Page 31

Chapter Twenty-Four

JUNE 2088

Alex

The trial was a formality. Alex pleaded guilty, and the press turned out in force to watch the latest tawdry episode in the Lytton family drama.

He was accustomed to the massed ranks of the media jostling him, the camera flashes blinding him, and the vicious questions they hurled at him, hoping to provoke a reaction, but even so, it was harrowing.

Keeping his gaze resolutely on his shoes, he was escorted through the press scrum on his way into court, but they managed to get shots of him anyway.

Within minutes, one particular image had gone viral. It showed him looking gaunt and lost as he was thrust through the crowds, his head hanging down and his disgrace tangible. It was captioned with the words Hang Do g – and the double meaning wasn’t lost on him.

He’d lost so much weight that his jacket hung from his shoulders. As he had no money to pay for a lawyer, he had been assigned one by the state – a useless, bumbling idiot called Tobias Bailey, who was entirely out of his depth.

The judge was a patrician, thin-faced woman with flared nostrils. She seemed to hate him from the start, and he knew why.

He was one of the privileged, and his disgrace was in direct proportion to his status. The country existed in a fragile state of peace, and if the poor and dispossessed were to be kept in their place, then the rich and privileged had to know theirs: noblesse oblige .

Much was made of the fact that he’d stolen from the IS account, as if he’d personally snatched food from the mouths of every single indentured servant in the country.

He said nothing in his defence; he knew that what he’d done was indefensible. Bailey huffed and puffed, dropped his nanopad, and made such a fool of himself in court that Alex wished he could dispense with the man altogether.

Charles was there, managing to smile wanly for the press despite everything. George Tyler attended every day, too, taking copious notes, looking thoughtful but troubled. Alex couldn’t bring himself to meet the man’s eye. Solange wasn’t present; she hadn’t been in contact since his arrest.

Neil was called to the stand. He looked straight ahead, refusing to meet Alex’s eye.

“Mr Grant – please explain, in your own words, what Mr Lytton instructed you to do,” the prosecuting counsel prompted.

“Alex… um, I mean, Alexander Lytton ordered me to move the money into his account, so I did,” he said in a rushed monotone.

“Didn’t you think it was a strange request?”

“Well, yes, but…” Neil shrugged. “He’s the director’s son, and I’m just an indentured servant. He gave me an order, so I obeyed it. What was I supposed to do?”

Alex stared at him, but Neil steadfastly looked the other way. He decided not to correct Neil’s version of events. His former flatmate might be twisting the truth to save his own skin, but there was no point in them both going down.

Bailey expressed surprise that Neil had obeyed without query, but the matter was dropped. The nation had their villain in this particular drama – nobody else was required.

His father was called to give evidence. Alex sneaked a peek at him from under his eyelashes. Noah was cold and distant – he looked straight through his son as if he didn’t know him and then turned away. He gave his account in clipped, precise tones.

“Can you tell us upon whose authority your son was acting when he transferred the money out of the Lytton AV indentured servant account to invest in the new project?” the prosecuting counsel asked.

The court’s gaze fell on Noah, waiting for his reply.

Alex crossed his fingers and closed his eyes. Would his father sell him or save him? He hoped it was the former. He couldn’t live with the latter.

“He was not acting for Lytton AV – the funds were misappropriated to fund his own vanity project. He stole the money,” Noah replied in a firm, decisive voice.

Alex bowed his head, accepting his fate. His father had made the right choice. He didn’t blame him any more than he blamed Neil; the only person he blamed was himself.

“Mr Lytton, just to be completely clear… you did not give your son permission to take the money?”

“No. And he’s not my son.”

Alex jerked up his head in shock, but Noah avoided his gaze.

“I disown him. I don’t want anything more to do with him. He’s dead to me.”

A buzz immediately went around the courtroom, but Noah didn’t react. He stared straight ahead, cold and angry.

