Chapter 13 - The Woman the Newspapers Wanted to Make a Villain
Anna became a headline against her will.
WIDOW RECEIVES $250K AFTER MAFIA SCANDAL.
Then:
MORETTI BOSS CLOSE TO DEAD WORKER’S WIFE?
The second headline came after someone photographed us leaving Lucy’s reading night.
Anna called me.
“Close?”
“That is a word.”
“They make it sound like I traded Daniel’s case for you.”
My anger rose.
“What do you want?”
“I want to sue.”
“Maya can—”
Anna stopped.
“What?”
I caught myself.
“You want your own lawyer.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She hired one.
Not Maya.
Also good.
Her attorney sent corrections to three outlets and threatened action over a false claim that Anna had received “special compensation.”
Two retracted.
One doubled down.
Then a television reporter waited outside Anna’s apartment.
Lucy saw the camera.
She froze.
That was enough.
I wanted the reporter removed.
Anna wanted something else.
She walked outside.
I stayed in the lobby.
Her lawyer stood beside her.
The reporter asked, “Mrs. Hart, are you romantically involved with Nicholas Moretti?”
Anna looked into the camera.
“My husband died because safety rules were ignored.”
The reporter tried again.
“Can you answer the question?”
“Yes.”
She paused.
“I’m choosing not to.”
Then:
“My children were denied money their father earned because records were falsified. Twenty-eight other families had similar claims. If you want to ask me something, ask why nobody found them sooner.”
The reporter tried to interrupt.
Anna continued.
“And stop photographing my eight-year-old daughter.”
That clip went viral.
I hated that phrase.
Lucy loved it.
“You got two million views.”
Anna looked horrified.
“I did not want two million views.”
“I would.”
“Of course you would.”
The public attention forced additional workers to come forward.
Seven new claims.
Three involved no theft.
Four did.
The total number of affected families reached thirty-six.
Every time the number increased, I felt the same guilt.
Anna eventually told me to stop apologizing each time.
“Why?”
“Because now you’re using guilt to make me comfort you.”
I stared at her.
“That is brutal.”
“It is accurate.”
Fair.
We were standing outside a grocery store.
No security close enough to hear.
Anna carried one bag.
I carried three.
Not because I insisted.
Because she handed them to me.
Progress.
She said, “You want me to tell you you’re different from Victor.”
“I do not.”
“Good.”
“I want to be different.”
“That is not the same.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
Then smiled slightly.
“You are less annoying than six months ago.”
“High praise.”
A man approached us in the parking lot.
Mid-forties.
Angry.
I recognized him after a second.
Derek Lowe.
Brother of a former Moretti dock supervisor who lost his job during the reforms.
“You happy now?” he shouted.
Anna stopped.
I moved between them automatically.
She touched my sleeve.
Not behind you.
Beside you.
I shifted.
Small correction.
Derek pointed at Anna.
“My brother has three kids.”
Anna said, “So do the families whose money was stolen.”
“He didn’t steal anything.”
“I didn’t say he did.”
“You people ruined the docks.”
I could have had him removed in seconds.
Instead I asked, “What happened to your brother?”
Derek glared.
“Twenty years. Fired because he signed old manifests.”
“Did he know they were false?”
“No.”
“Then he can appeal.”
“He already did.”
“Who reviewed it?”
“Maya Chen.”
I called her.
On speaker.
Maya sounded irritated.
“What?”
“Derek Lowe’s brother.”
Pause.
“Appeal pending.”
“Why?”
“Because six hundred personnel files are being reviewed and the compliance office has twelve people.”
Derek blinked.
I asked, “Was he fired permanently?”
“Suspended pending review.”
Derek looked down.
He had not known.
I ended the call.
He muttered, “He told us fired.”
Anna said quietly, “People tell family the version that hurts least.”
Derek looked at her.
Then at me.
“I’m sorry.”
Anna nodded.
He left.
I turned.
“You knew he might be wrong.”
“I knew he was angry.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“No.”
She smiled.
“You’re learning.”
At her apartment door, I set down the groceries.
Anna did not invite me in.
I did not assume.
Then she said, “Dinner Friday?”
I looked at her.
“As in pasta?”
“As in a date.”
My brain, useful in criminal negotiations and federal depositions, failed completely.
Anna laughed.
“That bad?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Seven.”
The door closed.
I stood in the hallway for five seconds.
Then Marco’s voice came through my earpiece from downstairs.
“Boss?”
“What?”
“Are we leaving?”
I looked at the closed door.
“Yes.”
Pause.
“You sound weird.”
The day after the television clip aired, Anna received forty-three voicemail messages.
Some supportive.
Some cruel.
One woman called her a gold digger.
Another said Daniel would be ashamed.
Anna deleted none of them at first.
I found her sitting at the kitchen table listening to the third one twice.
“Why?”
She looked up.
“Why what?”
“Why listen again?”
“I want to know what people are saying.”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed.
I corrected myself.
“Sorry. I mean, do you want to hear every one?”
She looked at the phone.
“No.”
“Then don’t.”
“That sounds easy.”
“It isn’t.”
We sat quietly.
Finally Anna selected all unknown voicemails and moved them into a folder her lawyer could review.
She did not listen.
“That felt terrible,” she said.
“Good boundary.”
“Don’t use therapy language at me.”
“I have three phrases and I intend to use all of them.”
She laughed.
That evening, Lucy asked why strangers knew their names.
Anna answered honestly without giving her adult details.
“Because Daddy’s work became part of a big court case.”
“Are they mad at us?”
“Some people are mad about things that are not ours to carry.”
Lucy looked at me.
“Is that a boundary?”
Anna groaned.
I smiled.
“Yes.”
Lucy nodded.
“Okay.”
She went back to homework.
Children adapt quickly when adults stop making secrets feel like weather.
May you like
“Drive.”
He laughed the entire way to the car.
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