Sidney Sheldon's After The Darkness Part 40

"John came up with the idea of the boat. We'd do it on Nantucket, make it look like suicide. At first we thought I could just disappear, you know, missing presumed dead. But I couldn't leave anything to chance. Knowing the storm that would be unleashed at Quorum, I didn't want some vigilante out there looking for me. We had to have a body."

Grace started to s.h.i.+ver. The stump in the morgue. Davey Buccola's pictures. The severed head...He couldn't have! The stump in the morgue. Davey Buccola's pictures. The severed head...He couldn't have!

"You mean...you killed somebody?"

"He was a n.o.body. A homeless b.u.m from the island, a lazy drunk. Trust me, he'd have been dead in a few months anyway the way he was treating his liver. I just speeded things up a little. Took him out on the boat, gave him a bottle of bourbon and left him to it. When he was pa.s.sed out cold...I did what needed to be done."

Grace put her hand over her mouth. She felt the vomit rise up inside her.

"Yeah. It wasn't pretty." Lenny winced in distaste. "But like I say, it had to be done. The cops would have to think that the corpse was me, so I had to...alter it. The hardest part was getting my wedding ring onto his finger. He was stiff by then and so f.u.c.king fat. Plus, of course, there was the storm. We hadn't figured on that. A couple of times I nearly did go overboard. I tell you, I've never been happier to see Graydon in my life."

Graydon. Graydon Walker. It was a name from another life. Grace and Lenny's helicopter pilot, Graydon Walker, was a quiet, taciturn man. Grace had never really warmed to him. But like many of the longtime Brookstein staff, he was fanatically loyal to Lenny. It was a name from another life. Grace and Lenny's helicopter pilot, Graydon Walker, was a quiet, taciturn man. Grace had never really warmed to him. But like many of the longtime Brookstein staff, he was fanatically loyal to Lenny.

"Graydon took me to a quiet airstrip on the mainland. Des had the jet waiting, brought me straight here." Desmond Montalbano was the pilot of their G5, a young, ambitious exfighter pilot with a taste for daredevilry. "I knew Graydon would keep the secret but I wasn't sure about Des."

Grace gasped. "You didn't kill Des?"

"Kill him? Of course not." Lenny sounded offended by the suggestion. "I structured his compensation over thirty years. Made it worth his while to keep his trap shut. He's paid out of a trust in Jersey. That money's completely untraceable," he added with a touch of pride.

"It's all completely untraceable," said Grace bitterly. "Who hid the rest of the money? You? John?"

Lenny smiled. "Darling Grace. Haven't you figured it out yet? There is is no 'rest of the money.'" no 'rest of the money.'"

Grace looked at him blankly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean this mythical seventy-plus billion everyone's so busy looking for. It doesn't exist. It never did exist."

Grace waited for him to explain.

"Oh, Quorum was making money all right. We were trading. Up until the Internet losses we were doing well, perhaps twenty billion in our heyday, never over seventy. In any event, by 2004, it was all gone."

"All gone?" gone?"

"There was a few hundred million left. I was using that to pay dividends and cover occasional redemptions. And to bankroll our lifestyle, of course. I always wanted you to have the best, Grace."

Grace thought about the nightmare of the past two years of her life. "You wanted me to have the best?" she murmured.

"Yes. People think success is measured in wealth, but it's not. Not in America. It's measured in the perception perception of wealth. If people perceived me as wealthy and successful, they would continue to lend to me. And they did. Until Lehman went down. After that, everyone got jumpy. People started to do the math and I knew I had to create an exit strategy. of wealth. If people perceived me as wealthy and successful, they would continue to lend to me. And they did. Until Lehman went down. After that, everyone got jumpy. People started to do the math and I knew I had to create an exit strategy.

"I put some money aside for myself and John. We didn't need much. We always planned to live simply, didn't we?" John nodded. "Madagascar's a simple island, Grace, you know that. That's why you and I both loved it so much. You know, I'm so happy you're here, darling." He stood up and threw his arms wide, as if expecting her to embrace him. "It'll be like old times, the three of us together again. I've missed you, Gracie, more than you know. Won't you put the gun down? Let bygones be bygones?"

