Chapter 8 - The Senator Who Thought Poor People Could Be Bought
Charles Whitmore offered me ten million dollars.
I laughed.
Not because ten million dollars was funny.
Because after everything I had survived, he still believed money was the language everyone eventually spoke.
“You could give your son anything,” he said.
“He already has what he needs.”
“A mother working seventy-hour weeks?”
“A mother who doesn’t sell dead people’s truth.”
His smile disappeared.
“You sound like Daniel.”
“Good.”
“That stubbornness killed him.”
I recorded the entire conversation.
Whitmore never noticed the microphone clipped beneath my coat.
Roman had taught me something useful after all.
The recording itself was not enough.
Whitmore never explicitly confessed.
Men like him survived decades by speaking around crimes.
But he confirmed details only someone connected to Sebastian should have known.
The federal prosecutor reopened the investigation.
Then we discovered something bigger.
My father’s flash drive contained hidden metadata linking transfers to a company called Lake Star Consulting.
That company had funded Whitmore’s campaigns through layered donors.
More importantly, Luca remembered the name.
“Lake Star was Sebastian’s private account.”
Roman heard through his attorney.
Within days, investigators connected Whitmore to twenty-seven years of bribery.
The senator publicly denied everything.
Privately, he panicked.
And frightened powerful men make mistakes.
Whitmore attempted to flee the country.
Federal agents arrested him at a private airport outside Chicago.
For the first time since my father disappeared, the entire structure began collapsing.
Not just Sebastian.
Not just David.
Everyone.
Judges.
Police.
Lobbyists.
Contractors.
Two former mayors.
A deputy governor.
And finally Senator Charles Whitmore.
Nine months later, Roman came home.
He was released three months early for good behavior and cooperation.
Leo and I waited outside the federal facility.
I had imagined the moment a hundred times.
I expected dramatic music in my head.
Maybe tears.
Instead, Roman walked through the gate carrying one duffel bag.
Leo stared at him.
Roman stared back.
“You got taller.”
Leo grinned.
“You got skinnier.”
Roman looked at me.
“That seems unfair.”
Then Leo ran.
Roman dropped the bag.
He knelt.
Leo hit him with enough force to nearly knock him over.
I started crying.
Roman looked over Leo’s shoulder.
His eyes met mine.
Home.
That word had never been a place for Roman.
Not really.
I think that day it became people.
Our first weeks together were strange.
Prison changed him.
Not dramatically.
Roman had always been quiet.
Now silence seemed heavier.
He woke at four in the morning.
Checked doors.
Counted exits in restaurants.
Flinched when something metal crashed behind him.
One night I found him sitting on the kitchen floor.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“That doesn’t look like nothing.”
He rubbed his face.
“I forgot where I was.”
I sat beside him.
No speeches.
No fixing.
Just presence.
Eventually, he rested his head against the cabinet.
“I thought coming home would feel different.”
“How?”
“Like everything would disappear.”
“It doesn’t.”
“No.”
“But you’re here.”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
“That has to be enough tonight.”
So it was.
Roman’s empire did not return.
Most of DeLuca Holdings had been sold.
Properties seized.
Companies reorganized.
What remained was legitimate.
A construction business.
Several hotels.
Two restaurants.
Enough money to ensure Roman would never worry about bills.
But no private army.
No envelopes.
No meetings in hidden rooms.
Marcus remained head of security.
Mostly because, as he explained, “Some habits are useful.”
Luca became Roman’s partner in a new company restoring abandoned waterfront properties.
They argued constantly.
It was beautiful.
I continued managing LaRue.
Eventually the board elected me chief operating officer of the restaurant group.
The first time I received my salary offer, I stared at the number for five minutes.
Roman looked over my shoulder.
“You earned it.”
“It feels fake.”
“It isn’t.”
“You used to own all of this.”
“I know.”
“Does it bother you taking orders from me?”
Roman smiled.
“More than you can imagine.”
I threw a napkin at him.
We became something dangerously close to normal.
School mornings.
