Chapter 16 #2
"I had an affair," she admits. "I was lonely; my husband was obsessed with money and power. But that doesn't change what he did. What he planned to do."
Brad Hutchins is the least effective witness, clearly just trying to save his own skin. But he provides crucial details about the vandalism, confirming that William ordered and paid for everything.
Then it's Kendall's turn.
"The prosecution calls Kendall Greene," Patricia announces.
I squeeze Kendall's hand as she stands. "You've got this," I whisper.
She walks to the witness stand with her head high, even though I can see her hands trembling slightly. After she's sworn in, Patricia begins gently.
"Ms. Greene, how long have you been a property manager?"
"Six years," Kendall answers, her voice steady. "Three of those managing the Hibiscus Harbor properties."
"Can you describe what happened on the morning the first fire was set?"
Kendall describes the morning in detail—the smell of gasoline, Morrison's strange behavior, my arrival with the Walking Ladies. A few jurors smile at the mention of the FBI costumes.
"How did these events affect you personally?" Patricia asks.
"I lost everything," Kendall says quietly.
"My reputation was damaged, my residents were terrorized, one building was completely destroyed.
But worse than that..." She pauses, looking at the jury.
"I watched elderly residents cry because they lost their homes.
I saw children afraid to sleep because someone might burn down their building.
This wasn't just property damage. It was terrorism against the most vulnerable people in our community. "
"Objection," Brennan calls out. "The witness is not qualified to define terrorism."
"Sustained," the judge says. "The jury will disregard the characterization of terrorism."
But the point is made. Several jurors look sympathetic.
Brennan stands for cross-examination, and I tense. This is what I've been dreading.
"Ms. Greene, isn't it true you had a personal conflict with Valerie Thornfield?"
"She didn't like me, no," Kendall admits.
"In fact, she'd filed multiple complaints about your performance, hadn't she?"
"Yes, but they were all dismissed as unfounded."
"By a board that liked you," Brennan suggests. "A board that might have been biased in your favor."
"Objection," Patricia says. "Speculation."
"Withdrawn," Brennan says smoothly. "Ms. Greene, you're romantically involved with Officer Masterson, correct?"
"Yes," Kendall says, lifting her chin slightly.
"The same Officer Masterson who led the investigation?"
"He didn't lead it. The FBI and state investigators led it."
"But he was involved. Intimately involved, you might say."
I clench my fists, but Kendall remains calm. "Jax protected me when my life was threatened. That's his job."
"His job, or his personal mission?" Brennan asks. "How can the jury trust testimony from someone whose boyfriend built the case?"
"Objection!" Patricia stands. "Officer Masterson didn't build the case. The evidence built the case."
"Sustained," the judge rules.
Brennan continues attacking Kendall's credibility for another hour, but she holds steady. She doesn't get flustered, doesn't contradict herself, and just keeps telling the truth. By the end, even Brennan seems frustrated by his inability to shake her.
The prosecution rests after calling a few more technical witnesses. Then it's the defense's turn.
William takes the stand, and his transformation is complete. Gone is the powerful businessman. In his place is a frail old man who can barely speak above a whisper.
"Mr. Thornfield," Brennan begins gently, "did you conspire to burn down buildings?"
"Never," William says, his voice shaking. "I've spent my life building this community. Why would I destroy it?"
He spins a tale of being framed by Morrison and Valerie, claiming they conspired together to steal his money and blame him for their crimes. He admits to some financial irregularities but insists he never knew about any violence.
"These people," he says, gesturing weakly toward the prosecution table, "they needed someone to blame. I'm old, I'm wealthy, I'm an easy target."
Patricia's cross-examination is surgical. "Mr. Thornfield, you claim you didn't know about the explosives?"
"That's correct."
"Then how do you explain this?" She produces a receipt. "This is from your personal credit card. A purchase of electronic timers, the exact type found on the explosive devices."
William's face goes pale. "I... I don't recall that purchase."
"You don't recall spending fifteen thousand dollars on military-grade electronic timers?"