The rest of the trial passed in a haze. Alex didn’t hear much of what was said. All that reverberated in his head were his father’s words: He’s dead to me.

The lawyers seemed to be the only ones enjoying themselves. Bailey’s witless utterings became part of the pantomime, seized upon by the media as comic relief in the train wreck that was Alex’s life. He cringed every time the man opened his mouth.

When the inevitable guilty verdict came it caused him no surprise, but a murmur went around the courtroom anyway. He was commanded to stand, which he did, shakily. Holding on tightly to the dock, he listened as the judge delivered her sentence.

“You were born into privilege, but you wasted your talents and squandered your good name. You have lied, stolen, and cheated, and deserve no mercy from this court. Those with far fewer opportunities than you have been held to account for their actions, and we do not think you are deserving of special lenience because of your name or position. You are a common criminal and will be treated as such, as a lesson to all those who think they are above the law.”

She paused to glare at him, her nostrils flaring angrily.

“This was not a crime of violence – you do not pose a threat to the public, and therefore it is not in the country’s interest to waste scarce and precious resources by sending you to prison.”

He took little comfort from that. He could guess what was coming next.

“The court is required to retrieve as much of the money you stole as can be collected from your estate. As you have no assets, and the sum you have stolen is so significant, the court orders that you be sold into indentured servitude. Your contract will be offered for sale on a lifetime basis to raise as much recompense for Lytton AV as possible, with the added stipulation, as punishment imposed by the Crown, that you must serve at least seven years in servitude before your contract holder can release you, if they so choose. To ensure that you are justly punished for your crime, no family member may purchase your contract before that time has elapsed.”

It was a common punishment for theft. Those who were found guilty were sold into servitude, the length of their contract commensurate with the sums they’d stolen. Some only had to serve six months, but Alex’s crime had been on an altogether bigger scale.

As he was young, and it was likely someone could get fifty years’ work out of him, it was possible he might fetch a decent sum. He’d never heard of an IS being bought for ￡140 million, though, and that was the sum required to save Lytton AV from bankruptcy.

The judge had ordered that he must serve at least seven years before he could be freed, to ensure he couldn’t simply be bought and then released. It was unlikely that anyone who had paid a substantial sum for a servant’s lifetime contract would free him early in any case, but the court made that impossible.

If the media wanted him to yell, scream, faint, or do anything newsworthy at all, they were disappointed. He took the news of his sentence silently, his head bowed.

He was to be held in prison while the judge arranged the closed auction bids that would decide his fate. However, he was allowed visitors before his servitude began. He knew his father wouldn’t want to see him, and Solange had disappeared, but there was one person he knew still loved him. He therefore wasn’t surprised when he was escorted into the visiting room to find Charles sitting there.

“Alex, I’m so sorry,” his brother whispered, his eyes full of tears.

Alex looked away. “How is Dad?” he asked.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t say much, but I’m sure he must regret cutting you loose to save the company.”

“He shouldn’t. He made the right decision.”

“No, he didn’t. If I could have saved you, I’d have done it. You know that!” Charles cried fiercely.

“My loyal brother,” Alex said softly.

“Of course. No matter what happens.” Charles reached across the table and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. “As you are mine?” he asked softly.

Alex gave a wan smile. “Always. You know that.”

Releasing his hand, Charles leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry I couldn’t afford to pay for a good lawyer. That idiot Bailey.”

“I know. It was embarrassing.” Alex grimaced. “Still, it gave the media a good laugh.”

“I should be better with my money.”

“Well, it’s never exactly been your strong suit.” Alex gave a little smile, because he’d always teased Charles for spending his money as soon as he earned it. “But I can’t talk: I should have been better with other people’s money.” He gave a self-deprecating shrug.

“I don’t know when I’ll see you again,” Charles whispered tearfully.

“Hopefully, my new houder will allow you to visit. In the meantime, just be there for Dad – he needs you now, more than ever. Win some more gold medals for him – that’ll help.”

