Consequences Consequences Page 120 Tony stood, straightened his jacket. “Utilize the time you have to think this over. Don’t make another poor impulsive decision. This is your best offer.” He knocked on the door. “Goodbye, Claire.” She didn’t respond. The attorneys re-entered the room. Claire had new resolve. If he planned to leave her, she was going to start talking. Mr. Evergreen spoke first, “Mr. Task, if your client plans to plead insanity, the prosecution will need psychological evaluations.” “Mr. Evergreen, I do not plan to plead insanity.” Everyone turned to Claire; the last five days she’d hardly spoken. She continued in a determined tone—one none of them had heard before. “I can assure you, I’m not the person that’s insane, although I have cause. I am innocent. Now, if you’ll excuse me again, I need to speak to my counsel.” She had entered this preexamination willing to sit passively and wait for Tony to rescue her. Turning to Jane, the only counsel willing to confront her husband, she said, “Ms. Allyson, if we could postpone this preexamination, I believe I have some evidence to share with you and Mr. Task.” Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one’s definition of your life. Define yourself —Harvey Fierstein Chapter Forty-Nine ‡ They only had three days to prepare for the new preexamination. Claire spent hours with her attorneys uncompartmentalizing everything. She recounted everything she could remember from the last twenty-two months. Tony wouldn’t approve—nonetheless, she was brutally honest, recounting details she’d tried to suppress. She explained the initial contact and contract. She said she suspected he’d used the date rape drug Rohypnol to get her to Iowa, because she had no memory of traveling from Atlanta. This recount could have been demoralizing, but somehow it proved therapeutic—a catharsis. Claire described the respected, adored businessman, Anthony Rawlings, as a cruel, vindictive, masochistic, and controlling human being. She did leave their home in a hurry. Justifiably, she did it to get a break from him—his rules, restrictions, and consequences. If he knew she’d left the property without his permission, she would’ve been punished. She explained his punishments ranged from verbal—to mental—to physical—abuse. On one occasion, approximately six months after she arrived on his estate, he nearly killed her. She told about the isolation. She also told about the sexual exploits, video recording, controlling nature, domineering manipulation, and constant mental, and—on again—off again—physical abuse. At times, her attorneys would stop taking notes and just listen. This was much bigger than anything they expected. Together, Paul and Jane worked to build a case—not of a woman trying to gain financially from the death of her wealthy husband, but of an abused woman—wanting only to flee the situation. Paul believed Claire had been living in hell, but there were points and events she would need to explain. She stated she was kidnapped, yet did she ever try to call for help? Didn’t she live in a multimillion dollar mansion? Did she expect people to believe she had no access to telephone, Internet, or anything? Didn’t she marry this man she described as a monster? Didn’t she accept gifts: clothing, money, jewelry, etc.? Didn’t she accompany him on multiple extravagant trips? Didn’t she sit with a reporter from Vanity Fair and give an interview about her wonderful husband and their amazing life together? Claire understood how things looked. She knew about appearances, but she knew what she endured. She explained that even after things got better with Tony, there was always the underlying threat of abuse. Things did get better, after the near-death accident. He got better, and she believed she loved him, but always there were rules and reminders of consequences for her actions. Any failure to be perfect could result in punishment. The truth would set her free. Claire Rawlings was ready to tell the entire world the truth. Her legal team prepared a preliminary brief. It informed the prosecution of their defense strategy. By no means was it all inclusive; however, it did emphasize the hostile relationship between Mr. and Mrs. Rawlings. It highlighted Mr. Rawlings’s aggressive, intimidating, and controlling tendencies. Mrs. Rawlings’ only intention on the day in question was to escape the harsh reality of her life. She didn’t plan—nor did she execute a plan—to cause Mr. Rawlings harm. The time for the rescheduled preexamination meeting arrived. Mr. Evergreen and his team, as well as Paul, Jane, and Claire were once again seated around a large table. The only noticeable difference at this meeting was Claire’s brown hair. Indulging Claire’s request, Jane brought her a box of Chestnut hair dye. Claire looked younger. The blonde was striking, stunning, and beautiful—Claire didn’t feel any of those. Mr. Evergreen addressed Paul, “How does your client plan to plea?” “My client is not guilty and plans to plea as such.” “I’d like to ask your client some questions—to let her know what she’ll be facing at trial. Mr. Task, Ms. Allyson, do you have any objections to this plan?” Paul began, “Claire, this isn’t a bad idea. This allows us to understand where the prosecution is coming from with their charges. It also lets you experience the questioning portion of the trial. The questions here are not asked under oath. You can refuse to answer, and your answers cannot be used against you in the actual trial.” “All right, please ask away.” Claire’s mind was made up. She was innocent, and planned to tell the world the truth of what she had endured. Having Marcus Evergreen, a contemporary of Tony’s, sitting across the table was unnerving. After all, Marcus attended their wedding, Tony wouldn’t approve of her telling him certain things, but she was innocent, and if Tony wasn’t going to help her—the truth would. Mr. Evergreen opened his laptop and began his questioning, “First, Mrs. Rawlings, as your attorney informed you this is not under oath and your answers cannot be used against you at trial. You should also be aware my team and I have read Mr. Task’s preliminary brief which discusses the relationship between you and your husband, as well as your allegations to his behavior. I realize Mr. Task and Ms. Allyson plan to use your allegations in your defense. This procedure is a snapshot of how I, and my team, plan to cross examine you. Do you understand?” Claire nodded. “Mrs. Rawlings, please answer all questions verbally.” Claire said that she would. “Please state your name.” “Claire Rawlings.” “How long has that been your name?” “Anthony Rawlings and I were married December 18, 2010.” “Mrs. Rawlings, I didn’t ask when you were married, but rather how long Claire Rawlings has been your name.” Mr. Evergreen continued with mundane questions regarding dates and times. Then his questions turned to her life before Mr. Rawlings. What did she do for a living? Where did she live? How did she and Anthony Rawlings meet? “Why did you move into Mr. Rawlings’s house?” “I didn’t move into his house, I was taken to his house,” Claire corrected. “Why were you taken to his house?” “Mr. Rawlings and I had a business agreement.” “What kind of agreement did you have?”
