Chapter 13

As life had a way of doing sometimes, all the stars and planets converged on Sydney’s life at the same time in September. The trial was set to start during Fashion Week, the day after their show. It was going to be utterly insane, showing their collection at a major venue. They had thirty-eight models lined up to wear the clothes. The day before, they were giving a party to launch their new line.

And the morning after the show, she was going to trial for trafficking and attempting to import stolen goods.

Bob had come to see her briefly in July and August, although the city had been blistering hot, and he planned to be at their show in September, as did Ed’s parents. Bob had asked her if he could attend the trial, and she had reluctantly agreed. It was embarrassing, but she was grateful for the support. Her daughters would be there too. And to make life even more complicated, Ed had just gotten involved in a new romance with a senior at Parsons who had interned with them that summer, and was going to help them backstage with the show. Sydney felt as though her head was spinning with everything she had to do. She had hired an assistant, but much of it she had to do herself.

They were still putting the last touches on the collection. They had embroideries that hadn’t arrived yet from Lesage in Paris, who did all the embroidery for haute couture. There was one fabric from Italy for their grand finale evening gown that was trapped in customs, while their seamstresses and patternmaker were chomping at the bit to make the dress in time.

Bob had arranged his schedule to fly in three days before the show. He was going to spend a week in town, depending on what happened at the trial. If she needed him to stay longer, he had said he would. They had grown extremely close since she met him in April at their first presentation, but she hadn’t slept with him yet, and he hadn’t pressed her. She needed time to get used to the idea, and she still felt wrong about it if she went to prison. She didn’t expect him to remain loyal or faithful to her if she was incarcerated, which was a worst-case scenario but nonetheless possible, according to Steve, who didn’t like fostering false illusions in his clients. He was busy preparing for the trial, and Sabrina was just as busy with her show.

Bob was going to be staying at a hotel in the mid-Sixties, and he and Sydney had dinner the night he arrived. They were just leaving the restaurant when she got a call from Steve.

“I need to see you in the morning,” he said tersely. “How early can you get to my office?”

“You tell me when you want me. I’ll be there,” she said. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all. Why don’t you come in at eight?” He wanted to see her before a court appearance for another client. They had already gone over the material for the trial, and she was well prepared. She had needed to do it before Fashion Week started. After that, she wouldn’t have a minute to herself. She told Bob about the call while he walked her home. The jet lag was starting to catch up with him. She was exhausted too, and living on adrenaline, but she was happy he was there. She had come to rely on him more than she wanted to, and was grateful to have him with her.

“Did he say why he wants to see you?” He made a point of sounding neutral about it and not concerned, so he didn’t feed her worries.

“No, he didn’t. More prep, I guess.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” he offered. “I’ll be up at dawn with jet lag anyway.”

“I hate to drag you out at that hour,” but she liked the idea.

“I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.” He had hired a car and driver for the week, which he thought might help her too, and encouraged her to use them when she needed to. He was always trying to make things easier for her.

When they got to her building, he kissed her good night, and looked half asleep. He watched her walk in, and then got in his car and rode back to the hotel. He was practically asleep on his feet.

She was trying to keep her mind on the collection and the show, so she didn’t think about the trial that would start the day after. They had done everything they could, and no further evidence had turned up. She had spent a fortune on detectives for nothing. Bob kept reminding her that truth was the best defense, and she had honesty and innocence on her side. She hoped he was right.

Bob picked her up promptly at seven-thirty the next morning, impeccably groomed as always, freshly shaven, and in one of his immaculately tailored custom-made suits. She was wearing a black linen dress in the Indian summer heat. They talked quietly in the car on the way downtown, and reached Steve’s office at precisely eight o’clock. She tried to read his expression when they walked into his office, but he didn’t give them any clues or information until they sat down. He cut to the chase and ended their suspense as to why he had wanted them to come in.

“We have a statement from the manufacturer. And copies of several emails from Zeller that prove that he knew they were stolen goods. He knew they were from Prada, and they discussed how to disguise the markings on the inside and alter the shoulder straps. He needed someone to be responsible so he wouldn’t be on the front line, and you were the right person at the right time for him, available to go, so he sent you. We can prove it now.” He was smiling from ear to ear as Bob broke into a smile and Sydney stared at Steve in disbelief. Their big break had come at the eleventh hour, days before the trial. Bob was right.

“Why did the supplier decide to come forward now?”

“Zeller burned him on a deal a few weeks ago, and had already refused to pay for the shipment they confiscated. The guy is pissed. He lost a lot of money on the first deal, and even more on the second one. Zeller is still bringing in stolen goods. He’s sending them to a middleman now. We can prove that too. The guy in the middle probably doesn’t even know he’s receiving stolen goods.”

“So am I off the hook? That’s it? It’s over?” She was elated, and Steve got serious again.

