Chapter 4 - GHOSTS OF THE PAST
The 12th Precinct was a hive of fluorescent lights, stale coffee, and the smell of desperation. When I walked through the double glass doors, the noise in the bullpen died instantly. Uniformed officers stopped typing. A sergeant holding a mug of coffee froze midway to his mouth. They all knew who I was.
“Moretti,” a voice called out. Detective Rollins, a grizzled man with deep bags under his eyes, walked out of his office. He didn't look intimidated, which was a rare trait. “You’ve got a lot of nerve walking in here.”
“I’m here for my brother’s wife,” I said smoothly, ignoring the hands resting nervously on duty belts around the room.
“She’s in an interview room with her lawyer. And unless you’ve suddenly passed the bar exam, you aren't going back there.”
“Rollins, she tortured a six-year-old boy. I have the X-rays. I have the doctors ready to testify.”
“And she has a psych file detailing how your nephew throws himself down stairs,” Rollins countered, though he looked sick saying it. “I saw that basement, Thomas. I know in my gut what she is. But her lawyer is ripping my evidence to shreds. He claims the basement was a temporary safety measure to keep the boy from hurting the toddler.”
“You know that’s a lie.”
“Prove it,” Rollins challenged. “Because right now, the DA is hesitant to charge a grieving widow with child abuse based on circumstantial evidence and a cartel lawyer breathing down his neck.”
Before I could answer, the door to the holding area opened. Marcus Vance stepped out. He was tall, impeccably dressed in a bespoke Italian suit, with a smirk that made me want to pull my weapon. Behind him walked Rebecca.
She looked immaculate. Her hair was perfectly messy, her makeup subtly applied to highlight her tear-streaked eyes. When she saw me, she let out a theatrical gasp and shrank behind Vance.
“Thomas,” she whispered, trembling perfectly. “Where are my babies? Please, tell me they’re okay.”
My vision blurred with red rage. I took a step forward, and three cops instantly unholstered their weapons, aiming at my chest.
“Back off, Moretti,” Rollins barked.
I ignored the guns. I stared directly at Rebecca. “You made a mistake, Rebecca. You left them alive.”
“Mr. Moretti,” Vance interjected, his voice dripping with condescension. “My client is under immense distress. Her stepson is severely disturbed. We will be filing an injunction tomorrow morning to have the children returned to her custody, and we will be seeking a restraining order against you for kidnapping.”
“If she steps foot near that hospital, Vance, I will make sure they never find her body,” I said, my voice dead calm. “And you can tell Hector Reyes that if he wants to shield this piece of trash, he’s going to lose his entire operation south of the river.”
Vance’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. “Are you threatening a cartel, Thomas? Over a domestic dispute?”
“It stopped being a domestic dispute the second Leo crawled to my gate with a broken leg.” I stepped closer, stopping just inches from Vance. I looked past him to Rebecca. Her eyes were wide, and for the first time, I saw the genuine fear behind the grieving widow mask.
“You wanted Ethan’s money,” I said quietly to her. “That’s what this is about, isn't it? The life insurance. But the kids are the beneficiaries. You need them under your roof to access the trust.”
Rebecca didn't answer, but the slight twitch in her jaw told me everything I needed to know. Ethan had left behind a fortune, legally shielded in a trust for Leo and Maya. Rebecca was the guardian, but if the kids were removed from her care, she lost access to millions.
“They’re my children now,” she hissed, dropping the facade for just a second. “You can't prove anything.”
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“I don’t need a courtroom to prove anything, Rebecca,” I smiled, a cold, empty expression. “I’m Thomas Moretti. I am the judge.”
I turned and walked out of the precinct. The legal system was paralyzed. If I played by their rules, I would lose the kids. It was time to play by mine.
