“How many jobs would you say you've started and then quit?”

“I . . .” I glanced at Jim, seated behind the prosecutor, feeling my face warm. “Seven or eight. Maybe more.”

“So it's safe to say you needed money.”

“Objection.” The prosecutor stood. “Relevance, your honor.”

“Overruled,” said the judge. “Determining if there is motivation to lie is certainly relevant.” She smoothed back her white hair, leaning back as if relaxed in her black chair.

“No,” I answered, knowing he was alluding to the idea that I was some kind of gold digger. “I've never been hard up on money.” If things were tight, I'd always been able to find work.

The defense attorney considered this.

“You're a masseuse, is that right?”

“That's right.”

“So you see people who accumulate a lot of stress, who need a chance to decompress.”

“Yes.”

“I've had a massage or two in my day,” he said, smiling now. “Dim lights, soft music, not a lot of clothing.”

“I wear a professional amount of clothing, I assure you,” I said.

He laughed. The jury seemed to wait for his permission, and they chuckled, too.

“Would it be safe to say you see people when they're vulnerable?”

The judge shifted in her seat. “Where is this going, Counselor?”

“How much do you charge an hour?” he asked, throwing me off balance.

“Seventy dollars is the salon rate,” I said. “For my home-based clients I have a sliding scale.”

“You charge a woman named June Esposito thirty dollars an hour.”

I flinched, drawing to mind my sweet, elderly client with lupus. Sometimes she didn't even pay thirty dollars. Sometimes she bartered homemade tamales, because that was all she could afford with her medical bills.

The fact that she'd been pulled into this pissed me off.

“Like I said, I use a sliding scale,” I told him.

“Is that why you charged Maxim Stein three hundred dollars for his session?”

I felt the weight of the jury's judgment on my shoulders.

“That was a price that was offered,” I said. “I . . . didn't argue over it.”

He had me suddenly wondering if I should have.

Stein's attorney went on to ask me how many hours I worked a week. He estimated how much I made a year, and then speculated that it must have been hard walking into the home of a man who wanted for nothing.

The prosecutor objected to that, too, but it didn't matter what the judge said, because the point had already been made. I was poor. Maxim Stein was rich. Why wouldn't I have wanted what he had?

The defense attorney kept driving the point home, though. He showed me the nondisclosure agreement I had signed when I began employment with Stein, and asked if I was aware that at the time of our first appointment, Maxim was worth over three and a half billion dollars.

I'd sworn not to lie. I said yes.

Any insecurity I'd had was overcome by frustration. He was attacking me with his curious tone and his silver tongue, and even though the answers I gave were technically correct, they left out so much of the truth. Within twenty minutes, I was fumbling, rethinking my previous actions, positive that I looked like the most suspicious person in the world.

Alec had endured this scrutiny nonstop since he'd first gone to the FBI. For the first time I really understood why he'd wanted to shelter me from this. In his position, I would have protected him, too.

When the attorney seemed satisfied that everyone and their mother understood that I was a shady character, he changed course.

“Was it your plan when you started working for Mr. Stein to steal the Green Fusion blueprints and sell them to a competitor?”

“Objection,” called Jim. “Argumentative, your honor.”

“No!” I said, shaking my head.

“Overruled,” said the judge. I knew she wasn't on my side—she wasn't supposed to be on anyone's side—but I couldn't help wishing she'd help me out.

“No, it wasn't your plan initially?” he asked. “Or no it wasn't your plan?”

I felt like he'd kicked out one of the legs on the witness stand, and left me scrambling to stay upright.

“I never stole the Green Fusion blueprints,” I said. “I never intended to, I never would have, I never wanted to. I would
never
steal something like that.”

“But you
would
steal other things?” His expression stayed absolutely blank.

“Objection!” called the prosecutor.

“No,”
I said again, feeling the sweat bead on my forehead. The air-conditioning in this room made it frigidly cold, but the overhead lights were bright, and the stares of those around me were accusing.

“My father's a cop,” I said, reaching for the only thing that came to mind. “He taught me not to be a thief.”

“Your adopted father,” clarified Stein's attorney.

“My
father
.” I could hear the anger in my tone, and tried to rein it in. I glanced over to the faces of the men and women in the jury. He'd completely tainted their opinions of me. I could already see they'd dismissed any kind of honor I might have.

The attorney took a deep breath.

“You initiated an intimate physical relationship with Mr. Stein's head of security immediately after you first visited Mr. Stein's home, is that correct?”

I hesitated, feeling the panic welling up inside me.

“Y-yes.”

The prosecutor objected, but it was overruled.

“Can you state that person's name for the court?”

I wanted to tell him it was none of his business, but I answered, because I had to.

“Alec Flynn.”

“Before Alec Flynn went to the FBI and served time for his crimes, would you say you two were close?”

I wanted to tell him it was none of his business.

“Yes,” I said.

“Did he love you?”

I swallowed. “Yes.”

“Are you aware Alec Flynn is also a witness in this case?”

“Yes.”

“And that he is the person who originally accused Mr. Stein of inappropriate business conduct, and that's why he's here today?”

“I know that,” I said.

“Are you aware that Mr. Flynn himself is facing charges of felony murder, conspiracy, corporate espionage, and racketeering?”

My mouth went dry.

“He didn't kill anyone.”

“Alec Flynn was just as much a part of this organization as my client. If he claims Mr. Stein committed these crimes, then he is equally as responsible in the eyes of the law.”

I could say nothing. Not one word.

“He's looking at a minimum of thirty years,” continued Stein's attorney. “If this goes south, he'll be an old man when he gets out of prison.”

Alec could go away for thirty years.

Thirty years.

We would never marry. Never have a family. He would be in his sixties when he could hold me again.

“Watch yourself, counselor,” warned the judge.

“Do you understand what that means if
you
took part in this?” asked the attorney.

I was shaking.

“Yes,” I murmured. I would go down, too. For something I didn't even do.

“Last warning,” said the judge. “Get back on track or you're done.”

Stein's attorney gave a small nod. His stare returned to me. I tried to look back, but it felt like the wooden walls of this witness stand were closing in, making my space smaller and smaller.

“How long after you began your employment did your romantic relationship with Maxim Stein begin?”

“What?”
I asked, too loudly.

No.
No, no, no.
It was like watching a train crash in slow motion. I knew where this was heading, but felt powerless to stop it.

“Your affair with Maxim Stein. When did it begin?”

“It didn't,” I said. “I never had an affair with Maxim Stein.”

“But you did have a sexual relationship with him?”

“No.”

And then my nightmare came true. He returned to the desk, where another lawyer handed him a gray folder. From it, he drew several eight-by-ten color photographs. I didn't even have to see them to know what they were, and maybe it would have helped if I'd acted surprised, but as it was all I could do was focus on keeping what little composure I had left.

He carried them up to the judge.

“I'd like to admit these photographs into evidence.”

“No,” I said. “I know what those are. They're not what you think.”

“Ms. Rossi,” cautioned the prosecutor. He had risen, and was striding toward the bench, brows drawn in concern. We should have told him about these, but even with as ugly as Maxim could get, I was still surprised he had brought the pictures out here, in front of a whole courtroom of people who he needed to believe he was a good man.