The Game Changer Read online

  “No shit?”

  “No shit. Said we can go, but he doesn’t want a courtroom full. I was thinking you, me, Terra and her mother?”

  “Gino.”

  “Gino?”

  He nodded. “Gino.”

  “If you think he needs to be there—”

  “If it’s got to do with the family, Gino needs to be there.”

  “Are we done here? I need to call Terra.”

  “For now.” He stood. “But we ain’t done.”

  He was right. We weren’t. But for the time being, ATF investigations were the least of my worries.

  Getting my wife’s father out of jail was my top priority.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Terra

  We sat in the back of the ornate courtroom. Directly across from us, the elevated platform was empty, short of a woman sitting in front of a computer. In the center of the room, Cap’s father sat on one side, and the prosecutor sat on the other.

  A lone US marshal escorted my father into the courtroom.

  He was dressed in a suit, and cleanly shaven. I leaned toward Michael. “He looks so much better,” I whispered.

  “He does.”

  My heart began to race.

  “All rise!” the bailiff bellowed.

  The judge entered the courtroom, walked to his seat and sat down.

  “You may be seated.”

  The judge lifted a stack of paperwork, studied it and leaned toward his microphone. “In the matter of the United States versus Agrioli, we are gathered for the oral presentation of a Motion to Dismiss. Be it a matter of record that following an ATF investigation, a federal grand jury convened, and on October 4, an indictment was issued. Soon thereafter, Mr. Agrioli was arrested without incident in his home for the charges listed in the indictment.”

  He laid the paperwork aside.

  “Mr. Lori. This is your motion. I’ll allow five minutes.” He relaxed in his seat and crossed his arms. “Proceed.”

  Cap’s father stood. “Thank you, your honor.”

  I turned to the side. “He doesn’t even have anything in his hands,” I whispered. “He doesn’t look very prepared.”

  Michael shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t need anything.”

  “I’m nervous.”

  “Shhh.”

  He placed his hands on each side of the lectern. “Your honor, the defendant was charged in the indictment with killing a federal agent of the law as described and punishable under the federal jurisdiction of 18 USC, Section 1114, and Killing Designed to Influence the Outcome of a Court Case as described and punishable under the federal jurisdiction of 18 USC, Section 1512.”

  He cleared his throat and released the lectern. “First and foremost, your honor, I am aware the upper court has determined that murder, no differently than any other fact, may be proven to the court by the presentation of circumstantial evidence. If the evidence of those facts leads to one conclusion, and one conclusion only, a jury may find guilt even in the absence of a body.”

  The judge leaned forward. “Mr. Lori, I am versed on the law that governs this case. Need I remind you that I am the judge, and you are legal counsel?”

  “No, your honor.”

  “Proceed with your motion, counsel. I’ll remind you of the value of the court’s time.”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  He gripped the lectern again, inhaled a deep breath and began. “In People v. Scott, your honor, it was held that ‘circumstantial evidence, when sufficient to exclude every other reasonable hypothesis, may prove the death of a missing person, the existence of a homicide and the guilt of the accused.’ The fact remains, your honor, that evidence must exist. This counsel’s motion for discovery remains unanswered, and in the absence of said response, no evidence exists.”

  The judge turned toward the prosecutor. “Mr. Triboletti?”

  He stood. “Yes, your honor.”

  “Has a response been prepared to counsel’s motion for discovery?”

  “Not exactly, your honor.”

  “An exact yes or an exact no, counsel,” the judge barked. “Choose one.”

  “No, your honor.”

  The judge cocked an eyebrow. “Is it your intention to do so?”

  “Your honor, the office of the US Attorney is reluctant to respond for fear of retribution against the informant that testified before the grand jury.”

  The judge’s mouth curled into a smirk. “Is the office of the US Attorney aware of certain protections that are provided under the letter of the law that I am unaware of?”

  “No, your honor.”

  “The constitution affords the defendant the right to confront his or her accuser, Mr. Triboletti. Was it your belief the informant would not be required to testify?”

  “No, your honor.”

  “Your honor,” Cap’s father said. “If I may. Inferences have been drawn by prosecution, but those inferences are a product of speculation, conjecture, and a spoonful of supposition. Evidence, your honor, has yet to be presented.”

  The judge turned toward Cap’s father and glared. “These inferences that are a ‘product of speculation, conjecture and a spoonful of supposition’ don’t appear to be in front of me, counsel. I have—” he picked up his paperwork and flipped through the pages “—a grand jury subpoena, a two-count indictment, a copy of the arrest record, daily reports from the jail, a motion for discovery and your motion to dismiss.”

  “May I approach, your honor?”

  “You may.”

  He turned toward the table, picked up a piece of paper and approached the judge’s platform. After handing the judge the document, he returned to the lectern. The judge studied the document, turned toward the prosecutor and shook his head.

  “Mr. Triboletti. Does the office of the US Attorney make it a practice to release responses to motions without providing a copy to the good court?”

