ACCLAIM FOR ROBERT WHITLOW
“My verdict for Robert Whitlow’s Chosen People: compelling, realistic, and inspiring. Robert combines the intensity of a legal battle against terrorists with a poignant depiction of Israel, with all of its tensions and grandeur. As a lawyer who handles cases for terrorism victims, I loved the realism of the novel and felt deeply the joys, disappoints and triumphs of its characters. But the matters of the law were eclipsed by matters of the heart—faith, love and hope in the midst of despair—this is where Whitlow truly shines.”
—RANDY SINGER, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF RULE OF LAW
“Whitlow writes a fast-paced legal suspense with amazing characters. There are twists and turns throughout, and a number of unexpected surprises to heighten the suspense. Whitlow is an amazing writer and he touches upon delicate topics with grit and respect.”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4 STARS, ON A TIME TO STAND
“Whitlow’s timely story shines a spotlight on prejudice, race, and the pursuit of justice in a world bent on blind revenge. Fans of Greg Iles’s Natchez Burning will find this just as compelling if not more so.”
—LIBRARY JOURNAL, STARRED REVIEW, ON A TIME TO STAND
“Part mystery and part legal thriller, Whitlow’s latest novel is definitely a must-read!”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4 STARS, ON THE WITNESSES
“Whitlow’s characters continuously prove that God loves the broken and that faith is a lot more than just showing up to church. [This] contemplative novel is a fine rumination on ethics, morality, and free will.”
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY ON THE WITNESSES
“Highlights not only Whitlow’s considerable skills as an author of legal thrillers, but it is also a gripping story of family dynamics and the burden of alcoholism.”
—CBA RETAILERS + RESOURCES ON A HOUSE DIVIDED
“Attorney and Christy Award–winning author Whitlow pens a character-driven story once again showcasing his legal expertise . . . Corbin is highly relatable, leaving readers rooting for his redemption even after family and friends have written him off.”
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY ON A HOUSE DIVIDED
“Christy Award winner Whitlow’s experience in the law is apparent in this well-crafted legal thriller. Holt’s spiritual growth as he discovers his faith and questions his motives for hiding his secret is inspiring. Fans of John Grisham will find much to like here.”
—LIBRARY JOURNAL ON THE CONFESSION
“Whitlow writes with the credence of a legal background and quite adeptly incorporates intrigue, romance, and redemption in its many forms into his book. Recommend to young adults and older readers with a penchant for unexpected twists and unanticipated outcomes.”
—CBA RETAILERS + RESOURCES ON THE CONFESSION
“Whitlow has weaved a well-constructed and engaging mystery with a crisp, concise style of storytelling, authentic, gritty characters, and a well-defined plot. Strong tension and steady pacing add to this stellar read.”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4½ STARS, ON THE CONFESSION
“Readers will find plenty to love about this suspenseful novel as they watch its appealing main character juggle personal, professional, and spiritual crises with a combination of vulnerability and strength.”
—CBA RETAILERS + RESOURCES ON THE LIVING ROOM
“. . . an intensely good read.”
—BOOKLIST ON THE LIVING ROOM
“In The Choice, Robert Whitlow crafts a moving tale of a mother’s love for her unborn children cast against the specter of the culture wars. Fans of Whitlow’s courtroom drama will not be disappointed, but here, too, the human drama of which we all become a part takes center stage.”
—BILLY COFFEY, AUTHOR OF SNOW DAYS AND PAPER ANGELS
“Author Robert Whitlow combines Grisham’s suspenseful legal-thriller style with the emotional connection of a Hallmark made-for-TV movie.”
—CBA RETAILERS + RESOURCES ON WATER’S EDGE
“Whitlow captures the struggle of many women trapped in the battle over abortion in a truly sympathetic and affecting way.”
—BOOKLIST ON THE CHOICE
“. . . a solid, suspenseful thriller.”
—BOOKLIST ON WATER’S EDGE
ALSO BY ROBERT WHITLOW
A Time to Stand
The Witnesses
A House Divided
The Confession
The Living Room
The Choice
Water’s Edge
Mountain Top
Jimmy
The Sacrifice
The Trial
The List
THE TIDES OF TRUTH SERIES
Deeper Water
Higher Hope
Greater Love
THE ALEXIA LINDALE SERIES
Life Everlasting
Life Support
Chosen People
© 2018 by Robert Whitlow
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.
Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fundraising, or sales promotional use. For information, please email [email protected].
Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.®
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Epub Edition September 2018 9780718083755
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Whitlow, Robert, 1954- author. | Whitlow, Robert, author.
Title: Chosen people / Robert Whitlow, Robert Whitlow.
