“I’m sorry,” he eventually says, breaking the silence.
“For what?”
“For dragging you into this whole mess.”
“I knew what I was getting into, Lex. You warned me.”
“I bet you wish you’d walked away that day, don’t you?” he asks with cynicism. Behind his facade, I see the pain, the anguish that his words might hold some truth.
“No,” I assert. “I’d rather be in this mess with you than at peace with anyone else.”
At last, his mesmerizing gray eyes meet mine, brows twisted in what must be doubt. “You deserve better, Andrea.”
“So do you. You deserve a medal for all you did, not a trial. And that’s why I’ll be right by your side the whole time, fighting for your freedom, fighting for the life we’re owed.”
His earlier insecurities return, and he looks away from my determined stare again. “It doesn’t look good for me. I think… I think you should get out of this while you still can.”
It’s my turn to doubt. “They haven’t found your Nammota room,” I counter. “Everything remains untouched, down to the last hard drive.”
He shakes his head, somehow disagreeing. “We had a meeting with the prosecution yesterday. They laid out some of the evidence they have against me, and it’s bad, Andrea.”
“How can it be bad? There’s never been anything before, not even crumbs.”
“They found a whole trail of it. Enough to get me arrested. Enough to go to trial. My counselors agree there’s a fifty-fifty chance we’ll lose.”
Oh, no… Those odds are bad. So much worse than I thought. Dread fills me as I let Lex’s words sink in. I’m sure those numbers are exaggerated. There’s no way two top-dog lawyers can’t get him out of this mess unscathed.
Gathering the little optimism left in me, I say, “It’s probably just a—”
“They offered a plea bargain,” he cuts me off.
I frown at that. “Isn’t it early for this?”
“They want to expedite the trial before it gets even more out of hand with the press.”
“Then it’s in their interest, not yours,” I counter.
“It isn’t, Andrea. It actually is a great deal.”
“What is it?”
“I have to plead guilty to one count of gathering classified information related to national defense.”
“In exchange for…?” I ask with apprehension.
“The statutory maximum sentence for that charge.”
“Which is?”
“Given my clean record, two hundred and ten months.”
I blink. “That’s—”
“Seventeen and a half years. With good behavior, I’d only serve ten of them in prison, then a few on supervised release.”
Shit. Ifthat’sa “great” deal, what the fuck kind of sentence could he get if he loses the trial? “And the alternative?” I try.
“If we go to trial and lose, I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison.”
