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  “I can but ask, Your Honor.”

  “You do that.” Durnin’s chair squeaked loudly as he leaned back. “All right, Mr. Barrett. You’ve got us here. Let’s hear why.”

  Thunder rumbled deep and slow as Adrian faced the judge. “Your Honor, I respectfully request this matter be discussed off the record.”

  For an attorney to make such a request in the middle of a hotly contested case was rare but not unheard of. Normally the judge would require the attorney to show some form of justifiable cause before agreeing. But today Judge Durnin merely asked, “How long do you need, Adrian?”

  “Three or four minutes should do, Your Honor.”

  Durnin nodded to the court reporter. When the door shut behind her, the judge said, “Now both of you take your seats.” When the attorneys were stationed opposite him, he said, “All right, Adrian, let’s hear it.”

  Adrian turned and addressed Carstairs directly. “When I first showed up here in Jacksonville, your father went out of his way to help me get settled. Me, a greenhorn attorney working for another firm. Until that point, I’d never spent more than a day or so in your region. I felt completely out of my depth. And scared. But your father treated me like I was someone who deserved the finest this city had to offer.”

  Carstairs shifted in his seat like he couldn’t find a comfortable position. He kept on with the tight little coughs. Small sounds, little more than a catch in his throat. “Is this going somewhere?”

  “I respect you both,” Adrian continued. “Always have. You are a fine attorney, and your firm deserves its good name. That’s one reason why this case has been so difficult for me. Middle of the night, I keep waking up and wondering why you’d attack us like you have.”

  “Come on, Adrian. You know perfectly well that how we approach this case has nothing—”

  “Let him finish,” the judge said in a deep burr.

  “Watching you in there today, it finally hit me,” Adrian said. “You’re being duped, the same as us. Maybe even more so. They’re your clients, and they’re not telling you the truth.”

  Carstairs huffed. “Your Honor, this is getting us nowhere but farther and farther from a resolution.”

  Adrian went on, “They’re using you, Jimmy. This has never been about a hedge fund wanting to buy a pain reliever that won’t go to market for years, maybe never. You’re a smart man. You’re bound to have been facing the very same mystery. No matter what they’ve told you, down deep you’re worried it’s a lie. A total fabrication. And what they haven’t said has begun to terrify you.”

  Carstairs heaved himself up on one side and pulled a handkerchief from his rear pocket. “This is ridiculous.”

  “Sooner or later the truth is going to come out,” Adrian said. “You and your firm will realize this group is nothing but a shadow. And behind the shadow is something that is just awful, Jimmy. I realized this over lunch, when Ethan shared with me news about your missing DARPA agent. I know what their secret is, Jimmy. It’s bad. And when it comes out, you and your firm had best be miles away.”

  Carstairs squinted at Adrian, his mouth open a fraction, far enough to emit the occasional cough. Nothing more.

  Adrian pointed at the door. “We’re going back in the courtroom, and I’m going to reveal the secret your clients are desperate to keep from having come out. And you’re going to be faced with a choice.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Here’s what I do know. The man who tried to kill me on the courthouse steps has vanished. What’s more, your firm represented his release from Raiford. In front of a federal judge no one can find.”

  Durnin demanded, “What are you saying?”

  Adrian did not turn, did not even blink. He gripped Carstairs with an iron-hard gaze. “What happens when the press links this missing shooter and the evidence that’s about to come out to your firm? Your family’s good name is going to be dragged through years of slime, Jimmy. There’s every chance you’ll never recover.” He stopped, giving the man time to apply the handkerchief to his face. “You’re too good a man to be used in this way.”

  Carstairs gripped the handkerchief so hard his knuckles turned white as the cloth.

  “Recuse yourself and your firm, Jimmy. Drop this case and walk away. Show the world you won’t stand to be used like this.” Adrian reached over and gripped the man’s arm. “This is your one chance to break away clean. Take it.”

  When the lawyer remained silent, Durnin said, “Mr. Carstairs, we will resume testimony in five minutes. In the meantime, Adrian and I will step from my office. Feel free to use my phone.”

  The judge led Adrian from his chambers. When they entered the outer office, Durnin asked his aide to give them a moment. After the door closed, he demanded, “Why are you doing this? He’s put you and your wife through the flames. Why not just let him burn?”

  Adrian nodded. “It’s a valid question, Your Honor.”

  “And your answer?”

  “Ethan.”

  The judge narrowed his gaze. “Your brother.”

  “The man who saved my life. The man who . . .”

  “Yes? Go on.”

  “Ethan has been teaching me what it means to see the difference between the logical path and the right one.” Adrian almost managed a smile. “That’s as good an answer as I can give you today, Judge. Maybe in time I’ll find a way to say it better.”

  Durnin studied him a moment longer, then said, “You know full well that Jimmy Carstairs would never voluntarily step away from a client in the middle of a trial.”

  “I know.”

  “So why insist on speaking with him here? Why not somewhere private?”

  “Two reasons.” Adrian pointed back to the judge’s office. “After this conversation, the legal community will sooner or later come to know Jimmy’s decision. And from this, if he was duped or if he served as a willing participant.”

