EPILOGUE

THE INTERCOM ON KARP’S DESK buzzed and was followed immediately by the voice of Darla Milquetost. “Mr. Karp, the others wanted me to tell you that they’re in the conference room and that the Nation Tonight show about the Constantine trial is about to start.”

“Oh, brother,” Karp said, rolling his eyes. “Okay, tell them I’ll be right there.”

“I will,” Milquetost replied. “This is exciting!”

Karp shook his head. It had been a month since the Constantine trial had concluded, and he was still dealing with the fallout, including the perjury and obstruction of justice trial of now ex–National Security Adviser Sylvia Hamm. The White House, which had barely staved off an impeachment attempt by opposition members of Congress after the murder of Sam Allen, was now in full defense mode.

Karp had wanted no part of the media frenzy that had ensued following the verdict. He was uncomfortable enough when Stupenagel’s exposé, titled “MIRAGE: The Treachery of an American Mogul,” hit the newsstands. He’d cooperated only because of his initial promise to be interviewed once things were settled in court. He’d declined another invitation to be interviewed for Nation Tonight but had no say over the courtroom cameras capturing the drama of the trial.

The best part about the trial being over was that Marlene and the boys had returned home. The big excitement there was that while they’d been gone, they’d received their papers on revolutions in the mail from their teacher. Zak had been beside himself when he saw the A+ as well as a note from the teacher congratulating him on his hard work. What made it even better, as far as he was concerned, was that Giancarlo had received “only” an A.

“It might be the one and only time in my life I get a better grade, so I’m going to rub it in for a while,” Zak said. But Giancarlo didn’t mind. He was proud of his brother and willing to take the teasing.

With a sigh, Karp got up and walked into the conference room, where gathered in front of a large-screen television were Milquetost, Katz, Fulton, Marlene, Stupenagel, Bryers, and Jaxon.

“You’re late,” Katz said. “They started with your comment aimed at Arnold: ‘The defense in this case is like the old courtroom saw: Weak case on the facts, try the law; weak case on the law, try the facts; weak case on the law and facts, try the DA.’ That’s classic, and I think the jury picked up on that.”

“Shhhh, I’m trying to listen,” Milquetost scolded as the camera cut away to two talking-head attorneys discussing the case like a couple of football commentators.

“I think District Attorney Karp took a risk telling the jury that the prosecution has a huge advantage because it gets to move the chess pieces around before the defendant is even indicted. And then the defendant has the option to plead to the indictment, or go to trial when the chessboard has the defendant in checkmate,” said one. “I could see a juror—and remember, it only takes one—thinking it’s all unfair.”

“I disagree, Jack. Jurors like that kind of honesty,” said the other. “The way he described each piece of the People’s case and how it fit into the overall strategy it took to put Constantine in checkmate was a perfect analogy. But let’s listen in to how he wrapped up his summation. It was simply brilliant.”

“THAT’S MY MAN!” Marlene yelled as the others in the room cheered.

The screen cut to the interior of the courtroom with Karp pacing in front of the jury. “Their warped mind-set rationalizes their illegality as justified because it serves, and I quote, ‘the greater good,’ and therefore they commit their criminal acts with impunity. The rules be damned, to serve their own selfish ends. They are the new aristocracy and we are the commoners, the serfs, here to serve them and their avaricious, grotesque lust for power and money.”

The screen switched back to the commentators. “That’s powerful stuff, Jack. Now listen as he brings it home . . .”

“. . . the result of this unbridled ambition, their weak character, is their own enrichment, satisfying their lust for power and riches. A good, honorable man who served his country with distinction was murdered so that this defendant . . .”

Just then, Karp’s cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and moved to the back of the room. “Ivgeny,” he said, “I was wondering where you went.”

Ivgeny Karchovski responded with his rich baritone laugh. “I decided it was a good time to take the yacht on a cruise of the Mediterranean,” he said. “I just wanted to call and congratulate you belatedly on your victory.”

“Hello, Butch!” a female voice joined in.

“Is that . . . ?” Karp asked.

“It is a new member of my crew,” Ivgeny said. “Though at times I have considered making her walk the plank.”

Karp laughed. “I’d be careful there, Cousin. Or it might be you swimming with the sharks.”

“You’re right on that,” Ivgeny replied. “Anyway, you’re probably watching the television show. You’re a movie star!”

“Hardly, but I better get back to the gang,” Karp said.

“Yes, you do that. Give my love—”

“Our love,” the female voice chimed in.

“—to Marlene.”

The cell phone went dead. The TV screen now showed Constantine and Arnold standing as the verdict was read.

“We the jury find Wellington Constantine . . .”

“Wait for it, wait for it!” Katz yelled.

“. . . guilty of murder . . .”

Constantine’s body began to shake, and he wailed, “Nooooooo!” as Arnold placed a hand on his shoulder.

Constantine turned and landed a haymaker on Arnold’s chin. The attorney went down in a heap.

“One down, one to go,” Katz chortled as Constantine then tried to get to the prosecution table.

“I’ll get you, Karp!” he screamed, but was then buried under a couple of heavyweight court security officers.

The television screen flashed back to the two commentators, who sat with amused smiles. “Quite an ending, eh, Jack!”

“You got that right, Frank. Never seen anything quite like it.”

As his friends clapped, Karp, never comfortable with accolades, smiled at Marlene. “Fame, if you win it, comes and goes in a minute . . .” he said, nodding at her, and improvised, “Here, here are the real things in life to cling to . . .”