Charles nodded, tears running down his cheeks. “He won’t be coming to visit you, to say goodbye, in case you were wondering… hoping. I thought I should tell you.”

“I know. I heard what he said in court. He’s disowned me. He’s trying to protect himself, to get through this any way he can. I understand. It’s fine.” It wasn’t. It hurt. But Alex didn’t blame his father.

“I’ll speak to him. I’ll get him to change his mind. ”

“Have you seen Solange?” Alex asked after a short silence. He’d kept his relationship with Solange very much on the downlow, but they’d gone out to dinner with Charles a couple of times, at Solange’s insistence, because she’d wanted to meet the great Olympic hero.

Charles shook his head. “Sorry, no. She hasn’t been in touch. You haven’t heard from her at all? Not once, throughout any of this?”

“No. I wish I could see her and explain… I wasn’t in love with her, Charles, but I was fond of her. I feel I owe her an explanation.”

“I do have news about Neil,” Charles said. “He went to Dad after the trial and asked for his contract to be terminated. Dad agreed, obviously.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know for sure – but I can think of only one place.”

“The Quarterlands.” He winced. “Neil and I didn’t always get on, but I wouldn’t wish that on him. He was always petrified of ending up there.”

He wondered why Neil had asked to be released from his contract. He’d been found innocent of any wrongdoing, although the trial had done him no favours. Questions had been asked about his flat-sharing arrangement with Alex, and why he hadn’t flagged the unauthorised transaction to his line manager. It was unlikely that any reputable employer would buy his contract. His future was surely bleak.

“Charles – I’m scared,” Alex admitted suddenly. “I’m afraid of what my life will be like. Who will buy me? And will I raise enough money to save Lytton AV? Nobody’s ever paid a hundred and forty million pounds for an indentured servant. Not even close.”

“But you’re the most famous IS in the country – that’ll push up your price. You might be surprised by how many interested parties are out there,” Charles said brightly.

“I know – but what will they want me to do?” he whispered, wrapping his arms around his body to try and prevent himself from trembling. “What service will they want from me?” He could tell by the expression in his brother’s eyes that they were both worrying about the same thing.

“Well, like I said, you’re famous,” Charles repeated soothingly, as if that was the answer to everything. “Maybe they’ll just want to take you to parties and show you off. You know – dress you up, parade you around to their friends, and make you smile at everyone.”

“I’d hate that.” Alex shuddered. “Bailey says my contract won’t specify what duties I might be asked to perform. I could get sent down a coal mine for the next fifty years.”

Charles laughed. “Nobody is going to buy an IS like you and then send you down the mines, Alex. You’re far too—” He broke off abruptly.

“Pretty?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No, I mean – yes, you are, obviously, very good-looking – but I’m sure your new houder will also appreciate your manners and education,” Charles suggested. “Whatever you end up doing, you’ll be good at it, and you’ll be treated well, because you’re famous… Nobody would dare mistreat you, I’m sure.”

Alex grunted. “I’m famous now, but give it a couple of years and who’ll remember me then?”

“I will,” Charles said firmly. “I’m going to work my arse off and save, save, save, and in seven years’ time I promise I’ll go to whoever owns your contract and offer to buy it, and then I’ll set you free. I promise ,” he said, his eyes sparkling with tears again.

“Thank you. It’s only seven years. It’ll fly by,” Alex said, trying to convince himself.

“Time’s up,” the prison warder said.

“One last thing.” Alex leaned across the table and spoke softly. “I kept one of Mum’s scarfs. Please don’t let them take that. All my property will be sold, and I can’t let them have that. It’s in my bedroom; please find it and keep it safe for me.”

“I will, I promise,” Charles said, grabbing his hand again and holding it tight.

“Goodbye, Charles.” He kissed his brother’s cheek, pressing his lips against those dimples one last time.

“Goodbye, Alex,” Charles whispered hoarsely.

As he was led away, all he could hear was his brother sobbing brokenly behind him.