He smiled. “I’m certain you believe that, Mrs. Wyatt. You are his wife, but the governments involved believe otherwise.”
“I’m also an attorney, Mr. Cornelius, and you can tell the French government and the Justice Department to go to hell.”
“Margaret!”
“I promised Hank, Dad. This is just bureaucratic nonsense.”
The entire time Hank just stood there, not saying a word. Her father went over to Hank and put his hand on his shoulder and said something. Hank blinked, the only sign that he’d heard anything.
One of the men stepped forward and took a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket. “I need you to put your hands behind your back, Mr. Wyatt.”
Margaret watched Hank take a deep breath and drop his hands behind him. He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring somewhere over her head.
Margaret grabbed her father’s arm. “Dad! I promised him. Please! Can’t you do something?”
He took her arm and pulled her aside. “I’ll try to do what I can, but you’re making this harder on Hank. Stop it. For his sake. He has no choice and neither do we. He has to go with them.”
“Hank.” She said his name in a half plea and turned to him.
“Margaret.” Her father leaned closer and whispered, “If you love him, don’t do this. Leave the man some pride.”
She pulled her arm out of her dad’s and stood with her back pressed to the study doorjamb, her hands behind her, clutching the door handle. As they walked by, she looked at Hank and mouthed, “I love you.”
He stopped for a second, nodded, then turned and walked from the room.
“That’s my dad!” Theodore’s voice echoed down the paneled hallway.
Her head shot up, and she saw Lydia and Theodore standing down the hallway, staring at them.
She saw Hank stumble when he saw the kids.
Theodore came running up to Hank. “What are you doing with my dad? Why is he in handcuffs?”
Margaret walked down the hallway and put her arm around Theodore and Lydia, who was standing there quietly. Margaret could feel the little girl’s shoulders shaking and her gaze was on Hank’s handcuffs as they led him past.
“Are they taking him to jail, Smitty?” Theodore asked. “Are they?”
“Only for a little while,” she told him, hoping it was the truth.
Lydia pulled her hand out of Margaret’s and ran to Hank. She hugged his waist tightly, pressed her cheek to him, and squeezed her eyes closed.
Hank stopped. The men with him looked helplessly at the little girl. Hank’s gaze was on Lydia’s head, and Margaret saw him swallow hard.
Her dad stepped forward and gently tugged on Lydia’s arms. “Come with Grandpa now.” And he gently pulled her away.
“Leedee?” Hank’s voice sounded perfectly normal. A brave front, Margaret knew, that cost him a lot to put up.
“Take care of that damn goat, okay?”
She nodded, tears streaming down her face as she stood with her grandfather.
And they took Hank out the door and down the front steps to the open doors of a black carriage with two mounted police escorts. They got inside.
Margaret stood, staring at Hank’s profile. She reached out a hand to Lydia, then pulled both her and Theodore close to her side. She said quietly, “Your dad will be home soon. I promise. He’ll be home soon.”
* * *
They tookHankdown a dank hallway with gray linoleum and dirty chipped walls. The deeper into the bowels of the prison they walked, the more tight the air seemed, as if a door or window hadn’t been opened in a century or two.
