Chapter 9 - THE MAN WITHOUT AN EMPIRE
Roman met federal prosecutors for six hours.
When he returned, Beatrice sat waiting.
Harper beside her.
Roman removed his jacket.
“My lawyers say I can fight.”
Beatrice signed:
Do you want to?
Roman stared.
That was the question.
Not:
Can you win?
Not:
Can you protect the Moretti name?
Do you want to?
Roman sat.
“My legitimate businesses are clean.”
Beatrice waited.
“The old crews aren’t.”
Harper said nothing.
Roman had reduced illegal operations.
Closed several.
Removed violent managers.
But he had still been the boss.
Still benefited from power.
Still accepted the reputation.
He no longer tried pretending otherwise.
“They offered cooperation.”
Harper asked:
“What does that involve?”
“Records on remaining criminal operations. Testimony. Resignation from several entities. Independent compliance for legitimate companies.”
“And you?”
“Financial penalties.”
“Prison?”
Roman paused.
“Not expected if everything I disclosed is accurate.”
Harper breathed again.
“But?”
“The organization ends.”
Silence.
Three generations.
Power.
Money.
Fear.
The Moretti name.
Beatrice smiled.
Then signed:
Good.
Roman stared.
“That’s all?”
What did you expect?
“You built this family with Dad.”
Beatrice shook her head.
She pointed to Roman.
Then herself.
This is family.
Then toward the city.
That was business.
Roman’s eyes filled.
Beatrice continued.
Your grandfather was poor.
He thought money made him safe.
Your father inherited fear.
He thought power made him safe.
You inherited both.
She touched his hand.
Try something different.
Roman looked at Harper.
Harper said:
“Build enough life around the old memories.”
He smiled faintly.
“You’re quoting yourself.”
“I’m excellent.”
The next morning Roman signed the agreement.
Newspapers exploded.
MORETTI BOSS DISMANTLES FAMILY EMPIRE.
END OF AN ERA.
MORETTI COMPANIES ENTER FEDERAL OVERSIGHT.
Former associates called him traitor.
Others accepted legitimate jobs.
Some left.
Some were arrested.
Roman lost money.
A lot.
He slept better.
For the first time since twenty-seven, he traveled without an armed convoy.
He discovered taxis.
Then the subway.
Harper laughed when he boarded the wrong train.
“I owned transportation companies.”
“You owned ships.”
“Transportation.”
“You went uptown instead of downtown.”
“The signs were unclear.”
“You need an interpreter for arrows?”
Roman kissed her to end the argument.
It worked temporarily.
Harper returned to school.
ASL linguistics.
Ethics.
Deaf culture.
Accessibility law.
Medical interpreting.
Educational interpreting.
She discovered how much she did not know.
That humbled her.
Beatrice loved watching her learn.
Roman studied too.
Within a year, he could hold full conversations with his mother.
Then Beatrice collapsed at a foundation gala.
Roman watched her fall.
For one terrible second, every old fear returned.
Hospital.
Doctors.
Death.
Beatrice suffered dehydration and a treatable heart-rhythm episode.
She recovered quickly.
Roman sat at her bedside.
Harper stayed near the door.
Beatrice signed weakly:
Stop looking like I died.
Roman’s hands trembled.
Don’t joke.
I’m seventy-one.
I can joke.
Roman laughed through tears.
Then signed:
I’m scared.
Beatrice stared.
Maybe Roman had never told his mother that.
Not with voice.
Not with hands.
He had translated fear into anger his entire life.
Now he simply named it.
Beatrice squeezed his fingers.
Harper realized something.
The most extraordinary thing Roman had done was not surrender an empire.
It was learning to experience fear without forcing someone else to be afraid.
Weeks later Beatrice called Roman and Harper into her study.
Owen’s letters lay on the desk.
Beside legal documents.
Beatrice signed.
I decided what happens to my Bellamy property interest.
The Moretti trust owned a minority interest in the Bellamy House building.
Beatrice would donate it.
To the foundation.
A new center.
Deaf children.
Families.
ASL education.
Mental-health services.
Technology support.
Harper’s eyes filled.
“That’s incredible.”
Beatrice signed:
Needs name.
Harper saw the expression.
“No.”
Beatrice smiled.
“No.”
Roman leaned back.
“This will be entertaining.”
Beatrice pushed a paper forward.
THE OWEN HAYES CENTER FOR DEAF YOUTH AND FAMILIES.
Harper stopped breathing.
“No.”
Beatrice frowned.
Why?
“Owen wasn’t famous.”
Exactly.
“He didn’t do something extraordinary.”
Beatrice touched his letters.
He was a child who saw something wrong and told someone.
Harper’s eyes filled.
He reminded me deaf children deserve adults who listen.
Harper covered her mouth.
Beatrice’s final signs came slowly.
Let him be remembered for living.
Not dying.
Harper cried.
Then nodded.
“Yes.”
May you like
For the first time since Owen’s funeral, her brother’s name became attached to a future.
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