Grace laughed, a loud, joyless roar of a laugh. She laughed till her body shook and tears streamed down her face. Then she stood up and pointed the gun between Lenny's eyes.

"Bygones? Bygones! Bygones! Have you totally lost your mind? You set me up! You stole and murdered and lied and cheated and you left Have you totally lost your mind? You set me up! You stole and murdered and lied and cheated and you left me me to take the fall. I went to the to take the fall. I went to the morgue, morgue, Lenny! I saw that corpse, that bloated hulk of the poor man you killed, and I wept. I wept because I thought it was you. I LOVED you!" Lenny! I saw that corpse, that bloated hulk of the poor man you killed, and I wept. I wept because I thought it was you. I LOVED you!"

"And I loved you, Grace."

"Stop it! Stop saying that! You left me for dead. Worse than dead. You had John rig my trial! They locked me up and threw away the key and you let it happen. You made made it happen. My G.o.d. I believed in you, Lenny. I thought you were innocent." She shook her head, bitterly. "All this time, everything I've been through, it's all been for you. For your memory. The memory of who I thought you were. Do you know why I came here today?" it happen. My G.o.d. I believed in you, Lenny. I thought you were innocent." She shook her head, bitterly. "All this time, everything I've been through, it's all been for you. For your memory. The memory of who I thought you were. Do you know why I came here today?"

Lenny shook his head.

"To kill John. That's right. I was going to shoot him, because I thought he'd murdered you. I thought he'd stolen the money and framed you."

"John? Betray me?" Lenny seemed to find this idea amusing. "My dear girl. The entire world has betrayed me, and you single out the one man, the only only man, whose loyalty has never been in question? That's priceless." man, whose loyalty has never been in question? That's priceless."

"What about my my loyalty, Lenny? loyalty, Lenny? My My love? I'd have given anything for you, risked anything, suffered anything. Why didn't you trust me? You could have talked to me when things started going wrong at Quorum." love? I'd have given anything for you, risked anything, suffered anything. Why didn't you trust me? You could have talked to me when things started going wrong at Quorum."

"Talked to you you? About business? Come on, Grace. You never looked at the price tag on anything in your life."

It was true. Grace looked back at the naive, idiotic person she'd been back then and felt ashamed.

"Look, perhaps I should have trusted you, Gracie. Perhaps I should've." For the first time, a look that might have been guilt pa.s.sed briefly across Lenny's features. "I did love you. But it's like I said. I had to survive. People wanted a scapegoat for their own stupidity. Quorum investors, America, the world. They wanted a sacrificial lamb to atone for their own greed. It was you or me, darling." He shrugged.

"And you chose me." Grace's finger caressed the trigger. "You heartless son of a b.i.t.c.h."

John Merrivale whimpered in fear. "P-please, Grace."

Lenny asked, "What do you want me to say, Grace. That I'm sorry?"

Grace thought about it. "Yes. I would like you to say you're sorry, Lenny. I'd like you to say you're sorry for that poor man you butchered. Sorry for the millions of people whose lives you destroyed. Sorry for me, for what you did to me me. Say you're sorry. SAY IT!"

She was screaming now, hysterical. Lenny looked at her dispa.s.sionately, the way one might observe a rampaging animal in a zoo.

"No. I won't say it. Why should I? Because I'm not sorry, Grace. I'm not. And if I had a chance to do it all over again, I'd do it exactly the same way."

Desperately, Grace searched his face for any sign of the man she remembered. Any hint of compa.s.sion, of remorse. But Lenny's eyes blazed with defiance.

"I'm a survivor, Grace. That's what I am. My father survived the Holocaust. He came to America with nothing but the shoes on his feet. And yes, he made a G.o.d-awful mess of his life, but that was only because he was poor. He survived, that's the point. He had had a life, and he gave me life, and I devoted a life, and he gave me life, and I devoted my my life to escaping poverty. I wasn't going to make the mistakes he made. I wasn't going to be a second-cla.s.s citizen, another poor little Jewish boy begging to be let into the G.o.dd.a.m.n country club. I owned the country club, okay? I owned it! I had all those preppy, Protestant Walker Montgomery the Thirds begging life to escaping poverty. I wasn't going to make the mistakes he made. I wasn't going to be a second-cla.s.s citizen, another poor little Jewish boy begging to be let into the G.o.dd.a.m.n country club. I owned the country club, okay? I owned it! I had all those preppy, Protestant Walker Montgomery the Thirds begging me me for acceptance. I even married one of their daughters." for acceptance. I even married one of their daughters."