Consequences Consequences Page 121 Claire hesitated. “He hired me to be his personal assistant.” “And how much did he pay you to be his personal assistant?” “He didn’t actually pay me”—Claire wasn’t sure how to explain this so Mr. Evergreen or a jury would understand. “You worked for free? Yes or no?” “No, actually he paid off my debts.” Mr. Evergreen looked curious. “Your debts? He paid off your debts? Did he pay off your car and maybe a credit card?” “Yes.” “And do you have any idea the total amount of your debts?” Did Claire know? Of course, she knew. Tony mentioned the amount hundreds of times during the beginning of their relationship. “Yes.” “Well, Mrs. Rawlings, please share. What was the amount of debt Mr. Rawlings paid off for you?” “He told me it was 215 thousand dollars.” “My, 215 thousand dollars to be his personal assistant, was that all? Or were there other benefits?” Benefits? Claire didn’t know what he meant. He continued, “Did Mr. Rawlings provide you housing, clothing, or food?” “Yes, I lived in his house. The staff prepared my food and he had clothes for me.” “Now, Mrs. Rawlings, were these old clothes or did he buy you new clothes?” “They were new, but I never asked—” “Please just answer the question. So the clothes were new. You lived in his mansion, and he paid off 215 thousand dollars—worth of debt. Tell me what you did as Mr. Rawlings’s personal assistant. Did you answer his phone?” “No.” He continued. “Did you answer his e-mails?” “No.” “Did you coordinate his schedule?” “No.” “Did you make him food?” “No.” “Did you make him drinks?” “No.” “Mrs. Rawlings, what did you do?” Claire felt her face flush. “I was supposed to be available—whenever he wanted me.” “Can you please explain yourself?”—Mr. Evergreen leaned into the table—“What do you mean available whenever he wanted you?” Claire looked down. “I was supposed to satisfy his sexual wants and needs.” “Did you do your job?” “I didn’t have a choice.” Claire was still looking at the table. “Mrs. Rawlings, I asked if you did your job, yes or no?” Claire looked the prosecuting attorney in his eyes. “Yes, I did what I was told.” “And, if my notes are correct, you and Anthony Rawlings married nine months after you began your job, is that correct?” “Yes—we discussed that.” “Yes, we did. I’m just trying to understand. At 215 thousand dollars, housing, food, and clothing for a period of nine months, I figure that Mr. Rawlings paid you nearly a thousand dollars a day for sexual pleasure. You must be a great lay!” Claire glared at the prosecutor. Jane and Paul exploded, “That was unnecessary!” Mr. Evergreen apologized and continued with his questioning. He asked questions about Claire’s claim of imprisonment. Then he showed pictures of her with Anthony at various activities: dinners, fund-raisers, and outings. Claire thought he had a picture of almost every time she was out of the house during the first six months of her imprisonment. “You don’t understand. I was only allowed out—” “Mrs. Rawlings, you’ll have the opportunity to discuss your reasons for exaggerating the truth when your attorney is cross-examining you. This is my opportunity. I’ll ask the questions.” He went on in his condescending tone, asking about supposed physical abuse. Did she have any doctor’s statements? Had she reported the abuse? Had she even told Mr. Rawlings she didn’t like it? This again got Jane and Paul out of their seats. Claire felt ill. Her head pounded and her blood sugar felt low. She leaned toward Jane. “Could we break for lunch?” While Paul went to get sandwiches, Jane and Claire spoke, privately. Claire had told them all the information before. She had explained how Tony controlled her, she hadn’t been allowed to complain, she couldn’t leave her suite for the longest time, and she was never allowed to leave the property without his permission, even after they were married, but the way Mr. Evergreen twisted it—it seemed like she was some kind of prostitute. He made it seem like she was after Anthony’s money from the beginning. Jane reassured Claire that the defense had an opportunity to ask more questions following the prosecution. That would be their time to explain things to the jury. However, even Jane admitted concern about the pictures showing Claire and Anthony out in public. Claire didn’t look like a woman being held against her will. Jane had photos on her laptop sent by Mr. Evergreen during the preexamination. She pulled up a picture of Anthony and Claire at an upscale Manhattan restaurant. Claire remembered that night—Tony had completed a big business deal and they had celebrated before dinner. She remembered hating him that night; however, the person in the picture didn’t look like she hated him. The Claire in the picture was exquisitely dressed, beautiful, contented, and attentive—the perfect companion. The realization that she’d learned her lessons too well began to add to her pounding head. Feeling more nourished, Mr. Evergreen resumed the questioning, “Mrs. Rawlings, you stated Anthony Rawlings was physically and mentally abusive, yet you decided to marry him. Isn’t that true?” “Yes.” “Now, can you please tell us who took care of the wedding? And if it was nice?” “Tony paid for the wedding, he hired wedding planners, they did everything, and it was beautiful. You should know—you were there.” “Do you have any idea of the cost of your wedding?” “No.” “Well, for your information it came to over 350 thousand dollars. Your dress alone was over 70 thousand dollars.” Claire really had no idea. “And those figures do not include your rings or your honeymoon. Mrs. Rawlings, can you tell us where you went on your honeymoon?” “We went to Fiji—to a private island.” “The cost of this honeymoon, Mrs. Rawlings, do you know the cost?” “No. It was never discussed with me. I didn’t care about the money!” Claire suddenly felt tired. “When you were apprehended, you were driving a very expensive car—registered to you—wearing multiple pieces of fine jewelry, and expensive clothes. Do you still claim you didn’t care about money?” “I drove that car because I found the keys. The clothes and jewelry were all because Tony made me wear them—I didn’t even choose my own clothes that morning.” Mr. Evergreen went back to his laptop. “Now back to your wedding. Did you know that you and Mr. Rawlings didn’t have a prenuptial agreement?” “Yes. He told me we didn’t need one—if I ever tried to leave him, there would be unpleasant consequences.” “Mrs. Rawlings, I’m asking the questions. Did you know that his legal consul wanted him to have a prenuptial agreement?” “Yes, he told me that the decision was solely his.” “Did or do you understand—without a prenuptial agreement if you and Mr. Rawlings were to divorce you would have claim to half of his fortune?” “I hadn’t given it any thought.”
