“A hundred and twenty-six, the last time I looked,” Tony corrected. “No. The company can’t be sold.”

“But—”

“No.” His baritone voice deepened. “Tell Tim I said absolutely not. I don’t care if someone offers ten times its worth. I will not sell.”

She reached across the table and gently touched his hand. “Anthony, Mr. Bronson’s made some great decisions that have kept Rawlings Industries strong. He doesn’t believe—”

Tony pulled his hand away. “Don’t treat me like a child. I’m well aware of the chaos I’ve created. The answer regarding Marque is still no.”

“Yes, Mr. Rawlings, I’ll let him know.”

When her brown eyes looked down into her lap, Tony realized the tone of voice he’d used. In many ways he liked it—it felt good. He hadn’t used that tone in almost a year. However, the expression on his assistant’s face washed away his momentary relish. Tony lightly touched her arm, and she glanced his way. “Patricia, I appreciate your traveling all this way to keep me up to date. I’m sorry I barked. Marque has special meaning to me, and I don’t want it sold.”

Her eyes softened as she smiled. “I really don’t mind traveling. I’m glad to help. I hope you know, Anthony, that I’d do anything you need me to do. I’m happy to help you to not be so lonely.”

The way her dark hair blew around her face in the gentle breeze reminded Tony of Claire. He pressed his lips together and grinned. “You’ve been great. Thank you. Just tell Tim I said no about Marque. If he wants to discuss it further, he can when he visits again.”

“I will, and I can come here more often if you’d like. I mean, I don’t need to always fly. It’s only a five-hour drive. I could come up and stay overnight. I read that in the warmer months visitors can come on Saturday and Sunday.”

Tony shook his head in refusal. “I would never ask that. You have a job, a demanding boss, and a life. You don’t need to waste an entire weekend in nowhere South Dakota.”

She reached out again. They’d both read the visiting rules. Touch was limited to the beginning and end of each visit. Rules were to be followed or the visitor would be banned and the prisoner punished. “Right now I’m still helping Mr. Vandersol get better acquainted with Rawlings Industries.”

“Brent said he’s doing well.”

“You really don’t mind having him work there?”

“I don’t.” His voice deepened. “Don’t let his past with me influence your opinion. You know a lot about the company, and he could use your help.”

Patricia shrugged. “If that’s what you want. What about the stuff last year?”

Tony’s brows rose.

“The packages you told me to watch out for, the ones addressed to Rawls-Nichols?”

“What about them?”

“Is that something Mr. Vandersol should know?”

“No,” Tony replied. “Why would you even ask?”

“Well, he asks a lot of questions. I wondered if it would help him understand what happened.”

Tony wasn’t sure where this was all going. “What do you mean?”

“You were worried about the packages and said that you didn’t want them scaring Mrs. Rawlings, then she left. I just figured—”

“Well, don’t.”

Again her eyes fluttered to her lap.

“That’s all over. John doesn’t need to know about it, and you don’t need to worry about it.”

Patricia closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “I love the smell of springtime.”

Tony agreed.

When their time was up, Patricia touched his hand again. “I meant what I said. And I don’t think my boss is too demanding. It’s not demanding when I want to do it.”

“Thank you. I’m not demanding or asking. Don’t worry about me.”

“But I do, Anthony. I do.”

It’s no wonder that truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense.

—Mark Twain

After what seemed like a lifetime, it was finally time for the opening statements of Catherine London’s trial. Tony had already served over a year of his sentence for his crimes, and hers were finally making it to the light of court. It wasn’t that there hadn’t been pretrial motions—there had. Catherine’s attorney had filed almost every one possible. They’d requested a change in venue, to no avail. They’d filed challenge after challenge to the evidence and the witnesses. There was a plethora of expert witnesses who were expected to testify for the prosecution. Catherine’s attorneys had challenged every one of them. At one point they’d even attempted to have the charges dismissed. Since the grand jury had convened and found probable cause, the likelihood of a dismissal was low; nevertheless, they gave it a shot. It seemed like her attorneys were following a handbook on how to delay trial proceedings and checking each box as they went.

It wasn’t only the defense that filed a pretrial motion. The prosecution filed a request for a gag order. It seemed as though Catherine had no issue with telling the world about her sordid history: however, her story wasn’t hers alone. The gag order on her trial was part of Tony’s plea agreement. He argued that by releasing the information of her trial, it would negatively affect thousands and thousands of workers. Though technically libel and slander were considered civil charges, being part of his plea in conjunction with his sworn testimony against Catherine the order was granted. As Brent, Courtney, Emily, and John all sat and prepared to listen to the government present their opening statement, Brent feared what they’d all learn. It was, after all, the government’s job to prove burden of guilt. From what little Brent knew of the case, they’d done their homework.