Standing by a black town car, shivering violently in the wind without her expensive coat, was my mother. Her flawless makeup was ruined, streaked in jagged black lines down her cheeks. The haughty, untouchable aura of Judith Moore had completely evaporated, leaving behind a terrified, hollowed-out old woman.
Behind her, looking out through the tinted glass of the car window, was my father. He had posted an exorbitant, temporary bail, but his face was gray, his eyes dead and unfocused. He looked like a corpse waiting to be buried.
I walked slowly down the remaining steps until I stood exactly three feet from her.
“Lauren,” she choked out, reaching a trembling, manicured hand toward my arm. I stepped back, just an inch, and her hand fell uselessly to her side. “Please. You have to tell them… you have to tell the prosecutors your father was confused. That the audio was manipulated by the intelligence agencies. Grant… Grant is looking at life in a supermax. They took our passports. They froze the bank accounts. We have nothing.”