Consequences Consequences Page 122 “And, I suppose you hadn’t given any thought to the fact that if Mr. Rawlings died, you would have sole claim to his entire fortune.” “Honestly, no.” He then showed Claire a picture of an apartment house in Atlanta. “Do you recognize this building?” “Yes.” “I would assume you would. It’s the apartment in which you lived prior to moving into Mr. Rawlings’ mansion. How big was your apartment?” Claire hadn’t thought about that apartment in almost two years. “It was a one-bedroom with an eat-in kitchen.” “Now, Mrs. Rawlings, do you recognize this residence?” It was an aerial photograph of the estate. It showed the sprawling mansion, the various patios, the pool, the gardens, the long drive, and the massive expenditure of surrounding land. “Yes.” “Yes, it’s the home you and Mr. Rawlings shared. Is that correct?” Claire wanted to be done with this. “Yes, it is” “Mrs. Rawlings, how big is this house?” “I don’t know. Do you mean in square feet?” She was becoming irritated. “All right then. How many bedrooms?” Mr. Evergreen was smiling. Claire thought about it for a minute. “Honestly, I don’t know. Do you want the staffs’ rooms counted too? I don’t know.” “So, let me get this straight. You’ve been held captive in this home for nearly two years and you don’t know how many bedrooms are there? Or perhaps you were enjoying the life of luxury too much to worry about such things?” Mr. Evergreen tapped his computer screen. “Well, let’s shift gears. Do you recognize yourself in this photo?” Claire nodded. “Can you please tell me where you are and what you’re doing?” “I’m in Davenport—shopping.” “You are shopping, but I thought you didn’t have any money?” “Tony gave me a credit card.” “Was this before or after you were married?” “I believe that this picture was before, but seriously, you don’t—” Mr. Evergreen interrupted her. “Mrs. Rawlings, allow me to ask the questions”—he paused—“So, Mr. Rawlings gave you a credit card before you were married. Who paid the bill?” “He did.” “Who is with you on this shopping trip?” “Eric, Tony’s driver was there—in the car.” “So, if you were a prisoner, wouldn’t this have been an excellent opportunity to escape? After all, you were all by yourself in Davenport—Mrs. Rawlings, did you try to escape?” “No. I was afraid.” “Stick to the yes and no answers”—Mr. Evergreen looked at his notes on the screen—“Did you only use your credit card in Davenport?” “No.” Mr. Evergreen showed some more pictures—Claire on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan—shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue in Chicago. He continued, “Mrs. Rawlings, did you use your credit card on these occasions?” “Yes.” “Where are you?” he asked, pointing at a photo. “Manhattan.” “So, you were shopping in Manhattan”—he shook his head—“The inhumanity of this prison! How much did you have to spend, or let me ask, do you know how much you spent on this particular shopping trip?” Claire did. “Yes, I spent five thousand but I was told to—” “Mrs. Rawlings, let’s continue. Did you have a credit card once you were married?” “Yes.” “Did you ever have the opportunity to use it?” “Yes.” He was looking right at her. “This money thing wasn’t so bad now—was it?” “I didn’t want the money. I don’t want the money. I told Tony I didn’t care about his money—” Marcus’ associate showed Claire an e-mail address and telephone number, as Mr. Evergreen continued the questioning, “Mrs. Rawlings do you recognize this e-mail address?” “Yes.” “It’s yours. Is that correct?” “Yes, it is, but—” “Mrs. Rawlings, whose cell phone number is this?” “Mine.” “Mrs. Rawlings, I thought that you said you were isolated—no way to communicate. Let me see, I believe I have photos of you and your husband in Hawaii, Lake Tahoe, San Francisco, and yes, in Europe. Mrs. Rawlings, did you enjoy the south of France?” Claire’s head pounded with increasing intensity. Mr. Evergreen went into a long tirade about how an unemployed weather girl deep in debt latched on to a lonely wealthy businessman with no heirs. This was an entrepreneur that not only made his fortune through hard work, but was highly regarded due to his benevolent endeavors. She then seduced him into employing her as a live-in prostitute and lured him into marrying her without a prenuptial agreement. Given the perfect opportunity, this tawdry woman put poison into her poor, unsuspecting husband’s coffee. If that weren’t enough, she sent his driver away on a wild-goose chase, and drove away. It would have worked, except with technology as it was, fifteen people witnessed the collapse, and help arrived in time. The prosecution had many character witnesses willing to testify to the generous spirit and good-heartedness of Mr. Rawlings. No one would back her slanderous accusations of this respectable man. Hadn’t she been told over and over again, appearances were everything? The small room became smaller. Claire’s head and heart hurt. She saw the pictures and the expressions of her attorneys. She heard Marcus Evergreen’s accusations and tasted the sour bile as her stomach twisted and turned. We cannot change our memories, but we can change their meaning and the power they have over us. —David Seamands Chapter Fifty ‡ He stared at the paint on the cinder block wall. Why did they always use the same pale green? If it was supposed to look cheery, it failed. Anton continued to watch the wall, even though he heard the door and knew the guard and prisoner had entered. He couldn’t bear to see his grandfather being led around. Anton waited, hands in pockets, until he heard the door close again. Turning around, he met the eyes, the dark defiant eyes. If his grandfather were wearing a suit and if the metal table were a mahogany desk, Nathaniel would look like the man in Anton’s memory. Despite his circumstances, Nathaniel’s expression hadn’t changed. They may’ve put him in this damn prison, but they sure as hell weren’t keeping his mind here. “So, boy, did you learn his identity?” Cole Mathews had worked side by side with Nathaniel Rawls for almost two years. The day before Nathaniel’s arrest, he didn’t show for work—he didn’t call—he disappeared. Almost a year later, information only known by insiders, helped lead to Nathaniel Rawls’ conviction. During the trial it was revealed that an FBI agent had been embedded into the inner workings of Rawls Corporation to investigate federal allegations. Of course, to protect his identity, the name of the agent was never released, but this was 1988, and Anton Rawls knew his way around a computer—better than most. Hacking was such a negative term for research. Anton placed the manila folder in front of his grandfather. “Yes, sir, I found his name and enough personal information to track him down.” “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” Nathaniel opened the folder and scanned the contents. “He has a wife and family.” He spent a few more minutes reading the pages. Then abruptly, Nathaniel shut the folder and slammed his hand against the table. “This son-of-a-bitch will pay!” His chair hit the wall as he forcefully stood. “Do you hear me, boy?”