Description: Nashville, Tennessee : Thomas Nelson, 2018.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018024091| ISBN 9780718083045 (trade paper) | ISBN 9780718083755 (epub)
Subjects: LCSH: Guilt--Fiction. | Georgia--Fiction. | Women lawyers--Fiction. | GSAFD: Legal stories. | Christian fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3573.H49837 C56 2018 | DDC 813/.54--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018024091
Printed in the United States of America
18 19 20 21 22 MG 5 4 3 2 1
To those who desire to see people through
God’s eyes, heart, and promises.
You are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy
nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare
the praises of him who called you out of darkness into
his wonderful light.
—1 PETER 2:9
CONTENTS
Acclaim for Robert Whitlow
Also by Robert Whitlow
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16<
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Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Acknowledgments
Discussion Questions
About the Author
PROLOGUE
Hana!”
Hearing her name, Hana left her cousins and ran toward the canvas canopy where Uncle Anwar sat peeling an orange with a well-worn pocketknife. Accustomed to the Middle Eastern heat, six-year-old Hana didn’t let the ninety-degree temperature keep her from playing outdoors. But when the family patriarch called, she stopped what she was doing and responded immediately.
Hana brushed a wayward strand of long black hair from her face as she stepped into the shade. Anwar, her seventy-four-year-old great-uncle, sat in a white plastic chair. The multicolored canopy was attached to the rambling three-story concrete structure that several generations of the Abboud family had called home.
“Yes, Uncle,” she responded in the courteous tone of voice her mother had taught her to use when addressing her elders.
“Greetings, child.”
Anwar cut a fresh piece of orange and handed it to Hana. Her uncle’s brown thumb revealed weathered scars from decades of work in the olive groves on the hills surrounding Nazareth. Hana’s father was a prosperous businessman who, along with his brothers, owned a factory that produced plastic irrigation pipe sold all over Israel and the West Bank. Their family lived in Reineh, an Arab town four miles north of Nazareth. Uncle Anwar still made his home in the much larger ancient city where Jesus spent most of his childhood.
“This is for you,” Anwar said. “Tell me if it tastes sweet.”
Hana knew the answer but bit into the orange flesh, releasing a cascade of warm juice in her mouth. The oranges of Israel were the best in the world.
“Yes, it is sweet and juicy.”
“Did you know that the Lord says to ‘taste and see’ that he is good?”
“No, sir,” Hana answered, her eyes big.
She’d watched in awe and fear as Anwar asked her older brothers and cousins questions that, to her mind, had no answers.
“He wants his goodness to be as real to you as the sweet juice in your mouth.”
“Yes, sir.” Hana nodded.
“Do you know why I called you by name to come to me?” Anwar asked.
“So you could give me a piece of orange?”
“Yes,” Anwar replied with a smile. “And because you’ve been chosen by the Almighty to walk with him all the days of your life.”
Hana thoughtfully swallowed the last morsel of the juicy fruit. “Like the boy Samuel,” she said, remembering the story she’d heard the previous week at the small church the family attended. It was the first time Hana had realized her name appeared in the Scriptures. The biblical Hannah was Samuel’s mother.
“That’s right. When Pastor Sadr read the story, I thought of you.”
“Not my brothers? They’re boys like Samuel.”
“God has a plan for Mikael and Nathanil, but this is about you,” Anwar said, leaning forward. “If the Lord wakes you in the night, do you know what to say?”
Hana’s precocious memory had already caught the attention of the adults in the family.
“Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”
“Good.” Anwar smiled as he sat back and carved off three more sections of fruit. “Take these to your cousins.”
CHAPTER 1
Hana sang a few soft words as she organized the contract documents into separate file folders. Sensing someone’s presence, she turned around. In the doorway stood Janet Dean, the assistant she shared with two other associates at the law firm.
“How many times have I told you that you sing like an angel?” Janet asked.
“A lot.” Hana smiled. “And every time I feel embarrassed and encouraged.”
“Was that Arabic or Hebrew? I want to guess. Let me hear a few more words.”
In a slightly louder voice, Hana sang the next line of the song and stopped.
“It’s Hebrew,” Janet said emphatically. “I could tell because you were making that noise in your throat. Even that sounds beautiful when you do it.”
“Arabic,” Hana answered. “But don’t feel bad. There is some similarity between the two languages.”
“I’ll keep guessing if you keep singing,” Janet replied. “In the meantime, take that voice and brain of yours to conference room A for a meeting with Mr. Lowenstein.”
“I’m supposed to be meeting in ten minutes with Mr. Collins and his group.”
“Where you’ll be listening, not participating. Gladys Applewhite says it’s imperative you join Mr. Lowenstein. I’ll take care of Mr. Collins.”
“Okay. Who is going to be in conference room A?”
“You, Mr. Lowenstein, and a lawyer named Jakob Brodsky. I don’t know why Lowenstein demanded you come at the drop of a hat.”
