“You people don’t get it,” DeFiore says. “Anderson will decimate Billy. They won’t just bring in witnesses from the scene. They’ll wrangle every person the girl has ever met to testify against him. They’ll say he is damaged, violent, and dangerous. They’ll paper the room with pictures of the girl’s face and body. They’ll go after him like rabid dogs. I’ve seen every piece of evidence. It’s enough to put him away for a very long time.”
“You told us that most of it is circumstantial or inconclusive,” I say.
“No, the sheriff’s and EMT’s reports are not inconclusive. They both say the girl was unconscious. She scored a thirteen on the Glasgow coma scale. Fully aware is fifteen.”
“But they can’t prove Billy knew it,” I say. “And we have evidence too: Diana’s texts, pictures of them kissing, the shattered Audi. You must’ve spoken to the insurance company. So why can’t you argue that Billy is a victim of a culture where accusations are no longer questioned? Where women’s feelings eclipse men’s civil rights? I mean, you’ll say it more eloquently, obviously, but isn’t that what you originally planned?”
“It’s risky, Cassie. Let’s say we argue three points. A passionate affair that ended badly. A consensual hook up between former lovers. And a rejected girl hell-bent on revenge. When we explain the blackout with binge drinking, it’s a plausible narrative. We chip away at the evidence, raise reasonable doubt, and end up with a hung jury. Then again, if we make the girl the aggressor and Billy the victim, we might alienate everyone. The press, the public, the court, not to mention the jury. He’s too rich and too handsome. People are already gunning for him.”
The room is quiet for several long minutes.
“Then focus on Billy,” Eleanor finally says. “On his prior hardships, his commitment to public service, his plans for medical school. He’s a good kid, Mr. DeFiore. Can’t you use that to his advantage?”
“If we talk about how good Billy is, Mrs. Quinn, then we also have to talk about where he came from. His values. Each one of you. We open the door for the DA to put the entire family on trial. If that happens, some of you will have to testify, which raises more problems than it solves. To a jury, family members are the least objective and therefore the least credible.”
“I thought you wanted us to testify,” I say.
“I did. Now I don’t.”
“Well, Mr. DeFiore, that’s what we want.”
“Put the family on trial, Mrs. Quinn, and it is open season on everyone.” DeFiore looks directly at me. Unafraid, I hold his gaze. He blinks first.
Eleanor doesn’t seem to notice. “Mr. DeFiore, stop finding reasons not to do your job. You won’t just focus on Billy, of course. You’ll also focus on the girl. Show the jury who she is too. She pursued Billy and pressed him for a commitment. She coerced him into attending the party. She took drugs. She drank too much, blacked out, and woke up confused. She blamed her mistakes on him to save herself embarrassment, and to hurt him for rejecting her. My son is a solid citizen. Look at all he overcame. Look at our family, how we took in Cassie, gave her a home and a family. She’s willing to testify. Aren’t you, Cassie? You’ll get on the stand and talk about your brother.”
“Of course, Eleanor. I’ll do anything for this family.”
“There are lots of risks in that approach, Mrs. Quinn.”
“We’ll take them, Mr. DeFiore.”
He appraises us, one by one. “If we do go to trial, it will take a lot to get ready. Not on my side—on yours. A trial is like a staged play in front of an audience. It happens in real time, so there’s no room for error. Each of you is part of the cast, even if all you do is sit in the gallery. You’ll be scrutinized as closely as the principal actors. You’ll need to work hard to prepare. Listen. Take notes. Rehearse. Follow directions down to the letter.”
“We’re up for it,” Nate promises. “Whatever we need to do.”
“Let me think about it.” Again, DeFiore glances my way, but I study my hands. I can barely sit still. The God-awful twitching is killing me.
*
On the way home, Lawrence and Eleanor are snapping at each other. Like a summer squall, the air in the car grows dark and foreboding then the skies split apart.
“I don’t appreciate the way you kept interrupting me, Eleanor,” Lawrence says sharply. “You may disagree, but at least let me finish my sentence.”
Eleanor glances out the window. Her eyes are hidden behind large sunglasses, but there’s the hint of a smirk on her lips. “Lawrence, I don’t appreciate you jeopardizing my son’s future.”
“Our son. If anyone is jeopardizing Billy’s future, it’s you. You’re jeopardizing all our futures. Why would you let Cassie and Nate testify? They’re not DeFiore’s clients. Billy is. DeFiore has no reason to protect the rest of us.”
“We don’t need his protection! None of us is hiding anything—except you, maybe.”
“What am I hiding? We’ve been married for thirty fucking years.”
“Let’s start with your money issues, your job issues, your crazy foundation—”
“What money issues?” Lawrence’s eyes widen. He looks genuinely bewildered.
“It seems to me that a man who is unable to provide for his family, a man who is dependent on his wife to feed himself and his children might have a few money issues.” She adjusts her glasses. “Just a thought.”
The color drains from Lawrence’s face. His breathing grows ragged. For one shocking second, he is wholly unfamiliar, a man who’ll rear back and roar. Instead, he glances behind him, at me and my brothers. Then his anger flickers and goes out, like a blown light bulb.
Cracking his window, Lawrence lets in a gust of hot air. For a partnership to endure, he once told me, one person has to be the peacemaker. Someone has to take it on the chin. “Eleanor,” he says softly. “I don’t want to argue. We’re all we have. We’ll work this out.”
“Of course we will.” She stares at the passing scenery. “Of that I have no doubt.”
In the backseat, Nate reaches across Billy to nudge me. We need to fix this.
33
HOURS LATER, NATE PUSHES ME TO GO FOR A DRINK. “LET’S get out of this house. Put on your shoes, Cassie.”
“You barely speak to me. Why should I go anywhere with you?”
Snatching a Columbia ballcap off a hook, he pauses. “Please.”
Feeling pathetic but grateful for his attention, I follow him out the door like a dutiful dog.
When we step into the muggy night, he asks a valet to hail a cab. I look around for Anton or Joey, but neither is working. “Isn’t it weird that Anton hired Joey?” I ask Nate, wondering what they told Haggerty about me. “Have you spoken to him?”
“To Joey? About what? We have nothing in common. For one thing, he’s gainfully employed.” Nate’s voice is clipped. “And no, it’s not weird at all. These jobs get passed down all the time. You’ve lived in this building your whole life, Cassie. How do you not know that?”