Consequences Consequences Page 123 “Yes, sir, I hear you.” Anton watched his grandfather pacing in his prison garb. “Not just him. Hell, no. He took away my world. He took my family. His damn kids, their kids, their kids…they’ll all face the consequences of his actions! He took everything”—Nathaniel’s eyes darkened as he moved closer to his grandson—“You know what?” “No, sir.” “You can’t lose everything until you have everything to lose”—more pacing—“I had everything, and now look at me! That man and his Goddamn family will pay!”—he moved very close to his grandson—“The day I get out of this hellhole, they will pay. Every one of them will regret the day he decided to bring me down.” Anton noticed the difference in the sound of their footsteps. His hard soled shoes made a distinctively different noise from his grandfather’s rubber soled shoes which squeaked. “There’s more, sir.” Nathaniel turned toward his grandson’s words. “What? What more did you learn?” “He had help. He worked hand in hand with a securities officer named Burke; Burke fed Mathews the necessary information. If this securities officer hadn’t directed Mathews, Mathews wouldn’t have been as thorough in collecting evidence.” Anton watched the shade of his grandfather’s face grow in crimson intensity as he spoke. “And, your father?” The blackness of Nathaniel’s eyes pulled Anton’s gaze to him. Anton felt compelled to maintain eye contact and surrender the rest of his information. “He testified for the state”—Nathaniel’s pacing resumed—“It was done behind closed doors, but it isn’t secret. The media calls him the hero in our family.” Nathaniel collapsed red faced and defeated into his chair. The realization that his son turned state’s witness was obviously affecting him. His tone mellowed, as he said, “Boy, you’ll survive.” “Yes, sir, I will.” “Being here today, discovering this information, and most importantly, having the balls to bring it to me are all evidence of your future. Your father has always been a disappointment, but I believe he was better at one thing than me.” Anton sat in the metal chair facing his grandfather. He could hear the sincerity in Nathaniel’s tone and words, and asked his grandfather to continue. “Public opinion, I never gave a damn what anyone thought. I worked hard and believed I deserved all the money, possessions, and everything I earned—and wanted more. That was never a secret. Remember this—you can want the whole Goddamn world—but never show it”—Nathaniel stared up at the camera in the corner of the room—“If they know what you want, they’ll watch you and take it away. Keep up appearances, boy. If you do that, you can take everything you want. The whole damn world is yours.” Happiness doesn’t depend on any external conditions it is governed by our mental attitude. —Dale Carnegie Chapter Fifty-One ‡ Claire had been incarcerated for over three months and had come to terms with the realization it would not end soon. The claustrophobic cell and virtual isolation were her new norm. Surprisingly, like in traumas before, she was adapting. It was difficult at first—but with time—she developed strength and resolve. On April 18, 2012, the courtroom sat empty—except for the judge, defendant, and legal teams—as each word spoken, resonated throughout the cavernous room. Claire Nichols stood in front of the federal court judge and with the help of her legal team pleaded no contest to the charge of attempted murder. As the judge explained the consequences of Claire’s plea, she listened, felt the smooth finish of the chair she used for support, watched the judge’s lips, and silently wept. This plea saved her the indignity of a jury trial. She didn’t admit guilt—but would not—could not challenge the charges. Therefore, she’d take a lesser sentence, but she couldn’t later decide to appeal. She would avoid Mr. Evergreen and his questions. She would escape the dark, penetrating eyes of Anthony Rawlings as she testified. She wouldn’t need to explain to the entire world how she was forced to do things and how things were so different from how they appeared. She could just quietly go away. The court of public opinion had not gone well, either. The people of Iowa City, of Iowa, and of the United States all found her guilty. They tried her as a gold digger; of course, most of the information hadn’t come out. Even that shared with the members of both legal teams remained private—Anthony Rawlings made sure of that. The federal judge sentenced her to seven years in prison, minus time served, to be served in a moderate security federal penitentiary. The severity of her crime required a moderate security facility. Apparently, even her ex-husband testified to the judge, asking for a minimum-security facility—more evidence of his forgiving, kind character. Counsel on behalf of Anthony Rawlings filed the necessary paperwork to dissolve the marriage between he and Claire Nichols. Of course, there was no contest. With a few connections, the court papers were expedited and the divorce was finalized on March 20, 2012. Since they didn’t have a prenuptial agreement, Claire received no financial compensation for her fifteen-month marriage. After all, she was charged with his attempted murder. Why would she get any financial compensation? According to the smut television shows which played in the common area of the prison, Mr. Rawlings was having no problem finding women to take her place. The world rallied around him and his unfortunate situation. Even Rawlings Industries stock soared. The small window in the door of Claire’s cell allowed a minimal amount of florescent light to penetrate, making the walls drab and colorless. Turning on her desk lamp filled the room with illuminated warmth. Her small cell at the Iowa Correctional Institution for Women would be her home for at least another four years. Although she was sentenced to seven, with good behavior, she’d be eligible for parole in four years. Claire was good at following rules. She had a twin-sized bed, dresser, an open hanging area, a few shelves, and a desk with a chair. It wasn’t much, but she felt content. She’d experienced more, but that hadn’t worked well. Existing in a comforting sameness day to day helped Claire survive. There were no surprises—everything was predictable. Day after day, the same routine: wake, dress, and breakfast, then back to her cell, alone, until lunch. Lunch was followed by a one-hour block of free time—either in a large gymnasium, the prison library, or an outside court. Claire loved the outside. She went there whenever the weather permitted. Then back to her cell until dinner. After dinner, there was optional common time—if she’d earned that privilege—for another hour. Claire earned it, but opted for her cell. Companionship required trust in the other person. Claire’s trust no longer extended beyond herself. She stayed in her cell until her buzzer rang. The buzzer indicated it was time to shower; following the shower, back to her cell, lights out at 11:00 PM. Simple and predicable—Claire had suffered enough unpredictability. She spent her free time reading. Emily tried to send her books as often as possible. Having a sister and husband in jail was hard on Emily. She was asked to leave her teaching job in Troy. The private school system needed to maintain its reputation, and apparently some large donors were concerned about her influence on young children. She went back to Indiana to familiar surroundings and taught for a public school system near Indianapolis. The money wasn’t as good, but at least she could survive.