  Durnin did not smile. Not really. He merely tightened the edges of his mouth. “Which was why you asked for this to be off the court record. So that you or I might speak of it.”

  “If necessary, Judge. Only if necessary.”

  “And the second reason?” When Adrian hesitated, he said, “It’s just the two of us, Adrian. Off the record.”

  “It was never about Jimmy walking away,” Adrian replied. “What happened in your chambers was my way of asking Jimmy not to block what happens next.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-FOUR

  After Judge Durnin led the two attorneys from the courtroom, Ethan was about to retake his seat when Gina whispered, “We need to talk.” Without waiting for his response, she stepped to the center aisle and walked toward the exit.

  Ethan had assumed there would be such a moment, when Gina made her demands or issued her ultimatum or offered a final farewell. But not here, in the brief interlude between courtroom dramas. As he followed her down the aisle, he assumed it meant something bad, as in, she was leaving and never coming back. He opened the rear doors for her and felt pierced by a keening sorrow.

  Yet when he entered the courthouse corridor, Ethan was struck by the change. It seemed to him that he suddenly faced a second set of doors. Only this portal was the final exit. It was just beyond his vision, but it was there all right. And very close indeed. The sensation was so sudden and so potent, he stopped midstride. Whatever Gina was about to tell him became colored by a different lens. It was no longer about what made him happy or what might have suited them best, if only. The one issue he had to focus upon, while he still had time, was doing right by this lady and whatever she had decided. It was her choice. Her life. His responsibility began and ended with his response.

  Gina wore the outfit from her first day, the pale grey pantsuit and navy blouse. The only change was a lovely gold brooch in a design Ethan did not recognize. The lapel pin was about as long as his little finger and swept in a half-moon shape that ended with a cuneiform that glowed in the corridor’s overhead lights.

 
The hall was long and almost empty. Down by the elevators, two men and a woman were involved in an intense discussion. Gina walked to a long wooden bench running down the opposite wall. She seated herself and patted the place beside her. Once Ethan joined her, however, she showed no interest in coming to the point. She sat and stared at the opposite wall, as if she could read a message scripted upon the painted concrete.

  He said the first thing that came to mind. “I don’t recall seeing that brooch before.”

  “Sonya loaned it to me.” Gina touched it with two fingers. “Adrian gave it to her for their first anniversary. She had miscarried. Things were hard between them.”

  “It’s lovely.”

  “Sonya says it’s the oldest known symbol from ancient Hebrew. It’s the symbol for love. Human love, divine love, or both.” Her fingers stroked the gold. “When he gave it to her, Adrian said such a symbol would not have lasted through the ages because it was easy. It was hard to love five thousand years ago. It is hard to love now. Sonya wears it in the hard times to remind her what is most important in this world. And the next. She had it on when they came back yesterday.”

  “From seeing her mother.”

  “From putting her mother in a home for dementia patients,” she corrected. “And knowing it was only a matter of time.”

  Ethan found himself filled with a remarkable sensation. Perhaps it was the fact that his departure was as close as his next breath. Or maybe, just maybe, it arrived with the realization that he was wrong. Gina had not brought him out here because she intended to deliver her version of an ending. Instead, she was so filled with emotions she could hardly speak. She could not look his way. She could not hold back any longer. The ashes of a love Ethan thought lost and gone forever were burning anew. The embers were alive. He breathed the dusty air and shivered.

  “Whatever you want, Ethan, I will do it.” Gina turned to him. “Tell me what you think is best. I need you to do this for me. Because I really don’t know. I don’t have any answers. Every choice feels like one part maybe right and ten parts probably wrong.”

  “I’ve been there,” he said.

  “But you’re not there now, are you?”

  He shook his head. He had never felt further from that point in his life.

  “I feel like such a mess.” She turned to him. “Tell me, Ethan. Talk to me.”

  The answer was right there in front of him. “Yesterday I went looking for answers from a new friend. I’ve known about him for years. But I’ve only gotten to know him since the . . .”

  “Transition.”

  It was good to hear her say the word as she did. Calmly, without the previous struggle and disbelief.

  “What I really wanted most from him was a sense of clarity. How I should look at everything that was happening to me. And everything coming my way.”

  “Clarity. That sounds so nice. Like a favorite tune I’ve almost forgotten. Clarity.”

  “My friend said the difference between making the right moves now and making more wrong moves like before was that I had to seek out the eternal perspective.”

  “Did you make so many wrong moves, Ethan?”

  “So many. So wrong.” He pushed out a breath, expelling the bitter taste of regret as best he could. As he did so, he was struck by something he had not thought of in years. He started to speak, but the words became clogged in his throat.

  Gina gripped his wrist. “Tell me.”

  “Sometimes when we fought, it felt like you didn’t see me at all. You had this image inside you of who you wanted me to be. And what made you angriest of all was when I didn’t live up to that set of expectations.”

  She released his arm, leaned back, and opened her mouth, but no words came.

