WHEN THE BOUGH BREAKS

by ANE MULLIGAN

Even if my father and mother abandon me, the Lord will hold me close.

Psalm 27: 10, NLT

CHAPTER 1

Sienna O'Shea's heart hammered its way up to her throat as she stood outside the Judiciary Hearing Room. She took a deep breath before turning to the man beside her. He and his adorable dimple delivered her to this door. Now she had to go in. She swallowed and straightened her suit jacket.

"It's all yours from here." His deep voice resonated in her ear.

"Thank you …" She suddenly realized she didn't know his name.

"Reese." He slipped his card into her jacket's waist pocket. Her skin beneath the material tingled where his fingers grazed. "Reese Van Daal."

"Sienna O'Shea. I'm sorry … I don't have any cards yet. This is my first day." Brilliant conversation, O'Shea—quit blathering. "I really do appreciate the guide. No telling how long I would have wandered." Five minutes ago she'd been lost in the vast underground maze of Albany's capitol.

With his head slightly cocked, he nodded. "The pleasure was distinctly mine." He winked and left her.

She gave a final pat to her skirt, adjusted the shoulder strap on her briefcase and opened the door, stepping inside. The floor slanted downward like a theatre, each row of seats lower than the previous one. Her gaze progressed to the front of the room where a huge mahogany conference table stood, a bouquet of microphones clustered at its center. A column of journalists squatted on the floor in front of the table. She didn't know the media would be here. Her stomach flip-flopped. Lobbying she knew. Testifying before a judicial committee? No way—amicus curiae she was not.   

A heavyset woman sat at the table, testifying. Her strident alto, proclaiming her group's admiration of the judge, carried over the rustle of papers and whispers from the assembled audience.

A dais rose in front of the table. Behind the modesty rail, she could see a dozen high-backed, leather chairs—filled with senators. They didn't pay much attention to the speaker. Instead they talked among themselves, and only one or two actually read the testimony.

Sienna shrank back and gulped. She wondered if they'd called her name yet, and if so, what would happen now. Her glance swept the room for CFC's assistant, Christine, who would be showing her around. When Sienna spotted her, Christine motioned over her soccer-ball belly to the chair next to her.

She whispered, "Where have you been?"

Sienna lowered the theatre-style seat and dropped into it, setting her briefcase at her feet. "Caught in traffic. Have they called me yet?"

"No, but you're up in a few minutes."

Hardly time to catch her breath. "I hope—What are they handing out?" Behind the senators on the dais, an aide distributed what looked like an entire ream of paper to each senator. An intern pushing a trolley followed behind.

"That's the next person's testimonial."

Sienna shot Christine a panicked look. "I don't have that much." The volume of her voice caused others to look at her. She slunk down in her chair and whispered, "I didn't know I'd need anything like that. Christine, mine's only a single page." She wanted to flee the room. Her first day on the job as legislative affairs director for CFC and she was going to bomb. She started to rise.

Christine pulled her back down. "Don't worry. You'll do fine. Just read your paper, then get up and leave. Don't give them any time to ask questions, unless you're prepared to answer."

"Answer them? No way. I don't know enough about the issue, but I did unearth something I hope will blow the lid off this appointment. A friend of mine, Matt Dressler, is an investigative reporter. It's really his research and story. He emailed it to me last night. All I did was rework it to fit our needs. Of course, it took me most of the night." Sienna leaned down and pulled a paper from her briefcase. "Look."

Christine read the paper, her eyes growing wider with each line. "You're sure of this?" She handed it back.

A balding man in front of them turned and scowled. Sienna leaned closer to her assistant and lowered her voice to a whisper. "That's what I asked Matt. He said he had all the proof anyone would need—bank records, corporate reports, audits, you name it. I trust his work a hundred percent, and I've cited all the references on the back."

"This is amazing, Sienna. Glen's going to be so glad he hired you."

"I was terrified I'd be too late to testify, and he'd fire me."

"Not after this." Christine sat up straight. "Watch now. You should be up next."

The clerk stood. "Conservative Family Coalition representative, please."