Consequences Consequences Page 124 * It was a two-hour drive from Iowa City to Mitchellville. Brent Simmons should have utilized a driver. It was four hours he could have worked, but he chose to drive. He wanted to be alone and come to terms with the assignment ahead of him. Claire Nichols needed to be informed of a possible pending civil lawsuit. Brent knew, as the head legal counsel for Rawlings Industries, he could have sent someone else. He wanted to send someone else; however, Tony made it clear, that wasn’t an option. The July sun brightly shone on the pavement ahead of Brent. Momentarily, he was distracted by the illusion of shimmering liquid in the distance. He didn’t want to face Claire—to see her in the correctional institution. He knew she didn’t belong there, and he hadn’t helped her. She probably, justifiably, felt abandoned—she was. Brent’s mind went back to January, to that terrible phone call telling him and Courtney that someone tried to kill Tony. They were planning to return from Fiji in three days, of course they flew home immediately. When they found Tony, still hospitalized, he looked and sounded healthy. His disposition wasn’t—especially when he informed them that all the evidence pointed to Claire. Devastated, Courtney argued with Tony. After she left the room, Tony informed Brent that they were not allowed to visit or help Claire after what she had done. That didn’t go well with Courtney—she went anyway. Somehow Tony found out, and Brent had hell to pay. Brent wasn’t directly involved in the criminal suit. Actually, the State Of Iowa accused Claire Rawlings of attempted murder—not Tony—but Brent was involved in an expedited divorce. Marcus Evergreen, chief prosecutor for Johnson County, had information Brent needed for his petition. Mid-February, Marcus’ secretary utilized a courier to deliver a flash drive to Brent. It contained the documents he needed. He planned to leave it at the office, but at the last minute decided to take it home, to look it over. Courtney was out to dinner with friends when Brent pulled up the drive on his home computer. There was only one folder: “Rawlings, Claire.” He opened it. It contained multiple files. The one he needed was “Rawlings vs. Rawlings.” It should have been the only one on the drive. It wasn’t. The one entitled “State of Iowa vs. Rawlings: Preliminary Brief-Task” sat right in front of him. It was unethical and probably illegal, but he opened it. Young attorneys get wordy. Paul Task’s preliminary brief was 147 pages! Brent grimaced and shook his head at the inexperience of Claire’s attorney. He started to close the file when he focused on the words—suddenly transfixed. Two hours, and three Blue Label’s—straight up—later, the entire brief was read. The descriptions and accounts of Claire’s life while with Tony were nauseating. It was stated more than once that this was only a sample of the treatment she endured—there was more. How could this be going on and they not know? Brent panicked, thinking he shouldn’t have read it and should delete it. Nevertheless, instead of deleting, Brent made an electronic copy on a personal flash drive and printed a copy. Then he deleted it from the original drive. If questioned, he would deny it had ever been present. He wanted to punch Tony, but Brent knew, he could never let Tony know he’d read the brief. Planning to keep it to himself, he decided to hide the paper copy in his safe and put the pin drive in a special box in the drawer of his desk. Before he had the chance to follow through on those plans, Courtney came home. She knew immediately something was amiss and assumed Tony was responsible. Maybe it was the whiskey combined with helplessness for Claire, but Brent handed Courtney the paper copy. In hindsight, it was a mistake which almost cost him his twenty-eight-year marriage. When she finished reading, he asked two simple questions, “Do you believe it? Do you think she’s telling the truth?” Courtney erupted! She believed every word and wanted Tony’s head on a platter. She also wanted Brent to quit his job—move far away from Iowa City—and most importantly—help Claire. Downtrodden, Brent explained none of that was possible. “We can’t.” “Why not? She told me at the jail she didn’t do it! I knew something was wrong. I kept asking. Why didn’t I push more? God! It said he hurt her in California. We were with them! Brent, think about Claire—her age. What if those things you read happened to our daughter?” “I would kill the bastard! But, they didn’t, and not only is he my boss, now he’s Caleb’s boss. Don’t you think, in light of this new information, it’s coincidental that he recently offered Caleb such a great job? Now, not only does he own us, but also our son and future daughter-in-law.” “This is America, just quit!” “Courtney, I can’t. You don’t walk away from Tony. Ask John Vandersol.” Brent hadn’t meant to divulge that information, it just slipped. Courtney sat dazed. She poured herself another glass of Cabernet and reread the brief. The next day, while Brent was at work, Courtney left. He came home to a note: “If anyone asks, I’m taking care of my sick mother. Do not attempt to call or communicate, I will not be available.” Brent tried numerous times. Over a week later she returned. Brent remembered worrying what she would say. He fully expected, “You’re weak and I’m done—I want a divorce.” Instead, Courtney apologized, “I wasn’t there for Claire and apparently can’t be there for her now. I can be here for you. You shouldn’t have to face that bastard every day without support. I love you and will support you, but know this—I want out of here and away from him. From this point forward we slowly, inconspicuously move our assets away from Rawlings stock and work to liberate our family. That will start with Caleb before he gets in too deep. Do you agree?” Brent did. He wanted out, too. The first time Courtney needed to see Tony face to face, Brent worried. She did fine. Courtney said if he could muster a false smile, and Claire could do it—she could too. They were already laying the ground work for Caleb’s move to another place of employment. As Brent got out of the car and walked into the institution, he worried about Claire, what would she look like? Had she been able to survive? How? He hated Tony and damned him with each echoing step down the long, tiled halls. A guard took him to a small dingy room, illuminated with a florescent glow, containing a steel table and four chairs. Brent set his briefcase on the table and waited. Looking around, he noticed the conspicuous camera in the corner. It reminded him of the videotaping mentioned in the preliminary brief and of his conversation with Tony: “You want me to go tell Ms. Nichols (Tony didn’t like to hear her first name) you’re considering a civil lawsuit against her—for what?” “Slander and deformation of character.” “Why, what did she say?” “It doesn’t matter. You don’t need to know—just do your job.” Tony’s voice was flat and authoritative. In actuality Brent was fishing—would Tony share the information Brent already knew? He also wondered if Tony knew that he knew—apparently not. “Tony, there’re many members of the legal team who weren’t as involved with Ms. Nichols as I. Perhaps one of them could inform her of the impending suit?” “No, it’ll be you”—his tone was firm and his eyes intense—“Have you ever noticed the nice cameras in those visitor rooms? Those tapes are available for a price. I assume you’ll not relay information to her that isn’t related to the suit. As a reminder, this will not be a friendly visit.” Brent said he understood.
