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    Joshua Graham
     
    PS: Be sure to check out my
debut novel BEYOND JUSTICE,   available
at   all major
online retailers.
     
     

 
     
    EXCERPT from the #1 bestselling
Legal Thriller and winner of the 2011 International Book
Awards
    BEYOND JUSTICE, by Joshua
Graham
     
     
     

PART I
     
    The descent into Hell is not
always vertical.
     
    — Bishop Frank Morgan
     

Chapter One

    The question most people ask when they first
meet me is: How does an attorney from a reputable law firm in La
Jolla end up on death row? When they hear my story, it becomes
clear that the greater question is not how, but why.
    I have found it difficult at times to forgive
myself for what happened. But a significant part of the answer
involves forgiveness, something I never truly understood until I
could see in hindsight.
    Orpheus went through hell and back to rescue
his wife Euridice from death in the underworld. Through his music,
he moved the hearts of Hades and Persephone and they agreed to
allow Euridice to return with him to Earth on one condition: He
must walk before her and not look back until they reached the upper
world. On seeing the Sun, Orpheus turned to share his delight with
Euridice, and she disappeared. He had broken his promise and she
was gone forever. This failure and guilt was a hell far worse than
the original.
    My own personal hell began one night almost
four years ago. Like images carved into flesh, the memories of that
night would forever be etched into my mind. The work day had been
tense enough—my position at the firm was in jeopardy because of the
inexplicable appearance of lewd internet images in my folder on the
main file server.
    Later that night, as I
scrambled to get out the door on time for a critical meeting with a
high profile client, my son Aaron began throwing a screaming fit.
Hell hath no fury like a boy who has lost his Thomas Train toy. In
my own frenzied state, I lost my temper with him. Amazing how much
guilt a four-year-old can pile on you with puppy-dog eyes while
clinging to his mother's legs. His sister Bethie, in all her
seventh grade sagacity, proclaimed that I had issues, then marched up to her room, slammed the door and
took out her frustration with me by tearing though a Paganini
Caprice on her violin. All this apocalypse just minutes before
leaving for my meeting, which was to be held over a posh dinner at
George's At The Cove, which I would consequently have no stomach
for.
    I couldn't wait to get home. The clock's amber
LED read 11:28 when I pulled my Lexus into the cul-de-sac. Pale
beams from a pregnant moon cut through the palm trees that lined
our street. The October breeze rushed into the open window and
through my hair, a cool comfort after a miserable
evening.
    If I was lucky, Jenn would be up and at the
computer, working on her latest novel. She'd shooed me out the door
lest I ran late for the meeting, before I could make any more of a
domestic mess for her to clean up.
    The garage door came down. I walked over to
the security system control box and found it unarmed. On more than
one occasion, I had asked Jenn to arm it whenever I was out. She
agreed, but complained that the instructions were too complicated.
It came with a pretty lame manual, I had to admit.
    The system beeped as I entered the house,
greeted by the sweet scent of Lilac—her favorite candles for those
special occasions. So much more than I deserved, but that was my
Jenn. Never judging, never condemning, she understood how much
stress I'd been under and