Chapter Fifty-One
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Claire had been incarcerated for over three months and had come to terms with the realization it would not end soon. The claustrophobic cell and virtual isolation were her new norm. Surprisingly, like in traumas before, she was adapting. It was difficult at first—but with time—she developed strength and resolve.
On April 18, 2012, the courtroom sat empty—except for the judge, defendant, and legal teams—as each word spoken, resonated throughout the cavernous room. Claire Nichols stood in front of the federal court judge and with the help of her legal team pleaded no contest to the charge of attempted murder. As the judge explained the consequences of Claire’s plea, she listened, felt the smooth finish of the chair she used for support, watched the judge’s lips, and silently wept.
This plea saved her the indignity of a jury trial. She didn’t admit guilt—but would not—could not challenge the charges. Therefore, she’d take a lesser sentence, but she couldn’t later decide to appeal. She would avoid Mr. Evergreen and his questions. She would escape the dark, penetrating eyes of Anthony Rawlings as she testified. She wouldn’t need to explain to the entire world how she was forced to do things and how things were so different from how they appeared. She could just quietly go away.
The court of public opinion had not gone well, either. The people of Iowa City, of Iowa, and of the United States all found her guilty. They tried her as a gold digger; of course, most of the information hadn’t come out. Even that shared with the members of both legal teams remained private—Anthony Rawlings made sure of that.
The federal judge sentenced her to seven years in prison, minus time served, to be served in a moderate security federal penitentiary. The severity of her crime required a moderate security facility. Apparently, even her ex-husband testified to the judge, asking for a minimum-security facility—more evidence of his forgiving, kind character.
Counsel on behalf of Anthony Rawlings filed the necessary paperwork to dissolve the marriage between he and Claire Nichols. Of course, there was no contest. With a few connections, the court papers were expedited and the divorce was finalized on March 20, 2012. Since they didn’t have a prenuptial agreement, Claire received no financial compensation for her fifteen-month marriage. After all, she was charged with his attempted murder. Why would she get any financial compensation?
According to the smut television shows which played in the common area of the prison, Mr. Rawlings was having no problem finding women to take her place. The world rallied around him and his unfortunate situation. Even Rawlings Industries stock soared.
The small window in the door of Claire’s cell allowed a minimal amount of florescent light to penetrate, making the walls drab and colorless. Turning on her desk lamp filled the room with illuminated warmth. Her small cell at the Iowa Correctional Institution for Women would be her home for at least another four years. Although she was sentenced to seven, with good behavior, she’d be eligible for parole in four years. Claire was good at following rules.
She had a twin-sized bed, dresser, an open hanging area, a few shelves, and a desk with a chair. It wasn’t much, but she felt content. She’d experienced more, but that hadn’t worked well. Existing in a comforting sameness day to day helped Claire survive. There were no surprises—everything was predictable. Day after day, the same routine: wake, dress, and breakfast, then back to her cell, alone, until lunch. Lunch was followed by a one-hour block of free time—either in a large gymnasium, the prison library, or an outside court. Claire loved the outside. She went there whenever the weather permitted. Then back to her cell until dinner. After dinner, there was optional common time—if she’d earned that privilege—for another hour. Claire earned it, but opted for her cell. Companionship required trust in the other person. Claire’s trust no longer extended beyond herself. She stayed in her cell until her buzzer rang. The buzzer indicated it was time to shower; following the shower, back to her cell, lights out at 11:00 PM. Simple and predicable—Claire had suffered enough unpredictability.
She spent her free time reading. Emily tried to send her books as often as possible. Having a sister and husband in jail was hard on Emily. She was asked to leave her teaching job in Troy. The private school system needed to maintain its reputation, and apparently some large donors were concerned about her influence on young children. She went back to Indiana to familiar surroundings and taught for a public school system near Indianapolis. The money wasn’t as good, but at least she could survive.
*
It was a two-hour drive from Iowa City to Mitchellville. Brent Simmons should have utilized a driver. It was four hours he could have worked, but he chose to drive. He wanted to be alone and come to terms with the assignment ahead of him. Claire Nichols needed to be informed of a possible pending civil lawsuit. Brent knew, as the head legal counsel for Rawlings Industries, he could have sent someone else. He wanted to send someone else; however, Tony made it clear, that wasn’t an option.
The July sun brightly shone on the pavement ahead of Brent. Momentarily, he was distracted by the illusion of shimmering liquid in the distance. He didn’t want to face Claire—to see her in the correctional institution. He knew she didn’t belong there, and he hadn’t helped her. She probably, justifiably, felt abandoned—she was. Brent’s mind went back to January, to that terrible phone call telling him and Courtney that someone tried to kill Tony. They were planning to return from Fiji in three days, of course they flew home immediately.
When they found Tony, still hospitalized, he looked and sounded healthy. His disposition wasn’t—especially when he informed them that all the evidence pointed to Claire. Devastated, Courtney argued with Tony. After she left the room, Tony informed Brent that they were not allowed to visit or help Claire after what she had done.
That didn’t go well with Courtney—she went anyway. Somehow Tony found out, and Brent had hell to pay.
