Chapter 7 - The Last Thing Rebecca Tried to Take
Rebecca asked to see the children.
My first answer was no.
Dr. Brooks told me that was not my decision alone.
I hated therapy.
The criminal court prohibited direct unsupervised contact, but a child specialist could determine whether limited recorded communication might eventually help Leo process what happened.
Leo said no immediately.
Maya didn't understand the question.
So no contact happened.
Then Rebecca wrote letters.
Dozens.
The court screened them.
Most were inappropriate.
“I miss my babies.”
“I made mistakes.”
“Thomas is turning you against me.”
That one guaranteed the letter never reached them.
Then came one different letter.
Addressed to Leo.
No manipulation.
No request to forgive.
Just:
You did not cause your father’s death. I told you that because I wanted you frightened enough to stop asking questions. It was cruel and it was a lie. Your dad loved you.
Dr. Brooks believed Leo should decide whether to hear that part.
I disagreed.
Then caught myself.
Choice.
Ethan's last message.
Let them leave any room.
So I told Leo there was a letter containing something about his father.
“You don't have to read it.”
He stared.
“Rebecca?”
“Yes.”
“I hate her.”
“Okay.”
“Is that bad?”
“No.”
“Do you hate her?”
“Yes.”
He looked surprised.
“You can say?”
“Apparently.”
“What letter say?”
I read only the approved passage.
Leo cried.
Then asked:
“Can I keep that part?”
“Yes.”
“Not rest?”
“No.”
He folded the copied paragraph and put it inside the wooden box where he kept his father’s watch.
Healing was strange.
Sometimes it came from the person who hurt you finally admitting the lie.
Rebecca eventually entered a plea rather than face a full trial. She admitted fraud, child abuse, unlawful confinement, conspiracy, and obstruction. Prosecutors did not charge her with intentionally killing Ethan, but her delay in seeking aid and participation in the conspiracy added years to her sentence.
Calvin Shaw went to trial.
Owen Kerr testified.
Detective Ruiz testified.
Forensic experts testified.
Rebecca testified under her plea agreement.
Shaw was convicted.
I attended only the verdict.
Not the trial.
Leo had soccer practice.
That mattered more.
His leg had healed enough for running drills.
The first time I saw him sprint, badly and joyfully, across the field, I had to sit down.
Luca stood beside me.
“You okay?”
“Allergies.”
He laughed.
“That joke belongs to another family.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Maya turned four.
She requested a purple cake and a pony.
I provided the cake.
Judge Alvarez supplied the pony for exactly twenty minutes and then returned it to a neighboring ranch before Maya could claim legal ownership.
At her birthday dinner, she spilled juice.
Silence hit the table.
Not from us.
From her.
She froze.
Her little hand began shaking.
“I sorry.”
I stood.
Her eyes filled.
“I sorry, Uncle Thomas.”
I picked up the napkins.
“It is orange juice.”
She stared.
“Clean?”
“Yes.”
“No basement?”
The room shattered.
I crouched.
“No basement.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
She threw both arms around my neck.
Leo watched.
Then quietly said:
“She still thinks sometimes.”
“So do you.”
He looked down.
“Less.”
Good.
The permanent-guardianship hearing was scheduled for November.
My background remained the largest obstacle.
The state had no objection to the children staying with me temporarily because evidence showed they were thriving, but permanent guardianship required a harder assessment.
Then federal prosecutors contacted my attorney.
They had enough evidence to charge me with several financial offenses related to the old organization.
No violence charges.
No child-related issues.
Still serious.
My lawyer negotiated.
Cooperation.
Restitution.
Forfeiture.
Probation was possible.
So was a short federal sentence.
The timing could ruin guardianship.
I sat alone in the ranch office reading the offer when Leo walked in.
“You sad?”
“No.”
He stared.
“You do face.”
“What face?”
“The lie face.”
Children should not be this perceptive.
I put the paper down.
“I may have to answer for some things I did before you came.”
“Jail?”
Maybe he had heard adults.
“Possibly.”
His face went pale.
“No.”
“Nothing is decided.”
“You said you stay!”
“I am trying.”
“No!”
He started crying.
“You said home!”
I got down to his level.
“Leo.”
“You leave like Dad!”
That one hurt because grief was not logical.
“I’m not choosing to leave.”
“Same!”
He ran.
I did not chase him immediately.
Dr. Brooks had taught me something.
Give him thirty seconds.
Then knock.
His door was open.
Always.
He sat on the bed holding Ethan’s watch.
“I hate everybody leave.”
I sat near the doorway.
“Me too.”
“You don't know.”
“I lost your dad.”
He looked at me.
“You had him long.”
“Yes.”
“I had only six.”
My eyes burned.
“You're right.”
He cried.
Eventually:
“Did you do bad?”
“Yes.”
“Like Rebecca?”
“No.”
“Did you hurt kids?”
“Never.”
“People?”
I did not lie.
“I was part of things that hurt people.”
He stared.
“Why?”
“Because I grew up believing that was what strong men did.”
“That's dumb.”
“Yes.”
“Dad say?”
“Constantly.”
That earned a small smile.
“Will judge take us if you jail?”
“I don't know.”
His face fell.
“But every adult involved is making a plan so you and Maya stay together and safe no matter what happens.”
“Where?”
“Maybe Judge Alvarez temporarily.”
He frowned.
“He snores.”
“Terribly.”
“What about Luca?”
“Worse.”
He laughed.
Then:
“I want you.”
There are moments when love feels like comfort.
That one felt like responsibility weighing a thousand pounds.
“I want you too.”
The next day, I rejected an offer that required hiding portions of financial information.
My lawyer stared.
“You could reduce exposure.”
“By lying?”
“By narrowing disclosure.”
“No.”
“Thomas.”
“I’m done building family on secrets.”
We renegotiated.
I gave everything.
Accounts.
Names.
Properties.
Illegal holdings.
The government expanded forfeitures.
The Moretti empire that took three generations to build disappeared in months.
And then something unexpected happened.
Because of the scale of my cooperation and because I had voluntarily dismantled operations before charges were filed, prosecutors agreed to recommend supervised probation, financial penalties, and community restrictions instead of incarceration.
No guarantee.
But hope.
I told Leo.
He frowned.
“So maybe no jail?”
“Maybe.”
“Because truth?”
“Partly.”
He thought.
“Truth annoying.”
“Yes.”
“Claire says same.”
I froze.
“Who's Claire?”
He shrugged.
“Lady at therapy.”
Different Claire. Fine.
Then he smiled.
“Still better.”
The week before the guardianship hearing, Rebecca made one final legal move.
She filed a petition arguing that because Ethan’s original will named her guardian, the children should be placed with relatives on her side rather than me if her custody rights were terminated.
Her sister Caroline.
A woman Leo barely knew.
Why?
The children’s trust.
If Caroline became guardian, Rebecca believed some influence might remain.
I was furious.
Leo overheard.
He asked Dr. Brooks:
“Can judge make us go?”
She answered honestly.
“Judges decide what they believe keeps children safest.”
Leo looked at me.
May you like
Then said something that would later be repeated in court.
“Then tell judge my safest is Uncle Thomas.”