Grocery lists.
Burned pancakes.
Arguments over whether Leo was old enough for a gaming console.
Roman said no.
Then bought one.
I was furious.
He claimed Luca did it.
Luca betrayed him immediately.
Life became ordinary.
And after years of chaos, ordinary felt luxurious.
Then came the trial.
Sebastian Marchesi faced dozens of charges.
Murder conspiracy.
Kidnapping.
Racketeering.
Bribery.
Narcotics trafficking.
My father’s murder.
Luca testified.
Roman testified.
David testified remotely.
Then I did.
Sebastian watched me from across the courtroom.
Older now.
Smaller.
For years, he had existed in my imagination like something enormous.
A monster.
Sitting beneath fluorescent courtroom lights, he looked like what he truly was.
A man who had spent his life making other people afraid.
The prosecutor asked about my father.
I told the truth.
When I finished, Sebastian’s attorney asked whether I hated him.
“Yes.”
Gasps moved through the courtroom.
The attorney smiled.
“So your testimony is emotional.”
“My feelings are emotional.”
I looked at Sebastian.
“The evidence isn’t.”
The jury convicted him on nearly every count.
Life imprisonment.
No possibility of release.
When the judge read the sentence, I expected to feel triumphant.
Instead, I thought of my father fixing our kitchen sink.
Teaching me to ride a bicycle.
Burning pancakes on Sundays.
Sebastian going to prison did not bring Daniel Brooks home.
Justice and healing were not the same thing.
Outside the courthouse, reporters shouted questions.
Roman took my hand.
We walked through them.
That night, I brought my father’s final letter to the lake.
Roman came with me.
“I spent so long wanting answers,” I said.
“And now?”
“I have them.”
“Does it help?”
“Some.”
I looked at him.
“Not as much as I thought.”
Roman nodded.
“I understand.”
Of course he did.
We sat beside the water until sunset.
Then Roman reached into his coat.
I narrowed my eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“That is absolutely not nothing.”
He pulled out a small velvet box.
I stopped breathing.
Roman looked genuinely nervous.
The man who had faced guns, prison, federal prosecutors, and Sebastian Marchesi appeared terrified.
That made me smile.
“Natalie.”
“Oh my God.”
“I had a speech.”
“What happened to it?”
“I forgot.”
I laughed.
He opened the box.
My mother’s wedding ring.
Restored.
Set beside a small diamond.
I covered my mouth.
“How did you—”
“Mrs. Alvarez gave it to me.”
“Traitor.”
“She likes me.”
“Everyone likes you now. It’s annoying.”
Roman smiled.
Then became serious.
“I spent most of my life believing family was something you inherited.”
His voice shook slightly.
“You taught me it can also be something you choose.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“I love you.”
Roman froze.
I realized it was the first time I had said it.
His eyes changed.
“That was supposed to be my line.”
“Too slow.”
He laughed softly.
Then lowered himself onto one knee.
“Natalie Brooks, will you marry me?”
I looked at the man I had found bleeding beneath a fire escape.
The man whose world had nearly destroyed mine.
The man who chose my son over an empire.
The man who accepted punishment instead of buying escape.
The man who learned how to come home.
“Yes.”
Roman closed his eyes.
For one second, pure relief crossed his face.
Then he put the ring on my finger.
Behind us, someone shouted.
“FINALLY!”
We turned.
Leo, Luca, Marcus, and Mrs. Alvarez were hiding near the trees.
I stared at Roman.
“You knew?”
He looked offended.
“This was supposed to be private.”
Marcus pointed at Luca.
“He invited everyone.”
Luca shrugged.
“You’re welcome.”
Leo ran toward us.
“Did she say yes?”
Roman lifted him.
“She did.”
Leo cheered.
I laughed until I cried.
I thought the story was finally over.
I was wrong.
Because three days later, Roman received a package with no return address.
Inside was a photograph of our family at the lake.
Taken from a distance.
May you like
On the back were six words.
SEBASTIAN WAS NEVER THE LAST ONE.