Grace winced. Is that all I ever was to you? Cooper Knowles's daughter? A status symbol? Is that all I ever was to you? Cooper Knowles's daughter? A status symbol?

"You expect me to apologize for surviving? For fighting to the end? Never! I came from nothing, Grace, from less than nothing. I built Quorum up out of dust. dust." He quivered with anger. "What do you know about hard work? About prejudice? About poverty? About suffering?"

Grace thought about the grinding days at Bedford Hills. About living hand to mouth, on the run from the law, knowing the entire world was prejudiced against her, that not a soul on earth knew the truth. She thought about fighting off rapists, of bleeding half to death from a self-induced abortion, of slas.h.i.+ng her wrists with the pin of a brooch. What do I know about suffering? You'd be surprised. What do I know about suffering? You'd be surprised.

Lenny went on. "You were the American princess. Life handed you everything on a plate and you took it, accepted it as your due, as your right. You never asked where it came came from. You didn't care! So don't stand there and try to take the moral high ground with me. I'm sorry that you suffered, Grace. But someone had to. Maybe it was your turn." from. You didn't care! So don't stand there and try to take the moral high ground with me. I'm sorry that you suffered, Grace. But someone had to. Maybe it was your turn."

My turn.

"Yes. Don't look so horrified, darling. You made it out, didn't you? You learned to survive, yourself. I'm proud of you. You're here, you're alive, you're free. We all are. You wanted the truth and now you've got it. What more do you want?"

And that's when Grace knew for sure.

"Vengeance, Lenny. I want vengeance."

The shot rang out, its echo bouncing off the high stone walls. Lenny touched his chest. Blood seeped through his fingers, soaking his white linen s.h.i.+rt. He looked up at Grace, surprised. John Merrivale screamed, "NO!"

Another shot was fired, then another.

"Grace!"

Grace turned. Mitch Connors was running through the drawing room toward the garden, his blond hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, his gun drawn. "Stop!" But she couldn't stop. John Merrivale had run into the house. Grace swung back to face Lenny but he was gone, too. No! No! Then she saw him, crawling toward the summerhouse on his hands and knees, a thick trail of blood staining the ground behind him. Grace took aim again. She raised her arm to shoot, but Mitch Connors ran past her, throwing his arms wide to make a human s.h.i.+eld between Grace and Lenny. Then she saw him, crawling toward the summerhouse on his hands and knees, a thick trail of blood staining the ground behind him. Grace took aim again. She raised her arm to shoot, but Mitch Connors ran past her, throwing his arms wide to make a human s.h.i.+eld between Grace and Lenny.

"It's over, sweetheart. Stop, please. Put the gun down."

Grace screamed, "Get out of my way, Mitch. MOVE!"

"No. This isn't right, Grace. I know you want justice, but this isn't the way."

Lenny was getting away. She couldn't bear it.

"Move, Mitch, I swear to G.o.d! I'll shoot."

She heard a commotion inside the house. Doors slamming. Men running. Through Mitch's legs she saw Lenny had almost reached the safety of the summerhouse. Out of the corner of her eye she saw John Merrivale running out of the house screaming, waving a shotgun. The footsteps behind her grew louder. "Police! Drop your weapons!" It was now or never.

Grace fired her gun for the last time. She watched in horror as Mitch pirouetted on the gra.s.s, the bullet tearing through his flesh. Mitch! Mitch! She screamed but no sound came out. The razors were tearing at her, too, her side, her arms, her legs. She was on the gra.s.s, bleeding. Sound faded. Grace opened her eyes to a silent ballet of running feet. Mitch was still, slumped on the lawn. She looked for Lenny but she couldn't see him, only the red haze of her own blood, blotting out the sun and the sky and the trees, falling, falling, heavy like thick velvet on the theater stage: her final curtain. She screamed but no sound came out. The razors were tearing at her, too, her side, her arms, her legs. She was on the gra.s.s, bleeding. Sound faded. Grace opened her eyes to a silent ballet of running feet. Mitch was still, slumped on the lawn. She looked for Lenny but she couldn't see him, only the red haze of her own blood, blotting out the sun and the sky and the trees, falling, falling, heavy like thick velvet on the theater stage: her final curtain.

