by Brynley Bush
“Gavin agreed to speak with her attorney and he confirmed what Camille had said, so Gavin signed papers releasing his claim. Camille’s attorney has already appeared as Gavin’s new attorney of record and filed an appeal. Gavin says he’s tangled with Camille enough to know that he won’t see a penny anyway, so he might as well have his freedom. He’s also adamant that he doesn’t want to hurt Beckett or the Blacks anymore. He is truly remorseful for his part in all of this.”
“Well, that is interesting,” Ariana drawls. “I’m sure the court would just love to hear about that agreement.”
She’s interrupted by her secretary, who walks into the conference room carrying a stack of papers.
“We just received Mr. Bonnaire’s e-mail. I’ve printed off the attachments for you,” she says, handing the papers to Ariana.
We all sit in silence as Ariana reviews the documents, passing them around the table as she finishes each one. Once she’s read the last one, she looks up and says with a huge grin, “I wish every case I had was as tidy as this one. Dr. Bonnaire’s documentation backs up everything you’ve just told me, Mila.” She brandishes the last paper triumphantly. “The security tape also indicates that Camille was in Coker’s office early Tuesday morning downloading some information onto a flash drive. She’s definitely very much alive.
“Dr. Black, I feel confident that you will no longer be considered a person of interest in this case. Obviously, since your brother signed in at the jail the evening of Ms. Penworth’s alleged murder he would have had an alibi anyway, but you can assure him that he will no longer be considered a suspect in this case either. I will contact the judge and apprise him and the district attorney of the unusual circumstances that have recently come to light.”
“So what happens now?” Emma asks. “Will Camille be arrested?”
Ariana shakes her head. “Probaby not, unless she trips up and breaks the law, exposing herself. Although it’s weird and kind of sad to fake your own death, it’s not illegal in and of itself. However, I think the judge will be quite interested in the agreement between Mr. Villareal and Ms. Penworth’s attorney.” With a wink she adds, “I wouldn’t be surprised at all if Mr. Villareal’s case does get overturned on the basis of corruption and Camille Penworth, wherever she is, ends up with nothing.”
Outside Ariana’s office, Emma throws her arms around me and hugs me tightly.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I knew Beckett wasn’t guilty, but I wasn’t looking forward to watching him have to prove his innocence while his career and integrity was ripped to shreds.”
“It would have been okay,” I say. “Although I was surprised that Ariana Ragsdale was the attorney Beckett hired, she really is one of the best defense attorneys around. She would have figured it all out eventually.”
“Why were you surprised at my choice of attorney?” Beckett asks as he comes up behind us, quirking an eyebrow at me in amusement.
“Well, she’s a total powerhouse,” I admit. “I thought you liked women to be a little more, uh, docile.”
He throws his head back and laughs loudly. “You’d be surprised to know that I’m quite the feminist, Mila.” He looks at Emma with love in his eyes. “I only like one woman to be docile, but half the fun is making her that way.”
Emma flushes prettily and I look away. I’m happy for what she and Beckett have together, but it reminds me of what I’ve lost.
“I just hope Griffin comes back soon,” I say wistfully.
“Ariana said she will issue a statement once she has spoken with the judge and the district attorney’s office,” Emma interjects. “I’m sure as soon as he sees that, he’ll know that Beckett is cleared and be back before you know it.” She pats my arm comfortingly.
“The thing is, he’s been planning this for a while. He’s told me since the day we met that one day he’d have to leave, which is why at first I thought maybe he’d killed her,” I say, voicing what’s been troubling me since I talked to Gavin and Dominic. “It doesn’t make sense.”
I look at Beckett. His eyes are fathomless.
“I don’t know, Mila,” he says gravely. “But I do know that he loves you. He’ll find his way back to you.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The days turn into weeks as I wait for Griffin to come back to me. I see him on every street corner, in line at the grocery store, jogging along the beach. But it’s never him. I throw myself into preparing for the hearing on our tissue rights petition, working long hours to distract myself from the dull ache of missing Griffin and the agony of not knowing where he is or if he’s okay. In the darkest hours of the night, I imagine that Camille has somehow found him and killed him so that there is no case to prove.
My friends do their best to distract me. Olivia constantly begs me to join her and Jack when they go to dinner or to a movie, and Simon shows up once a week under the pretense of watching Gray’s Anatomy with me, but I’m not fooled by the way he surreptitiously studies me as he fusses over me with a worried expression on his face. Anya sends me her sonogram pictures and Emma keeps me posted on what’s happening in Houston, inviting me to stay with her and Nikki for some girl time when I come back for the hearing. Even Drake has joined the Keep Mila Sane club, calling me every few days from the road with amusing anecdotes, never failing to end each conversation with instructions to call him if I need anything.
Unfortunately, no one can give me what I need—Griffin.
A few days before I’m supposed to fly to Houston for the hearing, I’ve just gotten home from an early dinner with Olivia when there’s a knock at my door. With my heart tripping, I fling open the door, hoping and praying it’s Griffin. However instead of Griffin, Marcus is standing there, lines of concern etched in his hard features.