Hana had adjusted to the assistant’s Maine accent but still occasionally stumbled when the cheery woman threw in idiomatic American terms. It took her a moment to figure out what “drop of a hat” meant.
Janet continued, “Gladys says Brodsky wants to associate the firm in some kind of international personal injury case.”
“Personal injury?” Hana asked. “Did a ship sink and injure someone?”
Leon Lowenstein’s admiralty law practice often involved insurance claims for millions of dollars if cargo was lost or a ship damaged.
“Gloria didn’t say,” Janet answered. She lowered her voice. “But it sounds like pirates to me, which would be supercool so long as no one was killed or anything. They’re going to show a video, and Mr. Lowenstein wants you there to see it. You’d better scoot if you don’t want to be late. Don’t worry about Mr. Collins.”
The idea of a lawsuit involving pirates wasn’t far-fetched. Shortly after Hana joined the firm, Mr. Lowenstein settled a claim for damages incurred in a piracy incident off the coast of Somalia. Hana brushed her hands across her dark gray skirt and adjusted her white blouse. Slender and fit, she was five feet six inches tall with long black hair, light brown skin, and dark brown eyes.
The exterior wall of conference room A was a continuous bank of windows that gave a panoramic view of the affluent Buckhead area of north Atlanta. A long glass table sat in the middle of the room.
Stocky and gray-haired, Leon Lowenstein stood in front of a large video screen attached to the wall. Beside him was a tall young man with short, curly black hair who wore a blue suit with snug European styling and a bright yellow tie. Mr. Lowenstein smiled when Hana appeared.
“Thanks for coming on short notice,” he said. “This is Jakob Brodsky, a lawyer with a personal injury practice in Sandy Springs.”
“Call me Jakob,” the younger lawyer said, extending his hand to her.
“Hana Abboud.”
“And you’re Israeli?” Jakob asked with a puzzled glance at Mr. Lowenstein.
“But not Jewish,” Mr. Lowenstein supplied. “Hana can explain.”
“I’m an Arab Israeli who grew up near Nazareth in a town called Reineh and graduated from law school at Hebrew University in Jerusalem.”
“And for the past year and a half she’s worked in the international transaction section of the firm,” Mr. Lowenstein added. “I thought about her after we
spoke about your case.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea for her to be here?” Jakob asked.
“Yes,” the older lawyer said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Hana isn’t a Muslim. She has a Christian background.”
This was familiar territory for Hana, but she had no clue why it was relevant to the meeting with Brodsky. She’d spent much of her life unraveling her history for people who immediately jumped to a long list of erroneous assumptions when first meeting her. She faced Jakob Brodsky.
“I’m a Christian who served two years in the national service program in lieu of military duty in the Israel Defense Forces,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “I’m an Israeli citizen who can vote, pay taxes, and receive benefits available to any other citizen of the country.”
“Okay.” Jakob shrugged and turned to Mr. Lowenstein. “Do I have your agreement that what I’m about to show you is subject to attorney-client privilege?”
“Certainly, but you’ve not been secretive about your involvement in this case,” Mr. Lowenstein responded. “My assistant showed me the request you posted on the trial lawyers forum.”
“I’ve had to cast a wide net looking for help.”
Gladys Applewhite entered the room carrying a tray that held water, a pot of coffee, glasses, and cups. She placed the beverages in the middle of the table.
Jakob held up a flash drive. “The video footage is on here.”
Mr. Lowenstein inserted the drive into a USB port. Hana poured a glass of water. The video contained a date and the names “Gloria and Sadie Neumann” alongside a frozen image that looked vaguely familiar to Hana. The senior lawyer handed the controller to Jakob.
“I’ll run it through once without stopping,” Jakob said. “We can back it up and do sections later. There’s no audio.” He pressed the play button.
“I know that place,” Hana said after less than thirty seconds had passed. “It’s Hurva Square in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City of Jerusalem.”
“Correct,” Jakob replied. “The video is from a surveillance camera outside a shop that sells snacks and ice cream. It was recorded in late May four years ago. The shop is located at the southwest corner of the square.”
Jakob had memorized every second of the eleven-minute video, yet it still had the irresistible power to draw him in. The black-and-white images were captured late on a Friday afternoon. People filled the square. Ultra-Orthodox Jewish men with beards and side curls, wearing long black coats and old-fashioned hats, walked quickly through the camera’s line of sight. The religious men wore similar but not identical black garments, and varied black hats identified their rabbinic allegiance. Jakob had seen Haredim in Brooklyn, but his connection with any form of faith was tenuous, and he’d never attended synagogue. During the five years since he’d moved to Georgia from New York, he’d built his practice handling difficult cases other lawyers wouldn’t touch. What got him out of bed in the morning was the chance to tackle a tough legal challenge.
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