“The judge has to accept the evidence. I’ve got a meeting with the assistant U.S. attorney on the case this afternoon, to show him what we’ve got. Their case against you should collapse like a soufflé after this.” Steve looked confident, but he didn’t want to promise her anything yet. Judges could be unpredictable, and the U.S. attorney wouldn’t be happy to give up the case after all the work they’d put into it. But they could prosecute Zeller now. He was the real criminal in the story, not Sydney. “I’ll call you after the meeting. Where will you be?”

“At my office, running around like a lunatic.” She had gotten a text late the night before. The Italian fabric they were waiting for had been released from customs, and their sewers were desperate to start on it. The embroideries from Paris were due at noon.

“Well, this is certainly good news,” Bob added to the conversation.

“I’ll call you later,” Steve said after they had read the statement and the emails. There was no question. Zeller had known, and the statement was very damning, as were the emails. Steve was sure Zeller had deleted them off his computer, but government techies could retrieve them, no matter how well buried they were.

The atmosphere in the car on the way uptown was considerably lighter and more cheerful than on the way down.

“You should be out of it by tonight,” Bob said optimistically. And she was sure he was right. Now she could think about the show without being distracted and worried about the trial.

But when Steve called Sydney that afternoon, he didn’t have good news. “The U.S. attorney accepts that the statement and emails prove that Zeller knew the bags were stolen, but there’s nothing to prove that you didn’t, except your word for it. And Zeller already gave them a statement trying to absolve himself, saying that you knew. It’s your word against his.”

“Shit. Now what?”

“They’re going to give it to the judge and get back to us. I’ll call you when I hear something.” But there was no further word from him that night. Bob was upset for her when she told him what Steve had said. They were pushing their case against her right to the very end. The trial was three days away.

She and Ed worked until two in the morning. She didn’t have time to stop for dinner or to see Bob. They were still fitting garments on the models, while the sewers made minute corrections for each girl. Bob told her not to worry about him, and do what she had to do.

The next day was even more frantic, and they had the party that night. They had taken over a private room in a posh new restaurant, and were expecting a hundred guests, the cream of the fashion world. Everyone was scrambling for an invitation to their party, and Sydney was at the venue until the last minute, making sure that everything was perfect. She rushed home to change, and Steve called her just as she was flying out the door.

“They’re holding us to trial,” he said, sounding discouraged. “And they’re taking the evidence against Zeller to the grand jury. The judge won’t issue a warrant for him until they approve it.” The wheels of justice were hard and slow. And the trial was thirty-six hours away. “There’s no firm evidence you didn’t know,” he reminded her again, “and your signature is on the import documents. Zeller is on the hook now, with the new evidence we have. But you still are too. A jury will have to decide if you knew or not.” Tears filled her eyes as he said it, and she hung up a moment later.

Sydney got to the party just as the first guests were arriving, and she saw Ed’s parents there. He arrived shortly after, wearing an impeccably tailored black suit with a black T-shirt and alligator sneakers, with his long black hair in a knot at the nape of his neck. He looked beautiful, and so did Bob when he walked in, in a dark blue pinstriped suit with a white handkerchief in his pocket, a crisp white shirt, and a navy Hermès tie. Sydney was wearing a black cocktail dress she had designed herself. The party was an instant success as the champagne flowed and everyone wished them luck. The editor of Vogue had sent them an enormous orchid that afternoon.

It was halfway through the party before she got a minute to talk to Bob, and told him what Steve had said. He looked unhappy about it, but there was nothing they could do now. He felt certain the judge would dismiss the case against her when they got to court. He was probably just a stickler for form. And at least Paul Zeller would be arrested now, after the grand jury had heard the evidence.

The party went on till midnight, although it was only supposed to be for cocktails. And Ed, Bob, and Sydney finally left before the last guests. Ed and Sydney returned to the office to work through the night on the last details, and Bob went back to the hotel to sleep.

“Will you be all right? You must be exhausted,” he said, and she was touched by his concern, but laughed.

“This is what Fashion Week is like,” she reassured him, and she knew that her daughters were doing the same thing where they worked. They didn’t even have time to call each other all week, but sent a few texts between fittings and meetings.

Sydney went back to her apartment at four A.M., and Ed left the office an hour later. They were both back at work, looking ragged but determined, at eight. Sydney had never known a designer to work as hard as he did. But their dream was being born. It had been ten months in the making, longer than a baby, and a lot more stressful, but Sydney felt as though everything was aligning just as they hoped. The models looked beautiful when they finally got them dressed at six o’clock. The show was due to start at seven, and Ed wanted it to be on time, which rarely happened. But at seven-fifteen precisely, the first model pounded down the runway in the highest heels Bob had ever seen. He had a seat in the front row, next to Ed’s parents. Sabrina and Sophie had seats two rows back, watching proudly.