  “No, your honor.”

  He lifted the sheet of paper and shook it in his hand. “Is there a reason I’m holding a document graced with your office’s stamp that is not a matter of record?”

  “I’m not sure, your honor.”

  The judge leaned forward, removed his reading glasses and raised both eyebrows. “You’re not sure?”

  “No, your honor.”

  “I’m sure that I’m holding it. Would you like to see it?”

  “I believe I have a copy of the document, your honor.”

  The judge shot him a look. “You have a copy?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  He waved his arm toward Cap’s father. “And defense has a copy?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  He tossed his hands in the air. “Yet, the court does not?”

  “That is correct, your honor.”

  The judge leaned forward and glared at the prosecutor. “I’m listening. With tremendous interest, I might add.”

  “It was faxed to Mr. Lori’s office in response to the motion for discovery.”

  “Faxed?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “But not entered as a matter of record.”

  “No, your honor.”

  The judge sighed, turned to the side and picked up the piece of paper. “Be it entered as a matter of record that prosecution’s response to defense counsel’s Motion for Discovery indicates there is no discoverable evidence. This document will be entered into record and made available to all parties.”

  He set the document aside and turned toward the lectern. “Proceed, Mr. Lori.”

  My eyes had been bouncing back and forth between the prosecutor and the judge for five solid minutes. I felt exhausted, and lost.

  I leaned to the side. “What does all of tha
t mean?”

  “Your father’s attorney asked for the evidence, and they didn’t provide any. He asked for the name of the informant, and they wouldn’t provide it. The case looks weak,” he whispered.

  “Okay.”

  I was still lost, but I felt relieved. Not a lot, but enough to relax and listen to the rest of the proceeding. “Your honor, in compliance with the federal rules of evidence, and, in accordance with the federal rules of criminal procedure, defense counsel respectfully requests that any evidence including—but not limited to—the recorded statements made by any and all confidential informants be provided in response to the Motion for Discovery. In the absence of said evidence, it is counsel’s opinion that this case lacks the prerequisite evidence to proceed.”

  “In the absence of said discoverable evidence.” The judge cocked his head. “You are seeking?”

  “If prosecution cannot meet the requirements set forth in People v. Scott, defense requests that the court consider the language of United States v. Head, and further implores the court to grant mercy on the defendant by means of dismissal of the instant offenses and the indictment, your honor.”

  The judge picked up his paperwork and began reviewing it.

  Cap’s father walked to the table, talked to my father for a moment and then approached the lectern. “Your honor, be it known that the defendant has agreed—and defense will allow it to be made a matter of record—that if the defendant is released today with prejudice, no damages will be sought by the defendant in respect to this case.”

  Released? He might be released?

  I twisted my mouth to the side, hoping to sneak a question in without the judge noticing. “They might release him?”

  “Yes,” Michael whispered. “It sounds like it.” The judge looked at the prosecutor. “Mr. Triboletti?”

  The prosecutor leaned toward the microphone. “The office of the US Attorney will agree to dismiss the case without prejudice.”

  Cap’s father cleared his throat. “My client will accept these terms; however, damages will be sought for the wrongful imprisonment, the imposition on the family and friends, and the devastating blow to the defendant’s otherwise untarnished name. Need I remind the court, the indictment, your honor, was dated October 4. The arrest was made more than a week later, during the engagement celebration of the defendant’s daughter. This, in itself, your honor, constitutes—”

  The prosecutor interrupted him mid-sentence. “Prosecution will agree to dismiss this case with prejudice, your honor.”

  The judge raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. “In the matter of the United States v. Agrioli, the case has been dismissed with prejudice. Mr. Agrioli, you are free to go.”

  Free to go?

  The emotion came like a roller coaster. Up. Down. Up. Down. I couldn’t believe it. I looked at Michael. I waited for the judge to say he was joking and that they were taking my father back to jail. I glanced toward my father.

  Short of the rustling of some paperwork, the room remained eerily silent.

  I looked at Michael. “That’s it?”

  He stood. “That’s it.”

  Oh my God!

  “Oh my God.” I looked at my father and then at Michael. “He can come home?”

  “It was dismissed with prejudice,” Michael said. “That means they can never bring it back up in court. They can’t recharge him.”

  My eyes shot wide. “They can’t?”

  “Nope.” He reached for my hand and smiled. “It’s over.”

  My heart thrashed against my ribs.

  The pressure that had been in my chest since my father’s arrest vanished. Immediately, relief washed over me.

  “Thank God.”

  I looked at Sal and Gino, and then at Michael. “I wish my mother would have come.” I wiped my eyes. “She’s going to be so happy.”

  “It’s understandable that she didn’t, though.” He took my hand in his and lifted me from my seat. “If the outcome had been different, it would have crushed her.”

  I hugged him and then scanned the courtroom for a glimpse of my father. Standing by the exit, he opened his arms and smiled.