"I buy many things for my properties. Electronics for security systems—"
"These aren't security timers, Mr. Thornfield. These are specifically designed for explosive devices. The company that sells them requires federal licensing to purchase. Here's your signature on the federal forms."
William stammers, looking at his lawyer desperately. Brennan objects, calling for a recess, but the damage is done.
Patricia continues dismantling William's story piece by piece. Financial records showing payments to Brad. Text messages using burner phones traced back to him. Security footage of him at the buildings shortly before the devices were planted.
"But my favorite piece of evidence," Patricia says, pulling up a video on the screen, "is this. Security footage from the marina, the night of the first fire."
The video shows William on his yacht, watching something on his phone. The timestamp shows it's the exact moment Building 3 caught fire. And clear as day, William is smiling.
"You're watching the building burn, aren't you?" Patricia asks.
"No, I was—"
"We have your phone records. You were on a video call with someone at the scene. Watching your handiwork."
"That's not—"
"Should I play the audio? Where you can be heard saying 'Beautiful. Just like I planned'?"
William breaks. Not dramatically, but completely. His shoulders slump, the facade drops, and for a moment, the real William Thornfield appears—cold, calculating, and defeated.
Closing arguments are almost anticlimactic after that. Patricia methodically lays out the evidence, connecting every dot. Brennan tries valiantly to create reasonable doubt, but his heart isn't in it.
The jury deliberated for only three hours. When they file back in, none of them look at William.
"Has the jury reached a verdict?" Judge Martinez asks.
"We have, Your Honor," the foreman says.
"On count one, conspiracy to commit arson, how do you find?"
"Guilty."
"On count two, attempted murder in the first degree?"
"Guilty."
They continue through all eighteen counts. Guilty on every single one.
Kendall starts crying beside me, but they're tears of relief. I pull her against me as William is immediately taken into custody, his bail revoked.
Two weeks later, we're back for sentencing. William looks like he's aged a decade, the orange jumpsuit hanging off his frame.
Judge Martinez doesn't mince words. "Mr. Thornfield, you terrorized an entire community for greed. You were willing to kill innocent people, including children and the elderly, for money you didn't even need. This court sentences you to life in prison without the possibility of parole."
William doesn't react. He's led away in shackles, and I feel a weight lift off my shoulders.
Morrison gets fifteen years with the possibility of parole in ten. Valerie gets five years, likely to serve three. Brad gets seven years. They're all led away, and suddenly it's over.
Outside the courthouse, the Walking Ladies are waiting, still in their black suits but now wearing "JUSTICE FOR KENDALL" t-shirts over them.
"We would have given him the death penalty," Gladys announces to anyone who'll listen.
"Florida doesn't have the death penalty for attempted murder," I remind her.
"Then we would have brought it back," Florence says firmly, "just for him."
Kendall laughs, really laughs, for the first time in weeks. "Thank you," she tells them. "For everything. The FBI costumes, the investigating, all of it."
"That's what family does," Betty says simply.
Joan nods. "Plus, we're thinking of making this a regular thing. The FBIs, fighting crime and taking names!"
"Please don't," I beg. "I'm running out of explanations for the captain."
But they're already walking toward their Buick, planning their next "case." Something about suspicious activities at the country club involving possibly poisoned golf balls.
"They're never going to stop, are they?" Kendall asks.
"Never," I confirm, wrapping my arm around her. "But would we want them to?"
She considers this. "No. I guess not."
As we walk to my truck, past the news vans and reporters, I feel something settle into place. Justice was served. The town is rebuilding. And Kendall and I have our second chance.
"Hey," I say, stopping her before we get in the truck. "It's over. Really over."
"I know," she says, and for the first time, she looks truly at peace.
"So what now?" I ask.
"Now?" She grins. "Now we go home. Our home. And figure out where to hang that neon sign."
"Really?" I ask, shocked.
"No," she laughs. "It's still hideous. But I love you for trying."
I kiss her right there in the courthouse parking lot, not caring who sees. We've earned this moment, this peace, this future.
Tomorrow, Building 3 construction continues. The residents will slowly return. Life will go back to normal, or as normal as it gets in Hibiscus Harbor.
But today, we won. And that's enough.