THIRTY-NINE.

NEW Y YORK, ONE M MONTH L LATER.

THE WOMAN IN THE HOSPITAL WAITING room whispered to her daughter. room whispered to her daughter.

"Is it her?"

The daughter shook her head. "I don't think so." Normally she wouldn't have been so hesitant. She was a great one for all the gossip magazines and prided herself on being able to spot a celebrity from fifty yards. Sungla.s.ses and head scarves didn't fool her. But in this case...The woman did did look a bit like her. A lot like her, if you broke down her face feature by feature. The cupid's-bow lips, the childlike dimple in the chin, the wide-set eyes and the delicate line of the nose. Yet somehow, put them all together, and her face looked... look a bit like her. A lot like her, if you broke down her face feature by feature. The cupid's-bow lips, the childlike dimple in the chin, the wide-set eyes and the delicate line of the nose. Yet somehow, put them all together, and her face looked...less. Less beautiful, less striking, less special. Combine this effect with the woman's drab clothes, the gray wool skirt and simple white blouse, and...no. No, it wasn't her.

"Mrs. Richards?"

The girl's mother looked up. "Yes?"

"You can go in now. Your husband's awake."

Mother and daughter filed out of the waiting room. As they pa.s.sed the look-alike woman, both stole surrept.i.tious glances. Close up she looked even smaller. It was almost as if she projected anonymity, the same way that other people, stars, gave off charisma or s.e.x appeal. "Poor thing," said the mother. "She's like a little mouse. I wonder who she's visiting?"

GRACE WAS GLAD WHEN THE WOMEN LEFT. It was still only seven in the morning. She'd expected, and hoped, to find the waiting room empty. It was getting harder to be around people. Any people. Soon she would leave America for good. Find somewhere peaceful, a retreat where n.o.body knew or cared about her past. A monastery perhaps, in Spain or Greece, if they'd have her. It was still only seven in the morning. She'd expected, and hoped, to find the waiting room empty. It was getting harder to be around people. Any people. Soon she would leave America for good. Find somewhere peaceful, a retreat where n.o.body knew or cared about her past. A monastery perhaps, in Spain or Greece, if they'd have her. They'll have me. That's what they do, isn't it? Offer sanctuary to sinners, to criminals and the poor. I qualify on all three counts. They'll have me. That's what they do, isn't it? Offer sanctuary to sinners, to criminals and the poor. I qualify on all three counts. According to her new lawyer, she'd be ent.i.tled to federal compensation eventually. "It could be a considerable sum of money. Not as much as you've been used to, perhaps, but certainly seven figures." According to her new lawyer, she'd be ent.i.tled to federal compensation eventually. "It could be a considerable sum of money. Not as much as you've been used to, perhaps, but certainly seven figures."

Grace wasn't interested. Whatever the government gave her, she would send directly to Karen Willis and Cora Budds. She owed them her freedom, a debt that no amount of money could hope to repay. Besides, Grace had no use for money. All she wanted was to get away. But she couldn't leave yet. Not till she knew he was all right. Not till she had a chance to explain.

She touched the scar on her arm, from where the bullet had sliced into her. She had four similar scars, all on her right side, on her leg, hip and shoulder. Lucky to be alive, Lucky to be alive, that's what the doctors said. And Grace had smiled and wondered, that's what the doctors said. And Grace had smiled and wondered, Am I? Am I lucky? Am I? Am I lucky? It was amazing how quickly the body could heal. But the spirit was not so resilient. It was amazing how quickly the body could heal. But the spirit was not so resilient.

Without Lenny, Grace Brookstein no longer knew what she was living for.