“Hey,” I say in surprise. “What’s up? I could have come in to the office if it’s about the hearing.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure,” I say, stepping aside to let him enter.
“Sit down, Mila,” he says solemnly, and an inexplicable vise grips my heart. He follows me into the living room and I sit, looking at him expectantly as he lowers himself into the overstuffed chair across from me.
“I have some news about Griffin.”
I feel my entire soul lighten as I start to bombard him with questions. “Where is he? Is he here?”
Marcus holds up a hand and I lapse into silence.
“This isn’t easy to say, Mila, so please just listen. One of my Navy SEAL buddies who is now the Rear Admiral for the SEAL training facility in Coronado called me this afternoon.”
He sighs heavily. “Griffin never left because of Camille or her murder or anything to do with the case. Apparently, his team has been preparing for a highly classified, highly confidential mission for almost six months. It was so classified they weren’t allowed to talk to anyone about it. They didn’t know exactly when they would ship out, so he took a leave of absence hoping to resolve the research issues his dad and brother were dealing with before he was called to duty. The team didn’t know the specifics of the mission; they only knew it would be dangerous, with a huge margin of error that could quite possibly cost them their lives.
“He got his orders the same day as the pretrial conference. I don’t know what he would have done if the case had turned out differently. I doubt it crossed his mind to let someone else go in his place. Griffin was integral to the mission and he wouldn’t have left his men without his command anyway. They are his brothers as surely as Beckett and Drake are.
“Besides, he’d done all he could to protect his family here. A soldier always has a contingency plan, and you were his. I just don’t think he’d counted on falling in love with his contingency plan,” he adds with a rueful smile.
“His team shipped out Wednesday evening after the hearing. I’m sure when he heard about Camille’s death, he realized the timing would be perfect. He could use his unavoidable disappearance to protect Beckett, whom he knew would be a suspect, and
even Dominic.”
“So when is he coming back?” I ask hopefully.
Marcus looks at me gravely. “As I said, it was an extremely dangerous mission, which Griffin knew going into it. That’s why he left you an affidavit regarding his wishes for his tissues and insisted that his father take additional samples the week before he left. That’s also undoubtedly why he kept alluding to the fact that he would be leaving you. Most of the men knew they wouldn’t be coming back. They figured the odds were they’d either be dead or stuck in a prison somewhere in the Middle East.”
He takes a deep breath. “The plane carrying Griffin and his five fellow team members was shot down over Pakistan. It’s believed there are no survivors.”
The next few days are a blur of tears and the bone-deep, devastatingly absoluteness of sorrow. I realize that I had given Griffin all of my heart, not just the bits and pieces that we tend to parcel out when we meet someone, always holding back a little. As a result, there’s an empty gaping hole where my heart used to be. I loved him, love him still, with every cell of my body. He can’t possibly be gone. Yet with every minute that passes, the likelihood that he truly is increases exponentially along with my grief.
Somehow I take one breath, and then another, and the breaths turn into long, empty hours that become days, and ultimately survival, even when survival seems impossible. Unwelcome. I focus on the upcoming hearing like it’s a lifeline, my last tangible connection to Griffin.
I fly to Houston late Wednesday afternoon. Marcus is in Chicago for a deposition and will fly in tomorrow before the hearing for moral support. Emma picks me up at the airport, and she takes one look at me and wraps me in a surprisingly strong hug for such petite person. I cling to her for a brief moment before letting go.
“You look lower than whale shit,” she says matter-of-factly, and it’s the first time I’ve laughed in days.
We go back to her house where I meet her daughter, Nikki, a sweet, funny, and remarkably mature and well-spoken sixteen-year-old who looks like a taller version of her mother. The three of us order pizza and talk, and for a short time I forget that my heart has lost its mooring.
After Nikki goes to bed Emma says, “How are you really?”
“Broken. Empty,” I say with a sigh, my eyes welling with tears. “The sadness is like a vast and endless ocean. Sometimes I feel like I can swim in it, but then it crashes over me and pulls me under. Sometimes I believe that they’re wrong. That maybe somehow he survived. But I look at Marcus’ face and I watch the news and I know the truth. He’s not coming back.”
She rubs my back comfortingly, and I appreciate her not filling the silence with meaningless words.
The following morning I firmly pack my emotions into a tiny box deep inside me and tie it up with a serviceable knot that would make Griffin proud. Today I have a job to do and I’m damn well going to do it. I can fall apart again later. I just have to make it through the next few hours and do what Griffin entrusted me to do, once and for all.
“This is a highly unusual case,” the judge says as Court is called to order. “Particularly since both parties’ key witnesses are absent. Do you both still wish to proceed?”
I nod my assent, as does Camille’s attorney. Waiting won’t help either of us. He appraises me with cold hard eyes and I wonder if he knows where Camille is. Was he privy to her plan to frame Beckett?