There was applause for almost every model, and a cheer when the most famous supermodel in the business came out on the runway as a surprise wearing the last dress, and she flirted and frolicked down the runway, and pouted at the press in the fabulous emerald green satin gown they had made from the fabric that came in so late. The entire collection was perfection, and forty minutes after it started, the last model was out, the whole group took a final tour down the runway, and Ed and Sydney came out from backstage and took a quick bow. They both looked exhausted and disheveled, but victory was theirs. Sydney Chin had been launched, and in grand style.

Ed and Sydney were nearly mobbed backstage. Bob eventually found them, and Sabrina and Sophie were right behind him. He had already met her girls, and they liked him, but their mother insisted they weren’t dating, they were just friends, despite the fact that they either talked or texted night and day, and he was with her whenever possible.

Sydney stayed backstage for hours to see everything packed up. She wanted to make sure that nothing was left behind. It was all being taken back to their offices that night and set up on racks. A dozen models would be in attendance the next day when the buyers came to place their orders. The collection would be on display for them for the following week. But Sydney wouldn’t be there. She would be at the federal courthouse for the trial that hadn’t been canceled. Her daughters were going to be with her, and Bob and Ed had promised to come too. It seemed less ominous to Sydney now with the evidence against Paul Zeller that had surfaced, which he knew nothing about yet. He would have no idea that he was on the hot seat until the grand jury issued the indictment and the judge signed the warrant, and officers showed up at his home or office to arrest him. For the moment, he still thought he was safe.

When Bob and Sydney arrived at the courthouse the next morning, Steve was waiting for them with a grim expression.

“They’re not giving an inch,” he said. “They still want more information from you about Zeller.” Sydney looked devastated. “They say there’s no evidence that you weren’t in cahoots with Zeller on this, or making a deal of your own, and your signing the documents is sufficient evidence to warrant a trial and probably convict you.” She looked ready to cry, as Steve led her into the courtroom and she took the defendant’s chair at a long table next to Steve. The courtroom looked like a movie set, and when the judge walked in, in his robes, he was a sour old man. The bailiff shouted “All rise,” and everyone in the entire room stood up.

There had been no time to savor their victory of the night before. She was on trial, and still at risk of going to prison, because the U.S. attorney wouldn’t let go of the case.

She tried to glance over her shoulder to see Bob, for reassurance, and Steve whispered to her not to, as the judge announced they would be selecting the jury. Forty jurors were led into the room by a deputy sheriff and told to sit down. The twelve final jurors would be chosen from the larger pool, with one or more alternates in case one got sick. Both attorneys had peremptory challenges, and the judge addressed the jurors and explained what the case was about. She still couldn’t believe the trial was going forward, as she sat watching the proceedings. They had an unreal quality to them, and she had that underwater feeling she’d had for weeks after Andrew died.

They sat there for three hours while potential jurors were led on and off the stand, questioned, and some of them released. And then the judge called for a two-hour recess so everyone could eat lunch, and Sydney was about to leave the courtroom with Steve when the federal prosecutor asked to speak to him. Steve told Sydney to wait in her seat, and he’d be back. He suspected what was coming but didn’t want to raise her hopes. They had taken this right to the end.

Sabrina and Sophie approached her after everyone left the courtroom, and so did Bob and Ed. The four of them had been sitting together in the front row.

“What’s happening?” Sophie whispered.

“I have no idea,” Sydney whispered back. Steve was gone for almost an hour and none of them moved, waiting for him. He looked serious when he finally returned and suggested they go outside to talk.

They stood in a huddle in a corner of the hallway while he explained.

“Okay, we’re getting there. They want to make a deal. They won’t dismiss the case. Their point is that you could have been in on it, and we can’t prove you weren’t. Zeller threw you under the bus right in the beginning, by accusing you of that. According to the prosecutor, you were at customs picking up stolen bags, and every single form had your name and signature on it, which is bad evidence they have against you, so they’re not going to dismiss. They want to offer you a deal for a plea bargain.”

“And go to prison?” Sydney looked terrified all over again and Bob squeezed her hand.

“They want you to plead to a misdemeanor, possibly a lesser charge of perjury on customs documents since the bags weren’t listed as stolen, obviously. They’ll figure out some bogus misdemeanor for you to plead to, and a misdemeanor isn’t going to look very serious on your records,” he tried to reassure her. “They want to keep the pressure on you to tell them more about Zeller’s illegal operations, if you know anything. No prison time. They wanted to keep it as a felony, but I refused. They want six months’ house arrest with an electronic bracelet, and two years’ probation. That’s the deal. What you’d essentially be pleading guilty to is lying on customs documents, not importing stolen goods. They’ll only agree to dismiss if you tell them more about Zeller’s illegal activities. Failing that, they’re making an example of you to a moderate degree.” Their offer was the best they could hope for.