THE STORY OF THE SHOOT-OUT AT Le Cocon, and the sensational killing of John Merrivale and capture of Lenny Brookstein, had gripped the entire world. The Madagascan authorities made a token effort to prevent the Americans from flying Lenny back to the United States, but a personal phone call from the president, along with some promises of substantial U.S. investment in various Madagascan infrastructure projects, swiftly changed their minds. Le Cocon, and the sensational killing of John Merrivale and capture of Lenny Brookstein, had gripped the entire world. The Madagascan authorities made a token effort to prevent the Americans from flying Lenny back to the United States, but a personal phone call from the president, along with some promises of substantial U.S. investment in various Madagascan infrastructure projects, swiftly changed their minds.

Harry Bain briefed the local press. "Mr. Brookstein is returning to his home country of his own free will for urgent medical treatment. Once he recovers-if he recovers-his future will be determined by the U.S. Justice Department." It was Bain who'd gotten hold of the local police and sent reinforcements to Le Cocon that day. Once he finally heard Mitch's messages, he got right on the phone to the chief of police in Antananarivo and filled him in on everything.

"It would have helped if you'd been honest with us about your presence in Madagascar in the first place," the police chief said stiffly. "We could have helped." Harry Bain had had to grovel to get him to agree to send men up to the estate. But thank G.o.d he had. By the time they got there, Lenny Brookstein had been shot in the stomach and groin. Had Grace aimed a little higher, she would have severed his coronary artery and robbed America of its most sensationalistic and shocking trial since...well, since her own. As it was, after extensive surgery, Lenny survived. Before he knew where he was, the FBI had him heavily sedated and s.h.i.+pped back home on a military plane. It was over before you could say "human-rights violation," never mind "miscarriage of justice."

For two weeks it was unclear whether Mitch Connors would be so lucky. His life hung in the balance. Grace was terrified that it was a stray bullet of hers that had lodged itself in Mitch's spine, but the cops a.s.sured her it was John Merrivale who had almost killed him. When the police showed up, they screamed at him to drop his weapon but John continued firing indiscriminately, at Grace and at them. They'd had no choice but to take him out.

At first Grace was happy when she heard John was dead. But as the weeks pa.s.sed, her happiness faded. What did it matter? What did any of it matter: John's death, Lenny's trial (for fraud and murder) and sentence of death by lethal injection, her own presidential pardon? None of it was going to bring her old life back, or help the people who'd been ruined by Quorum. None of it was going to make Mitch Connors get well, or bring Maria Preston, or Andrew, or that poor homeless soul from Nantucket back to life. The whole thing was so utterly, utterly pointless. Justice had become a mere word, letters on a page, empty of meaning. There could be no justice, no closure, no satisfying ending. The whole thing was a farce, a game. Grace herself had been pardoned, not because she was innocent, but because it was too much of an embarra.s.sment for the authorities to admit she'd escaped from custody twice, twice, and that it was and that it was she, she, not they, who had found Lenny and uncovered the truth about the Quorum fraud. not they, who had found Lenny and uncovered the truth about the Quorum fraud.

"I am convinced that Mrs. Brookstein was as much a victim of her husband's duplicity as the millions of others who suffered at his hands," said the president. And America applauded. "Of course she was. Poor thing." They had their villain now, their pound of flesh. Lenny Brookstein was being sent to Super Max in Colorado, the toughest prison in the land, home to the most dangerous Islamic terrorists and deranged child killers. The play was in its third act, and suddenly there was a vacancy for a convincing tragic heroine. Who better to fill it than Grace? After all, the show must go on.

A nurse tapped Grace on the shoulder.

"Good news. He's awake. Would you like to go in?"

MITCH LOOKED PALE AND THIN. HORRIBLY THIN. Grace tried not to look shocked. Grace tried not to look shocked. He must have lost forty pounds. He must have lost forty pounds. When he saw her, he smiled. When he saw her, he smiled.

"h.e.l.lo, stranger."

"h.e.l.lo."

There was so much to say, but in that moment Grace couldn't think of a single word. Instead she took Mitch's hand in hers and gently stroked it.

"They told me you testified against Lenny at the trial."

"Yes. I didn't have to go in person. They let me give a statement."

"He got the death penalty?"

She nodded.

"So your testimony must have helped."

"I doubt it. He admitted everything anyway. Once they knew about the murder, the die was cast. I think he wanted people to know how clever he'd been. He didn't seem upset at the trial. It was almost as if he were enjoying himself."

Mitch shook his head in disbelief. "He still doesn't see himself as guilty, does he?"