When We Were Bright and Beautiful(32)

When McKay lists Billy’s purported crimes, I snap to attention.

“Mr. Quinn, you are indicted on five charges, including two counts of rape, one count of attempted rape; and two counts of felony sexual assault, one count where the victim was intoxicated, and one where the victim was unconscious of the nature of the act. To these five counts, how do you plead?”

My stomach clenches as I wait for him to speak.

Suddenly, Lawrence grabs my hand and squeezes it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, out of the blue. “Live the life you want, Cassie. I won’t hold you back. I love you, kiddo.”

My chest catches. My lungs expand. “Me too. I love you too.”

Together, we hold our breath.

Billy stands up tall, thrusts out his chin, and says, “Not”—he swallows hard—“guilty”—swallows again—“ssss . . .” There’s a delay, but it’s brief. “. . . sir,” he says, with extra emphasis.

As I exhale, I feel Lawrence do the same. Drenched in sweat; I’m spent. “Thank God that’s over,” I say with relief.

“Over?” He starts to laugh, loudly. He sounds like a maniac. “This has just begun.”





18


TIME PASSES. DAYS BLEND TOGETHER. SOON, A MONTH goes by. My prep classes are over, and while I’m no more proficient in Arabic than when I started, at least I’m done. My next hurdle is deciding where to live until school starts in September. My choices are New York with my family, New Haven alone, or Southampton, occasionally with Nate but mostly alone.

Billy has no such choices. After he was formally indicted, Princeton asked him to withdraw, and then banned him from campus until his case is settled. Although he can reapply, prevailing wisdom says he won’t be readmitted. No college wants an accused sex offender among their community—even if he’s exonerated. So how and if Billy can finish his degree remains to be seen. Moreover, medical school is likely out of the question. Again, he can apply. But the internet is all-knowing and everlasting. A quick search for “Billy Quinn” already yields too many hits for an admissions board to ignore. So, it’s not just Billy’s education that’s been derailed; it’s his whole future, along with his health and emotional well-being.

The trial is set for October 30, and until then, Billy is required to wear his monitoring bracelet, report to a probation officer, and, somehow, get through each day. Eleanor has plans to take him to a host of therapists and wellness workers, along with the psychiatrist he’s already seeing, but I know my brother, and he’ll refuse anyone he has to talk to for more than five minutes.

For the next five months, we’ll work with DeFiore’s team on Billy’s defense. DeFiore will continue to press us to plead out. We’ll continue to say no, absolutely not; and then as the trial gets closer, we’ll say maybe. Like Billy, we have to stay optimistic and resolute, which becomes increasingly difficult with each passing day. Reporters continue to reach out in surprising ways and at unexpected times. “No interviews,” DeFiore reminds us. But it’s so hard to stay quiet when the story they’re telling is based on lies.

Billy’s indictment has turned our lives upside down. The five of us are stuck in the house every day, from dawn till dusk, holed up together like snakes in a nest. The constant closeness is wearing, and as tension brews, arguments break out. Teeth cleanings, checkups, eye exams, mammograms—all on hold until after the trial. The funding for Lawrence’s foundation is in flux. Nate extended his Bessemer leave then quit. Eleanor’s set is gossiping, lifelong friends won’t return calls. The Bowtie comes around, which makes everything worse. The press is still camped on the sidewalk with microphones and telephoto lenses. Once in a while, I sit with Lawrence and Nate as they field updates from DeFiore. The guy is never not working. He calls and texts compulsively with news of evidentiary hearings and toxicology reports. Their conversations, which are tense and combative, go on for hours; and more often than not, result in nothing.

Yesterday, Billy made a troubling announcement. “I wish I could go to prison already and get a jump on my sentence.” That he’ll be found guilty is, in his mind, inevitable. So I guess it’s good that DeFiore works so hard. I mean, how do you effectively represent an innocent kid who’s not only guilty in the court of public opinion, but who’s also given up on himself?

*

According to DeFiore, the central argument for our defense doesn’t hinge on whether or not Billy Quinn had consent to penetrate Diana Holly. Or whether or not Diana Holly was conscious at the time of penetration. Or whether or not Billy Quinn knew Diana Holly’s state of mind during the act of penetration. In many ways, what happened on March 24 is beside the point—to us, anyway. That’s the prosecution’s riddle to solve. To defend my brother successfully, to get an acquittal and keep him out of prison, DeFiore has to answer one simple question: Who is William Matthew Stockton Quinn?

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” DeFiore says. “We’ll put the affluence front and center. We can’t hide the money or privilege. But we shouldn’t play up his childhood illnesses. Strategically, this can backfire. A jury hears developmental problems, they’ll think anger then tantrums then rape.”

“You’re wrong,” I say. “They’ll only make that leap if you push them that way.”