Although he has tried to squelch the rumors and speculation that started after the details of the police investigation emerged, fueled by the evidence Dominic was able to provide, Camille and her alleged murder has now been spinned as a mysterious disappearance and has dominated the news, overshadowed only by the recent tragedy of the Navy SEAL mission. I take in the filled gallery of the courtroom, crowded with spectators and reporters, and wonder how much of the crowd is here in hopes of learning why Camille appears to have faked her death and disappeared and how many are here because the tissue rights issue is a hotbed of debate right now. I see Beckett, Emma, and Dr. Black sitting in the front row, but there’s still no sign of Marcus. I guess either his flight has been delayed or he’s stuck in the horrible Houston traffic. It doesn’t matter. This is my battle to fight for Griffin.
“Very well,” the Judge says. “Let’s begin.”
The issue of whether an individual retains the rights to their tissue after it leaves their body is one that is ripe for interpretation, although there have been several defining court decisions on the topic over the last twenty years. Scientists use people’s leftover tissue and blood taken during routine surgeries or medical procedures all the time to develop vaccines and drugs, and the court has ruled that once these tissue scraps are parted with they are no longer considered the property of the person. The legal precedent is that a person does not have property rights over their tissue once it leaves their body. After all, medical progress depends on free and unlimited access to tissue.
However, Griffin’s case is different. Griffin’s tissue was taken, and given, for the express purpose of determining how a natural drug affected his particular cell line. His tissue is invaluable and, based upon my interpretation of the law, is a commodity that he can use as he sees fit because he and his legal guardian, Dr. Black, knew its value before it was ever given.
I have poured every ounce of myself into this case over the last six weeks, as if by winning this case for Griffin I will somehow be able to bring him back. In some ways it’s true. If I’m successful in retaining Griffin’s right to control his tissue samples, his beneficiaries—his father and brothers—will inherit those rights. In effect, I am insuring his legacy.
I launch into my arguments, citing the case of Ted Slavin, a man with Hepatitis B who sold his blood for years to medical researchers. I stress that Griffin never tried to extort money and was never paid for his tissue. He merely wanted to help his father find a cure for cancer. I add that while he was contributing to research that had a financial value to it, it had been his express desire that no one benefit financially from it. By choosing to give it to his father, he ensured that it would benefit mankind instead of himself or a greedy pharmaceutical company.
I call Dr. Black to the stand, and he testifies that until Griffin was eighteen he acted as his guardian and took samples primarily for the purpose of ensuring Griffin’s well-being. He stresses that as Griffin became an adult, he knew the value of his tissue and gave it to his father for the express purpose of determining if and how graviola was responsible for his cancer cure, and how it could be used by others for the same purpose.
As Dr. Black sits down, the judge says, “Ms. Kingston, can you confirm that your client expressly gave his father sole rights to his tissue samples for the purpose of testing graviola on his cell line?”
With a sinking heart, I realize that what I had feared most is happening. All I have from Griffin is an affidavit stating his wishes for the future use of his tissue. It doesn’t address his intentions regarding prior samples he gave to his dad. He was supposed to be here to testify to that himself.
“Exhibit A is Griffin Black’s affidavit stating that he wishes his tissue samples to be used solely by his father and brother for the purpose of testing graviola on cancer genes,” I say, faking confidence.
“That wasn’t the question, Counselor,” the judge says reprovingly. “Can you tell me his intentions for the samples that have already been tested?”
“I can’t substantiate that, sir,” I say, my voice almost a whisper.
“I can,” a familiar voice says from the galley. God, my hallucinations are getting out of hand. Now I’m hearing Griffin as well as seeing him in every stranger with dark blond hair. I fight to keep it together as I scan the crowd, my eyes coming to rest on a tall sailor approaching the bench in Navy dress blues with a scruffy beard and tired eyes the color of a lion’s that crinkle at the corner as he smiles at me. I have never seen a more beautiful sight in my life. I smile too, fighting back tears of joy.
I’m jolted back to reality by the sound
of the gavel.
“Ms. Kingston, would you like to call a witness?” The judge’s tone is stern, but his eyes are kind.
“Um, yes, sir. I’d like to call Griffin Black to the stand.”
My eyes fly back to the galley and there’s Marcus, shrugging as he looks pointedly at Griffin, reminding me I still have a job to do.
After Griffin is sworn in, I begin with the basics, asking him to state his name and occupation for the court. It doesn’t take long for me to figure out that although he’s hiding it well, he’s physically hurt.
“When did you first realize your tissue was valuable?” I ask.
“I always knew there was something different about me,” he says slowly, and I can see the effort it’s taking him just to form the words. What happened to him? How did he get here? Obviously Marcus had something to do with it. I force myself to focus.
“When I was old enough to understand, my father told me about having leukemia as a toddler. He told me how my mother gave me tea brewed from guanabana leaves and how he thought that was what cured my leukemia.”
“How old were you?” I press.
“Probably about ten or twelve,” he says, wincing.
“How old were you when you realized your blood could potentially hold the key to curing cancer?”
“My dad was a doctor,” he says jokingly. “His research was a commonly discussed dinnertime topic. I was probably about fifteen when I realized he could study my blood and tissue specifically to test graviola. However, he refused to take any more tissue samples until I was eighteen and could legally give my consent for him to use it.”