Jenna ran to embrace her brother. Farid joined in the hug. The two lawyers wore the easy smiles of warriors whose battle was won.

In a corner, Laila stood quietly with a handsome, weather-burned young man.

“My friend David Christiansen,” she said to Jenna. “We just stopped by to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For telling the truth.”

O

The next day at noon, Jordan Chiles went before the cameras to announce that a grand jury had indicted Amira Badir Rashad, alias Jenna Sorrel, on a charge of second-degree homicide, and that a judge had issued a warrant for her arrest.

Boyle called. “This is it. We’re going in now. Otherwise, Chiles is likely to show up with a television crew and handcuffs.” He instructed them to meet him at a stop on the interstate. He mentioned a few—very few—personal articles that Jenna should bring. “Wear layers,” was his final piece of advice. “Jails are always too hot or too cold.”

From the rest stop, they drove to the courthouse in Boyle’s car. There was a crowd, police, trucks with satellite dishes, signs supporting Jenna. Chants. Cheers. “I took the liberty of letting a few people know we were coming,” explained Boyle. “It can’t hurt for the voice of public opinion to be heard. All right, now: we march in like we own the place.”

Someone, Jabr, opened the car door, and Jenna stepped out to a surge of cheering from the crowd. People were calling her names—both her names. Then she was racing for the door with her hand in Brad’s, Sam Adams Boyle hustling blockily in front of them like the old fullback he undoubtedly was.

Epilogue

Epilogue

Aftermath

Jordan Chiles’s last important public achievement was to convince a judge that no bail should be set for the defendant in the case of People v. Rashad. Two days later, he was overwhelmed at the polls by a thirty- three-year-old corporate lawyer and former public defender named Jennifer Faye Edmondson.

Sam Adams Boyle blasted Chiles in court and in the media for waging a vendetta against the Badirs, brother and sister. He appealed the denial of bail. With much less sound and fury, he opened negotiations with Jennifer Edmondson.

“It’ll take a little time,” he told Jenna, “but it’s the only way—and the best way.”

“How long?”

“Worst case, three months—that’s when Edmondson officially takes office. Best case, if we can steamroll Chiles, three or four weeks. I know you don’t like to hear that, stuck in this place, but there it is.”

“What then?”

“I’m working on that. A plea of some kind, like we talked about. With luck, there won’t be any more jail time. Even if there is, I can guarantee that it won’t be much.”

“That sounds good. Thanks, Sam.”

“No thanks needed. I’m just doing my job. So how are you holding up, kid?”