Prosecution: A Legal Thriller Read Online Free PDF

certain loss of raw energy in all
this, it seemed a cheap enough price to pay.
     
    The first generation had been driven by the desire
for wealth, and the second by a sense of honor; the third
generation was not driven by anything at all. Other names were now
better known, more familiar: the names of new founders, men, even
women, who had come from nowhere, without money or connections but
with that same narrow-minded determination to make their mark.
Whether they had old money or new, everyone wanted to be invited to
the Convention Center, to attend what Alma Woolner had managed to
turn into one of the social events of the year.
     
    Built on the east side of the river, where there had
once been nothing but warehouses and railroad yards and corner
taverns for the men who worked there, the Convention Center was a
fairly recent addition to the city, a green glass tribute to
post-modernism with a flat three sided spire that shot straight up
toward the heavens. The Cathedral of Notre Dame had taken a hundred
and forty years to build as a tribute to an eternal God; this had
taken less than two years to complete as a center of commerce. It
was all a question of what you prayed to.
     
    The lobby was jammed with men in black tie and women
dressed in everything from slinky black dresses to bright
floor-length gowns. Taking a glass of champagne from the first
waiter I passed, I made my way through the undulating crowd,
searching for Horace. With my glass above my head, I gradually
reached the other side and found him against the wall, proudly
watching his wife.
     
    Barely touching the hands that reached out to her,
Alma spoke to one person and then to another. Turning away from a
wizened old lady wearing a beaded jacket over her stooped
shoulders, she spotted me. She smiled at a stout, square-faced
woman and moved past her. "I knew you'd come," she cried, placing
her hands on my shoulders. She rose up on tiptoe to bestow a kiss
on the side of my face.
     
    "Thank you," she whispered, as if I had done her some
great favor. She let go and took my hand. "Look who I found," she
announced, as she led me to her husband.
     
    Horace was waiting, his eyes exuberant with malice.
"Have you met the Chief Justice?" he asked innocently.The balding
middle-aged man next to him extended his hand. His tuxedo and the
ruffled white shirt that went with it were both a size too
large.
     
    "Jason Cornelius," Horace continued with cursory
formality, "Joseph Antonelli."
     
    For an instant, his grip weakened and then, as if to
compensate, grew even more firm than before.
     
    "Yes, yes, of course. Mr. Antonelli. I remember," he
said, with a faint smile. Eager to avoid embarrassment, he had once
recommended to me that Leopold Rifkin resign from the court when he
was accused of murder. I had suggested in turn that a judicial
system strong enough to survive Cornelius's own incompetence could
certainly endure a false accusation brought against an innocent
man. Like most politicians, Cornelius might never remember a
promise, but it was not likely he had forgotten that exchange.
Before he could say anything more, I turned to his wife and
introduced myself.
     
    "Your husband and I both had the good fortune of
counting among our friends the late Leopold Rifkin," I
explained.
     
    She had no idea who I was talking about. "Rifkin?"
she asked, glancing at her husband.
     
    "Yes, dear, Judge Rifkin. He died a year or so ago,"
he said. "It was all very sad, very sad indeed." And he patted her
on the arm as he led her away.
     
    Leaning against the wall, his arms across his chest,
Horace chuckled under his breath. "Well, you handled that with your
usual charm."
     
    "What did you want me to do, tell the truth?"
     
    He laid his hand on my shoulder and looked past me,
surveying the glistening faces of the crowd. "You never want to do
that with someone like Cornelius," he said, so no one else could
hear, "unless you really want him to think you're lying."
     
    The crowd