  As we reached the end of the aisle, my father met us. With one arm, he reached for the back of Michael’s neck. With the other, he reached for mine. He hugged us both for what seemed like an eternity, and then eventually released his grip.

  He looked at me and smiled. “The food here.” He shook his head. “You know what I want?”

  I wiped a tear on Michael’s shoulder, and then smiled. “What?”

  “The carbonara.”

  I laughed.

  Life felt normal again.

  And I wasn’t going to waste one single minute of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Michael

  Although everything was back to normal in Terra’s eyes, I saw my own life as being filled with unanswered questions, most of which were high on my list to resolve.

  Terra set her purse on the kitchen counter. “I’m glad everything’s over. That was awful.”

  Agrioli left with Sal and Gino. There was no opportunity to resolve matters, so everything wasn’t over. I agreed nonetheless. “No argument here.”

  “You’re still mad at them, aren’t you?”

  “Who?”

  “The police. The ATF or whatever.”

  “I’m not happy with what they did to your father, that’s for sure.”

  She twisted her mouth to the side and then her eyebrows crept upward. “He agreed not to sue them, so there’s not much we can do now.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “You should just try to forget about it.”

  I tried to separate work from pleasure and offered a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I’m ready to get back to planning the wedding.”

  It sounded like a good idea. Regaining control of my life would help immensely. “Sounds fun.”

  “Really?”

  I kissed her. “Really.”

  She stepped around me and took off toward the bedroom. In a few seconds, she returned with a pink hardbound notebook.

  “Where’d that come from?”

  “I bought it.”

  I laughed at her response. “You answer questions like I do.”

  “Learned from the best.” She set down the notebook and poured herself a glass of wine. “Beer? Scotch?”

  I nodded toward the bottle. “Pour me a glass.”

  She leaned back and shot me a glare. “It’s moscato,” she said.

  “Never had it.” I shrugged.

  She cocked her head to the side. “You’re not going to like it.” She grinned a mischievous grin, then poured a glass. “Here.”

  I took a sip. “Holy shit.” I licked the sweet substance from my lips. “That’s sweet.”

  “Told you.”

  “Okay.” I pulled out a bar stool and sat down. “Let’s get to it.”

  She raised one eyebrow, “You’re going to drink it?”

  I hoisted the glass. “I think it’s perfect for wedding planning.”

  It wasn’t, but it would make her happy to see me drink it. Our life had been so out of place for the past two weeks that neither of us could eat, sleep or have a moment of the day that we were able to enjoy.

  She sat down on the stool beside me and placed the book between us. Upon opening it, I saw her handwritten notes, all neatly arranged below bold headers that were surrounded by days’ worth of doodling. Her penmanship, as always, was remarkable.

  “Okay. Invitations. Here’s what I have it down to.” She opened the book. “Golden foil-pressed. Letterpressed. Floral. Vintage. Postcard. Colorful vector. Chic. Chalkboard. Or Fairy tale. But I don’t really like chalkboard
. I mean, not really. Unless you do.”

  “Do you have examples?”

  “Hold, please.”

  She ran to the room and then promptly returned with her laptop. After a smile and a quick kiss, she began scrolling through files of saved photos.

  She slid the computer toward me. “Look at these.”

  After looking at each of the many photos, I went back to the beginning. “Okay,” I said. “I’m going to scroll through these, and say yes or no. Ready?”

  She took a drink of wine and then picked up her pen. “Ready.”

  “Yes, no, no, no, yes, no, no, no, no.”

  “Oh, wow. Okay. Go through them again, slow.”

  “Yes. No. No. No. Yes. Maybe. No. No. No.”

  “Gold, floral and fairy tale. Floral is a maybe?”

  I finished my glass of wine, and poured another. “I like it, but it’s almost too predictable. Almost.”

  “Okay. Out of all of them, which do you like the most?”

  “This one.”

  “Fairy tale.” She laid her hand over mine. “I like that one the most, too.”

  “Are you just saying that?”

  “No.” She scrolled to the picture and stopped. “I liked it, but I didn’t think you would.”

  “It’s my first choice.”

  “I’ll get a bunch of examples, and then we can decide how we want to configure it.”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you,” she said.

  I’d never felt that I needed someone in my life. Throughout the difficult times in my life, my past concerns were only of myself. Following Agrioli’s arrest, my concerns weren’t of me—but of Terra, and of him.

  I loved her, and there was nothing I could do to change it, nor did I want to.

  I kissed her. “I love you, too.”

  “How many people do you think will attend that you know?” she asked.

  I took a drink of wine.

  Cap, Lucky, Trace, Snowman, Sal and Jimmy Cupcake.

  “I’m thinking six.”

  She looked bewildered. “Six?”

  “It doesn’t have to be. But that’s what I was thinking. Cap, Trace, Lucky, Snow, Sal and Jimmy Cupcake.”