“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 don’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 don’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 am 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 that 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.”

“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 is the apartment in which you lived prior to moving into Mr. Rawlings’s 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 mansion. It showed the sprawling wings of the home, the pool, the long drive, the various patios, and the massive expenditure of land surrounding it all.

“Yes.”

“Yes, it is 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 have 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 are doing?”

“I am 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 picture is before. But seriously, you don’t—”

Mr. Evergreen interrupted her. “Mrs. Rawlings, allow me to ask the questions. 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, Mr. Rawlings’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 are 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. “Mrs. Rawlings, did you use your credit card on these occasions?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you?” he asked, pointing at a photo.

“I am in Manhattan.”

“So you are shopping in Manhattan. 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 $ 5,000. 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 that I didn’t care about his money—”

Showing Claire an e-mail address and telephone number, “Mrs. Rawlings do you recognize this e-mail address?”

“Yes.”

“It is 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 wasn’t enough, sent his driver away on a wild-goose chase and drove away. It would have worked, except that with technology as it was, fifteen people witnessed the collapse and help arrived in time. The prosecution had many character witnesses that would testify to the generous spirit and good-heartedness of Mr. Rawlings. No one will back her slanderous accusations of this respectable man.

Hadn’t Claire been told over and over again that appearances were everything? The small room became smaller. Claire’s head hurt, her 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 50

He stared at the paint on the cinder block wall. Why did they always use that pale green? If it was supposed to look cheery, it failed. Anton continued to watch the wall even though he’d 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 he did in Anton’s memory. His 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 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 that only insiders would know helped lead to Mr. Rawls’s conviction. The only released information was that an FBI agent had been embedded to investigate federal allegations. Of course, to protect his identity, his name was never released. But this was the eighties, and Anton Rawls knew his way around a computer better than most. Hacking was such a negative term for research.