  “I think the reason you left me was that you finally gave up on that image. You became resigned. You realized I was determined never to change.” Ethan saw in her lovely gaze a reflection of all that once had been. Of all he had never allowed to become. “I think at some level I knew all along that you only wanted the best for me. You saw what I could have become, if only I could have found a way to let go of all the barriers. All the stubborn resistance to change and growth and . . .”

  She said it for him. “Love.”

  He nodded. “That most of all.”

  She reached forward and took another hold on his forearm. Gentle now, warm as her words. “And now?”

  “You need to see beyond the now, Gina. I don’t know how to say it any other way. I’m leaving, and you need to fashion a world and a future without me.”

  “It’s so hard.”

  “You have friends and family who will help. And who need you.” Ethan felt as though the fire in her heart and eyes was so strong, he could actually manage to catch a faint glimmer of what could perhaps be the way forward. “You asked me to tell you what to do. This is my answer: Stay here for the rest of this year. Talk to the university. Get them to set you up with a professor who will act as your thesis advisor. Go for a BA and MBA combined. Help Sonya form a new business model.”

  “Ethan . . .”

  “No, no, hear me out. Sonya’s team has no business manager in place. All of that was handled by the group that has become their enemy. If my investments are enough, they’ll buy back the outstanding shares. And then what? They have to find another investor. They need to set up a business model. They need . . . well, they need you. Someone they trust completely.”

  She reached out her other hand and fit it into his. “I want to walk the riverbank and find a place we can claim as ours. Lie in a field of wildflowers with you and find faces in the clouds.” She released one hand long enough to clear her cheeks. “No one has ever shown me how to see the world as I do with you. Like my heart was made to be open. Like it was made to love only you.”

  For once, the words did not make him sad. Instead, they felt to Ethan like a boon. He had said what she needed to hear, and this was his reward.

  He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “We need to get back inside.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-FIVE

  Ethan entered the courtroom alone.

  He had just seated himself when the guard ordered them to rise. Adrian accompanied the judge into the courtroom and returned to his table without meeting either Sonya’s or his brother’s eyes. Jimmy Carstairs followed a few seconds later, studying his shoes as he walked. Ethan had the impression that something that had happened inside the judge’s office left the opposing counsel disconnected from events. When Carstairs took his chair, the two younger attorneys crowded in, whispering. Ethan doubted Carstairs was even aware of their presence.

  Gina slipped into the seat next to him just as Judge Durnin demanded, “Mr. Barrett, are you ready to resume?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. I recall Dr. Sonya Barrett to the stand.” When she was seated, Adrian launched straight in. “We were talking about a sidebar research that you halted some six months ago.”

  “A bit less.”

  “At the time, you closed down this direction of study because you were negatively impacting your test subjects.”

  “You might as well say it, Adrian. We killed them.”

  Adrian half turned, waiting for Carstairs to object. But neither he nor the judge seemed to find anything worth voicing. He swung back to Sonya. “Before closing your research down, you made one final discovery, however.”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you tell the court what that was?”

  “We tried to extract the specific frequencies that were impacting our subjects so negatively. Remove them entirely from the process.”

  “Were you successful?”

  “No. We failed in a very dreadful way. We experienced the complete opposite effect of what we were hoping.”

  “Instead, what happened?”

  “We increased our failure rate to almost a hundred percent.” It sounded to Ethan as though Sonya dragged out each word, hauled it out by sheer strength of will. “We could not continue. We just could
n’t.”

  Adrian rose from his chair and walked to the podium. His movement held the same sense of struggle as Sonya’s speech. “Let us now return to the issue of timing. You completed this work—”

  “I didn’t complete anything. I gave up because we failed.”

  Adrian seemed utterly unaffected by Sonya’s rising tension. “You ended this research. You set it aside, and then what?”

  Sonya’s only response was to take a fierce grip on the railing around the witness stand.

  “You did not write it up, did you?”

  She whispered, “I couldn’t.”

  “It was too distressing. It meant reliving all the failed hopes and all those disastrous results. So you set aside making your report, didn’t you? Until when?”

  Sonya did not respond.

  “When was it you finally decided you had to include this failure?”

  She tracked her husband with her gaze and did not speak.

  “You wrote it as a very brief sidebar,” Adrian continued. “And you did so in the run-up to the semiannual visit of the investors’ outside scientist. Is that not correct?”

  She nodded. Once.

  Durnin spoke in a remarkably gentle voice. “Witness must speak her response for the record.”

  “Yes,” Sonya whispered. “Yes.”

  “Three paragraphs are all you wrote, isn’t that what you told me?”

  “Less.”

  “And yet writing that very brief summary caused you nightmares.”

  “Terrible,” Sonya whispered. “Wrenching.”

  “Then the microbiologist arrived and asked you to go over that ground for the entire first day you spent together.”

  “It was horrible.”

  “At the time you blamed yourself. You thought it was due to the fact that you had done such a poor job of writing up the weeks you and your team spent on this futile direction.”

  “Five and a half months,” she murmured, her gaze haunted.

  Adrian stood by the central podium, rocking back and forth, heel to toe. Finally he said, “Your Honor, I need to ask the scientist a theoretical question. I suggest that it is within the parameters of her stated expertise.”