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In my fifth year behind bars, my so-called "trade secrets" case was reopened and I walked out cleared of everything. My brother, Eugene Calhoun, came to pick me up, eyes bloodshot, guilt written all over him. I ignored him. Back then, I'd stood in the snow, begging him to believe me just once. He didn't. He chose his fiancée, Doris Eaton, the woman who set me up. Now he stood before me, voice hoarse, asking me to come home. I laughed. "Go home? Sure. "Have Doris give me Grandma back alive first."