Brent wasn’t directly involved in the criminal suit. Actually, the State Of Iowa accused Claire Rawlings of attempted murder—not Tony—but Brent was involved in an expedited divorce. Marcus Evergreen, chief prosecutor for Johnson County, had information Brent needed for his petition. Mid-February, Marcus’ secretary utilized a courier to deliver a flash drive to Brent. It contained the documents he needed. He planned to leave it at the office, but at the last minute decided to take it home, to look it over.
Courtney was out to dinner with friends when Brent pulled up the drive on his home computer. There was only one folder: “Rawlings, Claire.” He opened it. It contained multiple files. The one he needed was “Rawlings vs. Rawlings.” It should have been the only one on the drive. It wasn’t. The one entitled “State of Iowa vs. Rawlings: Preliminary Brief-Task” sat right in front of him. It was unethical and probably illegal, but he opened it. Young attorneys get wordy. Paul Task’s preliminary brief was 147 pages! Brent grimaced and shook his head at the inexperience of Claire’s attorney. He started to close the file when he focused on the words—suddenly transfixed.
Two hours, and three Blue Label’s—straight up—later, the entire brief was read. The descriptions and accounts of Claire’s life while with Tony were nauseating. It was stated more than once that this was only a sample of the treatment she endured—there was more. How could this be going on and they not know? Brent panicked, thinking he shouldn’t have read it and should delete it.
Nevertheless, instead of deleting, Brent made an electronic copy on a personal flash drive and printed a copy. Then he deleted it from the original drive. If questioned, he would deny it had ever been present. He wanted to punch Tony, but Brent knew, he could never let Tony know he’d read the brief.
Planning to keep it to himself, he decided to hide the paper copy in his safe and put the pin drive in a special box in the drawer of his desk. Before he had the chance to follow through on those plans, Courtney came home. She knew immediately something was amiss and assumed Tony was responsible. Maybe it was the whiskey combined with helplessness for Claire, but Brent handed Courtney the paper copy. In hindsight, it was a mistake which almost cost him his twenty-eight-year marriage. When she finished reading, he asked two simple questions, “Do you believe it? Do you think she’s telling the truth?”
Courtney erupted! She believed every word and wanted Tony’s head on a platter. She also wanted Brent to quit his job—move far away from Iowa City—and most importantly—help Claire.
Downtrodden, Brent explained none of that was possible. “We can’t.”
“Why not? She told me at the jail she didn’t do it! I knew something was wrong. I kept asking. Why didn’t I push more? God! It said he hurt her in California. We were with them! Brent, think about Claire—her age. What if those things you read happened to our daughter?”
“I would kill the bastard! But, they didn’t, and not only is he my boss, now he’s Caleb’s boss. Don’t you think, in light of this new information, it’s coincidental that he recently offered Caleb such a great job? Now, not only does he own us, but also our son and future daughter-in-law.”
“This is America, just quit!”
“Courtney, I can’t. You don’t walk away from Tony. Ask John Vandersol.” Brent hadn’t meant to divulge that information, it just slipped. Courtney sat dazed. She poured herself another glass of Cabernet and reread the brief. The next day, while Brent was at work, Courtney left. He came home to a note: “If anyone asks, I’m taking care of my sick mother. Do not attempt to call or communicate, I will not be available.”
Brent tried numerous times. Over a week later she returned. Brent remembered worrying what she would say. He fully expected, “You’re weak and I’m done—I want a divorce.”
Instead, Courtney apologized, “I wasn’t there for Claire and apparently can’t be there for her now. I can be here for you. You shouldn’t have to face that bastard every day without support. I love you and will support you, but know this—I want out of here and away from him. From this point forward we slowly, inconspicuously move our assets away from Rawlings stock and work to liberate our family. That will start with Caleb before he gets in too deep. Do you agree?”
Brent did. He wanted out, too. The first time Courtney needed to see Tony face to face, Brent worried. She did fine. Courtney said if he could muster a false smile, and Claire could do it—she could too. They were already laying the ground work for Caleb’s move to another place of employment.
As Brent got out of the car and walked into the institution, he worried about Claire, what would she look like? Had she been able to survive? How? He hated Tony and damned him with each echoing step down the long, tiled halls.
A guard took him to a small dingy room, illuminated with a florescent glow, containing a steel table and four chairs. Brent set his briefcase on the table and waited. Looking around, he noticed the conspicuous camera in the corner. It reminded him of the videotaping mentioned in the preliminary brief and of his conversation with Tony:
“You want me to go tell Ms. Nichols (Tony didn’t like to hear her first name) you’re considering a civil lawsuit against her—for what?”
“Slander and deformation of character.”
“Why, what did she say?”
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t need to know—just do your job.” Tony’s voice was flat and authoritative.
In actuality Brent was fishing—would Tony share the information Brent already knew? He also wondered if Tony knew that he knew—apparently not. “Tony, there’re many members of the legal team who weren’t as involved with Ms. Nichols as I. Perhaps one of them could inform her of the impending suit?”