Consequences Consequences Page 125 * Claire was reading in her cell, on that July afternoon, when her buzzer sounded. The sound meant she needed to go to her door. She’d be receiving something—usually a package. This time a guard informed her she had a visitor; her presence was immediately required in the visitor area. Claire had only received two visitors since her arrest. The first was in Iowa City, before she gave her plea and was transferred to the correctional institution. That day, following a guard, she found her best friend. Courtney was in Fiji during Claire’s arrest and came to the jail as soon as they returned to Iowa. Visibly distraught as Claire was escorted by a guard, Courtney apologized to Claire, for not being a better friend. If she had pursued her concerns more—perhaps Claire wouldn’t have felt the need to resort to such drastic measures in order to get away from Tony. Claire assured her, “I did not try to kill Tony. Please don’t believe everything you hear or see. Remember Tony’s regard for appearances. Many times, things were not as they seemed.” Courtney said she understood and would try to help her, but—Brent—his job— Claire hadn’t heard from her since. Honestly, she understood. The only other visitor since her incarceration was Emily. Claire knew the trip to Mitchellville, Iowa was difficult for her. When Emily had time to travel, she wanted to visit John in New York. Now, Claire curiously followed the guard down the halls and through multiple gates—each one locking—unlocking—and making the electronic beep sound. Wearing her prison clothes, she entered a room to find Brent Simmons. It had been so long, she momentarily thought she was seeing a friend. Brent’s expression instantaneously told her otherwise. After Claire sat where the guard indicated, he stepped from the room, leaving Brent and Claire alone. She knew this was business, but he was her friend. She couldn’t stop herself. “Brent, how are you? How’s Courtney? When is Caleb’s wedding?” Stone faced and sober, Brent replied, “Ms. Nichols, I’ve been instructed to inform you of an impending civil suit in which you’ll be named the defendant.” Creating an equally professional persona, Claire responded, “Okay, thank you for informing me. May I ask the grounds for this suit?” * “My client has reason to believe you’ve spoken slander against him. This defamation of his character is considered a ploy to damage his personal and professional reputation”—Brent said what was needed, with the demeanor necessary, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Claire looked different from what he expected. It wasn’t just her hair and the clothes, she had confidence and strength. These qualities had never been evident before. He recalled seeing her for the first time on Tony’s plane to New York. She looked nervous and insecure, yet tried to appear otherwise. Now after almost six months, three in a federal penitentiary, Claire seemed independent and strong. He knew it wasn’t where she’d been—but where she hadn’t. She hadn’t been under the gaze of the black eyes. Just like actual black holes, they sucked strength, confidence, and assurance out of anyone close enough to be pulled into their orbit. Claire laughed and replied, “Thank you, Mr. Simmons. I’m very concerned that your client will want my allegations made public—as would happen in such a suit.” “Ms. Nichols, damage to my client’s professional reputation could result in a loss of income. A civil suit is meant to subsidize any loss of income.” Smiling, she said, “And of course, I have the necessary capital to subsidize your client’s income.” “It’s my responsibility to inform you such a suit is under consideration, and if filed, you could be found liable.” Brent stood to leave. “Brent, can you please talk with me for a minute?” He continued to gather his belongings. “Mr. Simmons?” They made eye contact. “Your wife told me one time that life was not a daily test. She said perfection was not always necessary. I want you to know that I know. I know better than anyone else, today you passed a test”—Brent felt a minuscule amount of moisture leak from his eyes as he ever so slightly nodded his head in agreement. Looking down he started toward the door, but Claire’s confident tone stopped his movement—“Mr. Simmons, two more things”—He turned back toward her—“Should the subject arise—I welcome the suit. It’ll give me the opportunity to make my allegations again, perhaps to a larger forum”—He nodded with a knowing smile. She was right—Tony would never risk that exposure—“And the other thing, I truly love and miss your wife. If she cares—please tell her that I really am fine—more fine than I used to be.” “Thank you, Ms. Nichols. You have been notified.” “Yes, Mr. Simmons, I have. Thank you.” He knocked; the guard opened the door. He left. * The guard took Claire back to her cell. Walking through the halls, through the various locked gates, Claire couldn’t help feeling sorry for Brent. He was just north of fifty, but the lines and definite circles under his sad eyes made him look much older. She knew from experience, his prison was more of a hell than hers. About three weeks later she received a short note in the mail. The return address was a PO Box in Chicago. She didn’t recognize the name, but the note filled Claire with love and support. It wasn’t much, but it was something. To Claire, that was a lot! I care. I’m glad. I’m sorry. I miss you too, and I hope to be able to do more. love you! Cort Claire kept the note and read it daily. Over time, more notes arrived—Sue and Tim had a healthy baby boy—Caleb and Julia’s wedding was to be in June of 2013—little bits of information always signed with love. You have to accept whatever comes and the only important thing is that you meet it with courage and with the best that you have to give. —Eleanor Roosevelt Chapter Fifty-Two ‡ When the package arrived in October of 2012, Claire assumed it was from Emily. After all, the label had her return address; however, when she opened the box, she knew otherwise. It contained old magazines, newspaper clippings or photocopied clippings, and some photographs. Everything in the box was meticulously organized and in chronological order. The first item was a note, not signed but it didn’t need to be: Consider this information perhaps the only act of complete honesty I have ever shown you. I didn’t need to do this, but I chose to educate you some more. Hopefully, you will understand that you were but a piece of the puzzle. All behaviors, good or bad, have consequences, and even the truth can’t fight appearances. As I assume you have plenty of time available to you, read it all. You will find it enlightening. In another life, under different circumstances, it may have been different. You taught me much. I believe you learned lessons, too. PS. I told you once, your appropriate responses benefited you. The consequence could not be improved, but you did have a positive effect on the actions, for that we should both be thankful. I am. Sitting the box in the corner of her cell, Claire began with the first item—dated 1975—it was a copy of an old newspaper article which talked at length about Rawls Corporation—a privately owned company specializing in textiles. The owner, Nathaniel Rawls, was interviewed because Rawls Corporation had just gone public. It opened on the NYSE at fifty cents a share. In the first day, it raised to eighty-nine cents a share. Claire didn’t understand the significance of this information, but Tony told her to read it all—so she did.
