“So, Mr Stanton, I understand that the prostitute was blackmailing you with movie footage of you and her having sex?”
I drop my eyes in shame. “Yes,” I murmur.
“And you didn’t want Natasha to ever know about this movie did you?” he yells.
“No,” I reply in a monotone.
“But she found out didn’t she?” he yells.
“Yes,” I reply.
“But then the prostitute kept going, didn’t she, and she wanted more money and she threatened to go to the press with it and shame your fiancée and her family,” he yells.
“Yes,” I reply.
“So you had her murdered,” he screams.
“No,” I reply.
“Yes you did!” He walks over to the jury members. “Because that’s how this controlling, rich, self-absorbed man thinks. He can control every situation. Every person he comes into contact with must do as he demands or there will be hell to pay. So you can imagine the rage he felt when the love of his life fell in love with her bodyguard.” His eyes come back to me.
I shake my head. “No,” I reply. “That’s not true.”
“The outrage and furious state you would have been in,” he yells.
I shake my head. “No.”
“We have the footage. You were threatening to kill the bodyguard. You pushed her into the car against her will. You drugged her and cut her throat and murdered her in silence and then drugged yourself to cover your crime,” he yells. “Didn’t you!” he screams.
I shake my head. “No!” I yell. “I did not.”
“Your fingerprints were on the Rohypnol which was found in your house.” He yells across the crowded hushed room. “Your fingerprints were on the knife that killed Natasha Marx.”
“I don’t know how they got there,” I reply.
“Do not insult my intelligence!” he yells. “We are not stupid, Joshua Stanton. You have full-time guards on every property. Nobody could have got that drug into your premises without being seen! You are a control freak! You have murdered a prostitute because she wasn’t playing by your rules and got away with it and now you have murdered your own fiancée because she dared to fall out of love with you. Money can’t save you this time, Joshua Stanton.” His eyes go back to the jury and he paces in front of them. “I beg the jury to not let Natasha Marx’s death be in vain. Joshua Stanton will do this again, he is aggressive and violent, he is a drug addict and dangerous to this community. Can you have another death on your conscience?” he yells. “Because that is exactly what is going to happen if this man walks free today.”
The jury all stay silent and I drop my head. I really would like to kill him right now-maybe he’s right. I am a danger. I am going to kill the person who did this-without a doubt. I have no fear anymore. I could die tomorrow and not feel any pain. I have crossed over to the other side, a zombie in this life without my love. My heart and soul have been ripped from the very body that sits here and the only thing that is keeping me alive is the internal image of me killing the person who has done this. What’s happened to me? The darkness has taken me over and I am scared of what I am going to do. I don’t know what I am capable of anymore. Who am I?
My cold eyes rise to meet the prosecutor’s and I glare at him. I’ve had enough.
I am brought back to the present moment. “All rise.” The court official calls as the jury enters the room in single file as we all stand and watch. I look back to Bridget behind me and she gives me a soft smile; my eyes flick to Cameron and Adrian and they both nod to acknowledge me. This is it.
“The jury finds Joshua Stanton guilty of murder in the first degree.”
There are cheers in the gallery and the cameras start to flash.
“No,” I hear Bridget and my mother cry out. “No, he’s innocent.” The cries come from behind me from my supporters.
I stand still, frozen in time, and stare straight ahead. Guilty. Guilty.
Vincenzo glares at me and drops his head. “It was the diaries,” he whispers angrily. “I told you we needed the fucking diaries.” My heart drops.
“He is sentenced to thirty-one years without parole,” the judge calls out.
The crowd gasps and my face flickers under the flashes of the photographers-thirty-one years without parole, thirty-one years without parole. I will be sixty years old when I am released. My eyes stay focused straight ahead-what’s happening?
Cameron grabs me in an embrace. “We will fight this injustice,” he cries. My mother and all of the family embrace me as they cry and the guard comes over with the handcuffs and I drop my head. I can’t have those fucking things on. My eyes cloud over.
“Please no,” I whisper.
The guard looks at me sympathetically and opens them up.
“Get away from him,” Cameron yells as he pushes the guard away from me. “He didn’t do this,” he yells. “You have the wrong man!” he screams to the courtroom.
Two other guards walk over and physically restrain Cameron who is close to hysterical.
I feel the cold hard snap of the handcuff around my wrist and I close my eyes to try and block out the hysteria of my family as they lose control.
“Come on,” the guard snaps.
And just like that, my life is over.
Adrian
I sit in my office with my elbows on my desk and my head in my hands. That’s the fourth resignation from the board this morning. How in the hell am I supposed to keep this company afloat when the brains of the operation is in jail for murder? Never have I felt the pressure I am under today. Joshua’s company is entirely in my hands and to be honest I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. I need to get a professional in to help me. Who handles this kind of stuff?
My mind goes to Natasha and how she made everything easy simply by being around. That beautiful smile and those dimples. I miss her.
My buzzer sounds. “Mr Murphy?” Ella asks.
I buzz her back. “Yes Ella,” I reply.
“Bridget is here for your lunch meeting,” she replies.
“Send her in,” I buzz back.
I’m taking Didge out for lunch. She’s flatter than flat and I am desperately trying to pick her up. She’s being strong for Joshua and I am being strong for her. Let me rephrase that. I’m acting strong for a lot of people but I am crumbling on the inside like a flake.
The door opens and her gorgeous face comes into view. “Hi.” She smiles sadly.
“Hey Marx girl.” I smile.
She smiles and kisses my cheek. “Where are you taking me for lunch?” she asks.
I smirk. “Anywhere you want,” I reply.