“No, it’ll be you”—his tone was firm and his eyes intense—“Have you ever noticed the nice cameras in those visitor rooms? Those tapes are available for a price. I assume you’ll not relay information to her that isn’t related to the suit. As a reminder, this will not be a friendly visit.” Brent said he understood.
*
Claire was reading in her cell, on that July afternoon, when her buzzer sounded. The sound meant she needed to go to her door. She’d be receiving something—usually a package. This time a guard informed her she had a visitor; her presence was immediately required in the visitor area.
Claire had only received two visitors since her arrest. The first was in Iowa City, before she gave her plea and was transferred to the correctional institution. That day, following a guard, she found her best friend. Courtney was in Fiji during Claire’s arrest and came to the jail as soon as they returned to Iowa.
Visibly distraught as Claire was escorted by a guard, Courtney apologized to Claire, for not being a better friend. If she had pursued her concerns more—perhaps Claire wouldn’t have felt the need to resort to such drastic measures in order to get away from Tony. Claire assured her, “I did not try to kill Tony. Please don’t believe everything you hear or see. Remember Tony’s regard for appearances. Many times, things were not as they seemed.” Courtney said she understood and would try to help her, but—Brent—his job—
Claire hadn’t heard from her since. Honestly, she understood.
The only other visitor since her incarceration was Emily. Claire knew the trip to Mitchellville, Iowa was difficult for her. When Emily had time to travel, she wanted to visit John in New York.
Now, Claire curiously followed the guard down the halls and through multiple gates—each one locking—unlocking—and making the electronic beep sound. Wearing her prison clothes, she entered a room to find Brent Simmons. It had been so long, she momentarily thought she was seeing a friend. Brent’s expression instantaneously told her otherwise. After Claire sat where the guard indicated, he stepped from the room, leaving Brent and Claire alone.
She knew this was business, but he was her friend. She couldn’t stop herself. “Brent, how are you? How’s Courtney? When is Caleb’s wedding?”
Stone faced and sober, Brent replied, “Ms. Nichols, I’ve been instructed to inform you of an impending civil suit in which you’ll be named the defendant.”
Creating an equally professional persona, Claire responded, “Okay, thank you for informing me. May I ask the grounds for this suit?”
*
“My client has reason to believe you’ve spoken slander against him. This defamation of his character is considered a ploy to damage his personal and professional reputation”—Brent said what was needed, with the demeanor necessary, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Claire looked different from what he expected. It wasn’t just her hair and the clothes, she had confidence and strength. These qualities had never been evident before. He recalled seeing her for the first time on Tony’s plane to New York. She looked nervous and insecure, yet tried to appear otherwise. Now after almost six months, three in a federal penitentiary, Claire seemed independent and strong. He knew it wasn’t where she’d been—but where she hadn’t. She hadn’t been under the gaze of the black eyes. Just like actual black holes, they sucked strength, confidence, and assurance out of anyone close enough to be pulled into their orbit.
Claire laughed and replied, “Thank you, Mr. Simmons. I’m very concerned that your client will want my allegations made public—as would happen in such a suit.”
“Ms. Nichols, damage to my client’s professional reputation could result in a loss of income. A civil suit is meant to subsidize any loss of income.”
Smiling, she said, “And of course, I have the necessary capital to subsidize your client’s income.”
“It’s my responsibility to inform you such a suit is under consideration, and if filed, you could be found liable.” Brent stood to leave.
“Brent, can you please talk with me for a minute?” He continued to gather his belongings.
“Mr. Simmons?” They made eye contact. “Your wife told me one time that life was not a daily test. She said perfection was not always necessary. I want you to know that I know. I know better than anyone else, today you passed a test”—Brent felt a minuscule amount of moisture leak from his eyes as he ever so slightly nodded his head in agreement. Looking down he started toward the door, but Claire’s confident tone stopped his movement—“Mr. Simmons, two more things”—He turned back toward her—“Should the subject arise—I welcome the suit. It’ll give me the opportunity to make my allegations again, perhaps to a larger forum”—He nodded with a knowing smile. She was right—Tony would never risk that exposure—“And the other thing, I truly love and miss your wife. If she cares—please tell her that I really am fine—more fine than I used to be.”
“Thank you, Ms. Nichols. You have been notified.”
“Yes, Mr. Simmons, I have. Thank you.” He knocked; the guard opened the door. He left.
*
The guard took Claire back to her cell. Walking through the halls, through the various locked gates, Claire couldn’t help feeling sorry for Brent. He was just north of fifty, but the lines and definite circles under his sad eyes made him look much older. She knew from experience, his prison was more of a hell than hers.
About three weeks later she received a short note in the mail. The return address was a PO Box in Chicago. She didn’t recognize the name, but the note filled Claire with love and support. It wasn’t much, but it was something. To Claire, that was a lot!
I care. I’m glad.
I’m sorry. I miss you too,
and I hope to be able to do more.
love you!
Cort
Claire kept the note and read it daily. Over time, more notes arrived—Sue and Tim had a healthy baby boy—Caleb and Julia’s wedding was to be in June of 2013—little bits of information always signed with love.
You have to accept whatever comes and the only important thing is that you meet it with courage and with the best that you have to give.
—Eleanor Roosevelt