Consequences Consequences Page 126 As she viewed the next item, she realized the significance. It was a magazine article from Newsweek, 1979. What caught her attention was the picture of a house—it looked very similar to Tony’s. Standing in front of the house was a family. The caption read, “Nathaniel Rawls, wife Sharron, son Samuel, daughter-in-law Amanda, and grandson Anton.” The boy looked to be twelve to fourteen years old. Even at that young age, she could see his dark eyes. The article expounded on the success of Rawls Corporation. A recent stock split confirmed what everyone was saying, this was an up-and-coming company. Nathaniel’s family enjoyed a lavish lifestyle brought on by his success. The Rawls family lived the American dream—they had it all. The 1982 Time magazine article only had a picture of Nathaniel and was entitled, “Continued Success.” It quoted a lot of important investors stating the attributes of Rawls Corporation, which was now expanding its ventures with continued success, run mainly by Nathaniel, but also by his son Samuel. There was a quote from Nathaniel about grooming his grandson to take over one day. The next was Newsweek 1986—it wasn’t just a story; it was the cover. In large letters, with a picture of a house of cards, it read “The House of Rawls Falls.” The story was short—considering it had been a cover story—the gist of it explained the plummet of Rawls Corporation stock due to allegations of wrongdoing. The magazine couldn’t say too much, due to an ongoing federal investigation; however, as investors pulled their money, the corporation was folding before their eyes. There was much more information in the following article, from Newsweek—dated 1987. There was a picture of Nathaniel Rawls wearing prison garb entitled “Nathaniel Rawls Convicted.” Based on evidence from a two-year undercover FBI investigation and testimony, Mr. Rawls was found guilty of multiple counts of insider trading, misappropriation of funds, price fixing, and securities fraud. The family’s assets were being sold at auction to help recoup investor loss. Distraught investors were quoted as saying, “We lost everything, and it is good to see the entire family lose everything.” The Rawls were living the high life—homes, vacations, and belongings—now they had nothing. A short newspaper clip dated 1989 indicated Nathanial Rawls—dead at sixty-eight years of age. Mr. Rawls died after only twenty-two months in a minimum-security facility. The cause of death was a massive heart attack. The buzzer buzzed. Claire didn’t want to stop reading. She thought she should grasp some revelation, but other than that Tony’s name had been Anton Rawls before Anthony Rawlings—she didn’t see it. She had to follow the rules, so she put the articles away and turned off her lights. Her journey resumed the following morning after breakfast. Copies of court documents from New York State vs. Nathaniel Rawls were the next items in the box. Though lengthy, after time, Claire realized a few key testimonies aided in the conviction of Mr. Rawls—first, from his son Samuel, who had turned state’s witness—second, from an undercover FBI agent embedded in the corporation for two years, and—lastly, a securities investigator. Accompanying these documents was a report stamped Top Secret. It gave the unreleased names of the strategic individuals: securities investigator was Jonathon Burke and the FBI Agent was Sherman Nichols—Claire’s grandfather. Though warm in her temperature controlled cell, Claire suddenly felt a shiver. The next discovery was a newspaper article also dated 1989—Samuel and Amanda Rawls found dead in their rented Santa Monica bungalow, bodies discovered by their twenty-three-year-old son. Based on the evidence from the scene, it appeared to be a case of murder/suicide. Claire thought back, Tony mentioned his parents’ death was an accident—that seems to be an all-encompassing word. NYU News, 1990—While completing their master’s degrees, Anthony Rawlings and Jonas Smithers file the necessary paperwork to begin their own corporation—Company Smithers Rawlings—CSR. The article said CSR was set to be an intricate piece of the Internet pie. New York Times article, 1994—Anthony Rawlings buys out his friend and partner Jonas Smithers for 4 million dollars. CSR was now Rawlings Industries. The New York Times predicted it was on its way to being an Internet giant. Newsweek, 1996—Rawlings Industries begins to diversify. Anthony Rawlings stated that he was determined to not have all his eggs in one basket. Recent diversifications have included entertainment and transportation. Time magazine, 2003—One of the men mentioned as a runner-up for Man of the Year—Anthony Rawlings. This designation came mainly because of his dedication to people—evidenced by Rawlings Industries’ recognition as one of the top ten philanthropic companies in the nation. Mr. Rawlings was quoted as saying, “I plan to spend my life and fortune looking for opportunities to amend my grandfather’s life. Every person is important.” Indianapolis Star and News, 2004—Obituary of Jordan and Shirley Nichols—Claire felt ill as she read the accompanying article with a different mind-set than that of a grieving child. It talked about the unfortunate accident which claimed their lives, about her father’s police service and full police honors as tribute, and her mother’s devotion to her family and teaching. The accident was believed to be caused by wet roads and newly fallen leaves. Photographs taken at the gravesite were clipped to the obituary. One was of John embracing Emily—John and Emily was handwritten on the back—and another of Claire sitting alone—Claire handwritten on the back. Claire immediately recognized the handwriting. Words came back to her, “Because I wasn’t able to support you when your parents died—you had to go through your parents’ death alone. Emily had John, but you didn’t have anyone.” With a sudden sickness Claire realized Tony was there and saw her grief first hand. Valparaiso University Newsletter, 2005—during the time Claire was a student—the picture showed Anthony holding a giant check for five-million dollars. His donation to the university made additional scholarships possible. Again, the buzzer buzzed. Although Claire had to wait to continue this journey, she was slowly understanding that her encounter with Anthony Rawlings in March of 2010 was predestined. The next items were more actual snapshots—pictures taken at John and Emily’s wedding—a few even zoomed in on Claire. She was wearing the ugly sea foam green, maid-of-honor dress. Emily and John looked so young and happy—2005 and Claire were written on the backsides in familiar handwriting. Was he there, too? Albany Post, 2006—Appointments to a local law firm. The second name listed was John Vandersol. The article discussed John both professionally and personally. Another 2006 article—Rawlings Industries Continues to Diversify—it discussed the continued success of any venture Anthony Rawlings embarked upon. Rawlings Industries’ diversification included the recent purchase of TTT-TV a television broadcasting network. Atlanta Daily Journal, 2009—TTT-TV acquired WKPZ. Although the acquisition resulted in multiple layoffs, Anthony Rawlings promised that as the economy improved, so would job opportunities. He stated that his dedication is to his employees. He is worried about each individual who was out of work. Claire now saw—all of those people at WKPZ who were so nice to her—who helped her with her dream—all lost their jobs—because of her.