“Six months’ house arrest? And how can I tell them something I don’t know! I never knew anything about his illegal activities and still don’t.” Sydney looked distressed, but Bob looked relieved. She hadn’t thought it through yet. Six months’ house arrest and a misdemeanor was a gift. “How can I do my job locked in my apartment if I can’t go to work?” she said frantically, stressed and shaken by all of it.

“We’ll set up a monitor, you can Skype. Your assistant can run designs back and forth. We can bring you fabrics and fit models,” Ed said reasonably. “It’s not a big deal. We can make that work. It’s only for six months. That’s a hell of a lot better than five years in prison,” he reminded her, and Steve nodded agreement.

“It’s a good deal, Sydney. Pleading to a misdemeanor won’t hurt you. There won’t be ramifications later. You can even get it expunged a few years down the road. I’d much rather see you stuck in your apartment with an anklet than in federal prison. If we go to trial, we have that risk. You don’t know what kind of jury you’re going to get, or if they’ll be sympathetic. Zeller is going to take the fall for this now. He’ll get prison time for sure. I don’t want you to, and he’ll try to take you down with him if you go to trial,” Steve said firmly. “I can’t force you to take the deal, but I strongly recommend it to you, as your attorney. It’s a slap on the wrist. In some instances, they let people go to work, even while under house arrest, but this judge is a stickler, and very old-school, and I couldn’t get him to agree to it. But even stuck at home for six months, I think it’s a good deal and you should do it.” But she had been hoping for no slap at all, especially once they found the evidence against Zeller. She stood quietly for a moment, thinking about it, and looked from her daughters to Ed, to Bob.

“Take it, Mom,” Sabrina pleaded with her. “Nothing bad will happen to you at home. You could get killed in prison. And we can see you any time at home.”

“Do I get to leave the apartment at all?” she asked Steve.

“Only for medical reasons, to go to a doctor or a hospital, or for a death in the family.” It was a tiny apartment to spend six months in, but it was better than a cell, and she knew it too. She looked at Steve and nodded. It was going to be uncomfortable, but not frightening or dangerous. If she had to receive a sentence, it was the best she could do, although it still didn’t seem fair that they were charging her and punishing her when she was innocent.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” she said seriously, and they all patted her shoulder and her arm, and Sophie had tears running down her cheeks.

“I love you, Mom,” Sophie said between sobs of relief, hugging her.

“Thank God you don’t have to go to prison,” Sabrina said quietly. They all looked relieved.

“We’ll get state-of-the-art computers set up in your apartment, and a giant screen with two-way video. You’ll love it!” Ed said, and they all laughed. “You can watch movies on it at night.” And she smiled too.

“Thank you, Steve,” she said somberly, realizing the fate she had escaped. It had come very, very close, and his insisting on their reducing it to a misdemeanor had been a major legal victory for her. He had fought hard for it, and he had sensed that they didn’t want the time and expense of a trial. It was a bogus case, but they could have made it stick if they chose to. He was just glad they didn’t.

“I’ll go tell them now. You can’t leave yet.”

“When would it start?” Sydney asked him.

“Probably right away. I may be able to get you a few days’ grace, if there are things you need to do for work. But you won’t be able to leave your apartment after this.” She nodded that she understood.

“You’d better all come and see me,” she said to the group after Steve went to tell the prosecutor that she was willing to plead. They all promised that they would. He was back much faster this time, and he was smiling.

“We have a deal,” he said to her. “I’ll need you to come with me to sign some papers. They agreed to let you start on Monday, after you fill out the rest of the paperwork. You don’t have to wait,” he said to the others. “Sometimes this can be slow.” Ed decided to leave with Sabrina and Sophie, and Bob said he’d stay with her. Sydney promised Ed she’d be back at the office as soon as she was finished. Suddenly she wanted to get out and walk while she still could. It was hard to imagine being confined to a tiny apartment for six months, unable to go anywhere or get fresh air. But she realized how lucky she had been. It could have been so much worse, and almost was.

She followed Steve through a doorway, with Bob right behind her. The federal prosecutor was waiting for them, and told her she had made a wise decision.

It took her half an hour to sign the papers, she thanked Steve again, and she and Bob walked down the courthouse steps. He put an arm around her, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth, and when he stopped, she saw that there were tears in his eyes.

“Thank God you didn’t go to prison,” was all he could say, and, hand in hand, they got into his rented town car. “At least I’ll know where you are all the time,” he teased her. “And I’ll come to visit as often as I can.” It was a long way from Hong Kong, but she was sure he would. And as they drove uptown, she thought about it, and knew her lucky stars had been in perfect alignment and fully operative that day.