Sienna walked to the standing microphone in the aisle. "I'm Sienna O'Shea." Her voice trembled. She swallowed and tried again, handing the folded paper to the clerk. "I represent the New York CFC." The uniformed man looked at the measly offering then back at Sienna. When she nodded once, he shook his head and walked up the steps of the dais. Sienna sat at the table with her copy.

Heart pounding, she watched the senators as the clerk handed them her papers. They reached up for more, but when the clerk shook his head, each senator, one after the other, glanced at Sienna, then at the printed testimony. Nervous as she was, she almost giggled. Her single page caught the attention of everyone, and they waited for her to speak.

Something tapped against her chair leg and persisted. Sienna turned. Directly behind her, and drilling her with a hateful stare, sat Judge Celeste Leone. Coal black hair pulled tight against her scalp gave the judge a pinched look. Tortoiseshell glasses perched on a Roman nose. Sienna blinked and turned back. The tapping continued. The woman was doing it on purpose to distract her. Well it wouldn't work—indignation made her more determined than ever.

"Please go ahead, Ms. O'Shea," the chairman said.

Sienna took a deep breath and peered over the microphones. Twelve pairs of eyes were trained on her. She swallowed and hoped her voice wouldn't crack. "Mr. Chairman, members of the Senate, I won't bore you with statistics on the number of families affected by addiction to gambling, or its negative affects on communities. Rather I'm here to show why Judge Leone should not be appointed to the Supreme Court. Before moving to New York, she used her position on the Ninth Circuit Court judge to further her own agenda and personal financial gain." The tapping increased. Sienna cleared her throat.

"In the report before you, you will see that Judge Leone is part owner in a casino. The majority shareholder is a brother-in-law-- h—her er sister's husband to be exact." The stuttering beat against her chair faltered. "The judge presided over numerous cases involving its owners, rendering each verdict in favor of the casino."

The chairman held up her testimony in a clenched hand. "Can you document this?"

Sienna laced her fingers together on the table. "Yes, sir. The Atlanta Journal Constitution published a story on gambling casinos three months ago. The casino in question was implicated in the article. Since then, the judge's ownership has come to light. The implicating documents are listed on the back of the report you hold and are of public record. The New York Conservative Family Coalition recommends Judge Leone not be appointed to the New York Court of Appeals."

The tapping stopped abruptly as Sienna stood. The judge stood at the same time, blocking Sienna's exit. Nose to nose with her, Judge Leone opened her mouth to say something when a reporter shoved a microphone in front of her. She glared at the man and slapped his hand away, then turned and left the hearing room. The media raced out after her, and the room erupted in pandemonium. The chairman banged his gavel and called for a recess.

Christine broke through the crowd, shoved Sienna's briefcase into her arms and grabbed her elbow.

"Come on. Follow me."

Just before they exited through a side door, something in the balcony caught Sienna's eye. Reese Van Daal leaned against the railing and smiled down at her. He touched a finger to his brow in salute, then turned and disappeared from sight.

Before Sienna could take stock of her surroundings, the door clicked shut and darkness engulfed her and Christine.

"Where are we?" Sienna squinted into the dark. The odor of damp wood and dust made her cringe. What had she gotten herself into? A sliver of light shone along the floor at the far end, and the blackness faded to murky gray. They appeared to be in some kind of a closet or passageway. Bulky shapes crowded her on both sides, giving off an odor of damp, dusty wood.

Christine's whisper floated through the gloom. "Shh. Take my hand and I'll guide you through. I'll explain later."

Warm fingers groped for Sienna's hand and grabbed hold. With the briefcase clutched against her chest with one hand, she held on and followed, as they ferreted their way through. She hoped there weren't any spider webs. But to feel out in front of her, she either had to drop her briefcase or let go of Christine—she wasn't about to do either. Her heart tap danced on her ribs as she kept pace with her assistant. Something hard bumped against her leg, snagging her hose. 

"Ouch! Where are we?"

"Shh. Almost there." After another minute of shuffling past who-knew-what, Christine stopped.

Sienna heard the scrape of metal as a doorknob turned, and light adjourned the dark.