Consequences Consequences Page 127 People Magazine, August 2010—Claire knew it immediately; it was the article that almost cost her—her life. She didn’t need to read it, but she did—Questions Answered—The Mystery Woman in Anthony Rawlings’s Life Agrees to a One-on-One Interview. These articles were no longer revelations, mere confirmations. December 19, 2010—her wedding picture—It revealed a smiling her next to a smiling him. She recognized the picture, but the unfavorable article was new to her. It talked about how fantastic Anthony was and asked how such a smart businessman could be as gullible as to marry this woman with no prenuptial agreement? Vanity Fair, April 2011—Anthony’s and her smiling face on the cover. It hit Claire at that moment—the woman in that picture didn’t even look like her. She was beautiful, blonde, sophisticated, elegant, and way too thin. Not until now, had she realized the magnitude of the transformation. She placed a picture of her from Emily’s wedding next to the magazine cover. She didn’t change—she was changed. Why hadn’t she seen it before? November 2011—Copy of the printed newsreel Tony brought home—Tragic Accident Claims the Life of Young Gaming Phenomenon Simon Johnson. Albany Post, January 2012—Column listing arrests: John Vandersol, 32, charged with embezzlement and fraudulent client billing charges, arraignment pending. Iowa City News, January 2012—Headline—Anthony Rawlings Alive after Attempted Murder by New Wife. No wonder so many reporters were on the courthouse steps! Iowa City News, April 2012—Claire Nichols (formally Rawlings) avoids trial by pleading no contest to the attempted-murder charge—accompanied by more unfavorable articles. Iowa City News, July 2012—Headline—Anthony Rawlings’ Efforts to Save the Iowa Taxpayers Their Money—The picture, black and white, showed a warehouse full of tables lined with merchandise—jewelry, shoes, handbags, clothes, etc. The article explained how Anthony Rawlings, uncomfortable that the taxpayers of Iowa were held responsible for his ex-wife’s pretrial expenses, held an auction of her belongings. It raised enough money to reimburse the state for her counsel and court costs. There was even an additional 176 thousand dollars, which was donated to the Red Cross of Iowa. Mr. Rawlings explained that this charity remained dear to him because it was Claire’s pet charity. A strip of newspaper stapled behind the first, had another picture, a close-up of some of the jewelry. The picture was not large, but center frame was a black velvet box containing a white gold necklace with a large pearl centered on a white gold cross. As Claire was about to close up the box, something caught her eye. Folded in the bottom was a napkin. She pulled it out and unfolded it. On the napkin in scrolling red letters: Red Wing. Under the words on each side were signatures, Claire Nichols and Anthony Rawlings. Above the red letters: the date—March 15, 2010. She turned the napkin over—no other writing. There was no agreement—no definition of duties—and no life-changing contract—just a napkin with signatures. Claire’s mind swirled with possibilities—she could take this information and ask for a new trial. No—she’d entered a plea of no contest and by definition couldn’t appeal. Tony knew that; besides, the legal system and the court of public opinion didn’t believe her before—they wouldn’t believe her now. She questioned why he would share the information. Obviously, he didn’t view her as a threat. As Claire repacked the box, she contemplated and found a better reason—Tony spent years—no—decades—planning his vendetta. He liked recognition for his accomplishments. He required gratitude for his deeds. There was no one else with whom he could share his hard work. She wondered what sort of recognition he expected, perhaps a well done note? She kept some of the photos and papers, put everything else in the box, rang her buzzer, and requested permission to incinerate the box. The guard consented and accompanied her to the basement. As they walked the passages, thoughts and ideas began to flow through Claire’s mind. She believed her actions kept her alive. She also knew that obedience took more strength than retaliation. With each echoing step, her new knowledge empowered that strength. She lived her life governed by her grandmother’s and mother’s words. Those words encouraged truth and forgiveness—the truth had not set her free. The thoughts of revenge weren’t fueled only by her consequences—but the consequences of her parents, John, Emily, Simon, her friends at WKPZ, and even her grandmother’s necklace. Opening the incinerator, she felt the warmth. It reminded her of the fires in her suite, Tony’s suite, and Lake Tahoe. Throwing the box into the flames, she watched the contents ignite. The flickering of the flames brought back the flames of her past—love, fear, contempt, desire, passion, pain, and sadness. As the fire consumed the memories—it fueled a new determination. Two and a half years ago, she had one goal—survival. Now she had a new one—revenge. Mr. Anthony Rawlings would learn that his actions had consequences. Claire contemplated her decision; according to Catherine, Claire had received the rare opportunity to truly know Anthony Rawlings. With that knowledge, she had four to seven years to plan his demise. Turning back to the guard, her mind spun with possibilities. * Immediately, the uniformed man noticed something different about the prisoner. It was her smile. How could he not notice? It extended into her emerald eyes. In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on. —Robert Frost Chapter Fifty-Three ‡ The Massachusetts autumn remained cooler than normal. Shivering, Sophia entered her art studio thinking about the events of the last few weeks. First, she presented a hugely successful gallery exhibit. Guests and investors from all over the East Coast were in attendance. Her dream was becoming reality as word spread about her art. Then, in the course of a day, her whole world fell apart. The call came just as she left for her studio two weeks earlier. She almost didn’t answer but decided to pick up after the fourth ring. The New Jersey police called to inform her—a blue Toyota Camry was found by passing drivers. The accident must have occurred during the night. It was believed that perhaps her father lost control on the wet leaves, or it may have been an acceleration issue. She could request tests. The policeman offered his sincere condolences. Could she possibly travel to New Jersey and identify the bodies? Both her mother and her father were killed instantly. Sophia had so many responsibilities—so many activities—the next week passed in a blur. There was the funeral planning and settling of their estate. That would take months or years. Sadly, she hadn’t realized the debt her parents incurred helping her with her art. Now, with a minute to herself, she couldn’t stay home. She feared she would do nothing but cry. That was why—even on this cloudy Saturday afternoon—Sophia decided to go into the studio. Putting her purse in the office, she heard the bell on the front door. Damn—she’d meant to lock that. It wasn’t that she was afraid. This was a great town. She just wanted some quiet time alone. As she stepped into the studio, the man at the counter looked familiar. Maybe he had been at the gallery event, or she had seen him on TV? She couldn’t be sure, but his eyes were so dark and mesmerizing. “I’m sorry, I’m not open today. I just forgot to lock the door,” Sophia said, as she approached the handsome stranger.
Consequences Consequences Page 128 “That’s all right. I can come back,” the dark-eyed man said with an agreeable smile. “It’s just that I travel a lot and happened to be in town. A friend of mine told me about your gallery. He was here a week or so ago and bought three pieces. I’m very interested in nature, and he said you have a wonderful selection.” Sophia exhaled and smiled. “Are you a friend of Jackson Wilson?”—the man’s smile widened as he nodded his head—“He’s one of my biggest fans.” “I don’t get this way often. Are you sure you couldn’t give me a speed tour? By the way, my name is Anthony, Anthony Rawlings.” Sophia stuck out her hand. “Where are my manners? I’m so sorry. My name is Sophia, Sophia Burke. I’d be glad to give you a tour.” She couldn’t stop looking at those eyes. “With one condition”—Anthony said, his eyes shining—“you let me buy you some dinner and a drink after the tour.” Sophia gently took the man’s elbow to lead him around the studio. After a few minutes of enjoying his charm, she decided why not? After the last few difficult weeks—what harm could one dinner and drink do? The End
