Chapter 8 - REBECCA LOOKED AT LEO IN COURT AND REALIZED HE WASN’T AFRAID OF HER ANYMORE
Rebecca’s trial began under extraordinary security.
Not because of her.
Because of me.
The judge ordered my security team outside the courthouse perimeter.
Reasonable.
I entered with one attorney and Antonio, who had become head of security for my legitimate holding company.
No weapons inside.
No intimidation.
No whispered messages.
I sat behind prosecutors.
Leo did not attend.
Maya did not attend.
Good.
Rebecca wore a gray suit.
Hair shorter.
Face thinner.
She looked at me once.
I felt nothing I trusted enough to name.
The prosecution built the case carefully.
Insurance.
Medical manipulation.
Warren.
Ethan’s recordings.
Toxicology.
Financial transfers.
Basement.
Children’s injuries.
Then Caleb Warren testified.
He looked destroyed.
Good.
But destruction was not justice.
Truth was.
He admitted the affair.
Admitted building false medical history.
Admitted prescribing digoxin without proper indication.
Admitted telling Rebecca how dangerous excessive dosing could be.
Then:
“Did you administer the fatal dose?”
the prosecutor asked.
“No.”
“Who did?”
“Rebecca.”
Her attorney objected.
Overruled.
Warren continued.
“She crushed tablets into a drink.”
My stomach turned.
“How do you know?”
“She texted me after.”
The message appeared.
It worked. He thinks he’s having an episode.
Then later:
Ambulance here. Don’t call.
Rebecca stared straight ahead.
The defense attacked Warren’s credibility.
Fair.
He was a murderer trying to reduce sentence.
Then prosecutors played Ethan’s audio.
His voice filled the courtroom.
Rebecca gave me the pill herself this morning. It looked different.
I closed my eyes.
No one moved.
Then insurance records.
Two million to Warren-linked account.
Basement photos.
Leo’s X-ray.
The defense tried to separate abuse from homicide.
Rebecca was “overwhelmed.”
“Grieving.”
“Unprepared to raise two children.”
Then came Maya’s hospital statement, admitted through proper procedure without forcing her into court.
Please don’t make us go back to Mommy.
Rebecca began crying.
Her attorney placed a hand on her arm.
I looked away.
Not because I felt sorry.
Because Maya’s voice did not belong in anyone’s spectacle.
The defense made its biggest mistake during closing.
They argued Rebecca “had no reason to fear Thomas Moretti before Ethan’s death.”
Therefore her alleged planning around my Houston trip meant nothing.
The prosecutor responded by playing Ethan’s recording:
I’m taking the kids to Thomas tomorrow.
Then Rebecca’s message:
Wednesday morning is best because Thomas will be in Houston. After that, the kids are mine and the problem is over.
Timing.
Motive.
Intent.
The jury deliberated two days.
During that time, I stayed home.
Leo built a Lego police station.
Maya destroyed it.
Normal.
At 4:17 on the second day, Santos called.
“Verdict.”
I went alone.
No need to bring children.
Rebecca stood.
The clerk read.
Guilty.
Murder.
Conspiracy.
Fraud.
Child abuse.
Unlawful restraint.
Several counts.
Her knees weakened.
For one second, I remembered her at Ethan’s funeral.
Holding Maya.
Crying against my shoulder.
I’ll protect them like they’re my own.
Lie.
Then Rebecca turned.
She looked at me.
No words.
The bailiff moved her away.
I expected satisfaction.
Nothing.
My brother remained dead.
Leo’s leg still carried scars.
Maya still woke sometimes crying about basement stairs.
A verdict was consequence.
Not repair.
Outside, reporters shouted.
I kept walking.
One asked:
“Mr. Moretti, will you seek revenge against anyone else involved?”
I stopped.
Every camera lifted.
I turned.
“No.”
The reporter seemed surprised.
“Why not?”
“Because revenge would make this story about me.”
I looked toward the courthouse.
“It isn’t.”
Then I left.
Caleb Warren later pleaded guilty in both homicide cases.
Claire Hollis received a reduced sentence for cooperation but still went to prison.
The corrupt medical practices investigation expanded.
Other patient files were reviewed.
Families got questions answered.
Some painful.
Some reassuring.
Rebecca was sentenced months later to life with parole eligibility only after decades, plus additional terms.
At sentencing, she asked to speak.
I almost skipped it.
Then attended.
She looked at me.
“I loved Ethan.”
I felt anger finally rise.
Then she continued.
“At least I thought I did.”
She cried.
“I hated how much of his life came before me.”
“His company.”
“His children.”
“You.”
There it was.
“I wanted something that was mine.”
The judge watched.
Rebecca looked toward me.
“I told myself if Ethan died, I’d finally control the house.”
“The money.”
“The children.”
She covered her face.
“I became the thing I accused Thomas of being.”
Control.
Again.
She apologized.
I did not respond.
Some apologies did not require recipients.
After sentencing, family court moved toward permanent guardianship.
Then another complication.
Ethan’s will.
It had been found in his law firm archives.
Older version.
Before Rebecca.
Children’s guardian listed:
Thomas Moretti.
My chest stopped.
Then a newer codicil appeared.
Signed one year before Ethan’s death.
It named Rebecca primary guardian.
Me secondary if Rebecca “became unwilling, unavailable, or unsuitable.”
There it was.
Even when angry with my world, Ethan had left me as the final door.
His attorney explained:
“He struggled with it.”
“He believed you loved them.”
“He worried about your environment.”
“So he made Rebecca first.”
“He made me last.”
“Yes.”
I smiled sadly.
“Typical Ethan.”
The attorney continued.
“But after February, he contacted me to change it.”
My heart stopped.
“He did?”
“Appointment scheduled March thirteenth.”
The day after he died.
I looked away.
He had been one day from changing everything legally.
Instead, Leo crawled to my gate.
The final guardianship hearing happened on Ethan’s birthday.
Judge Park asked Leo privately, with specialists present, where he wanted to live.
He answered:
“Uncle Thomas.”
Maya said:
“Thomas house yellow room.”
Apparently my legal fitness was less important than wall color.
Judge Park granted permanent guardianship.
Not adoption.
Not yet.
Evan—no, wrong story; Ethan was dead. I caught myself even in memory sometimes.
Ethan remained their father.
I was Uncle Thomas.
That was enough.
Outside court, Leo held my hand.
“Forever?”
I looked at him.
Court order.
Life.
Nothing absolute.
Then:
“Forever family.”
He smiled.
Maya hugged my leg.
That evening we visited Ethan’s grave.
Leo stood without crutches.
He placed a small toy truck beside the stone.
Maya left a yellow flower.
I stood behind them.
Leo whispered:
“Daddy, we got Thomas.”
My throat closed.
Maya added:
“He has cookies.”
I laughed through tears.
Then Leo looked at me.
“Say something.”
I approached the grave.
My brother’s name carved into stone.
I touched it.
“I’m sorry I was late.”
Wind moved through the cemetery.
No answer.
Then:
May you like
“But I’m here now.”
And this time, I intended to stay.
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