Chapter 14 - The Woman Who Wouldn't Be Silenced
Dr. Rebecca Shaw refused to tell us who had approached her.
She did, however, agree to meet me.
Three days later, I drove to Burlington, Vermont, accompanied by Helena and a licensed security consultant who spent the entire journey pretending not to watch the rearview mirror.
Dr. Shaw operated a small pediatric clinic overlooking a quiet residential street.
She was in her sixties, with close-cropped gray hair and tired blue eyes.
When I introduced myself, she studied me for a long moment.
"You're the woman who taught Leonardo to sign."
"Yes."
Her eyes filled unexpectedly.
"Then you accomplished what I spent years hoping someone would try."
She invited us into her office.
On the walls hung photographs of children graduating from educational programs, accompanied by handwritten thank-you cards.
Dr. Shaw offered us coffee.
Nobody accepted.
"I worked with Leonardo twice," she began. "Once when he was nineteen months old, and again shortly after his second birthday."
"What did you conclude?"
"That he had profound hearing loss, but his nonverbal problem-solving was promising. I recommended immediate access to sign language, family training, and comprehensive developmental assessment."
I leaned forward.
"Then why do the final reports say he was incapable of meaningful communication?"
"They weren't my conclusions."
Her voice hardened.
"Arthur Havel changed the findings."
Helena opened her laptop.
"Can you prove that?"
Dr. Shaw unlocked a filing cabinet.
From a manila folder, she removed copies of dated correspondence.
"I kept these because I knew something was wrong."
There were emails requesting additional assessments.
Letters protesting inaccurate interpretations.
And one particularly chilling message from Nathaniel Voss.
Further evaluation is not financially justified. The existing classification must remain undisturbed until the trust review is completed.
I read it twice.
"The trust review?"
Dr. Shaw nodded.
"I didn't understand what that meant. I assumed it concerned insurance coverage."
"Did you tell Dante?"
"I requested a meeting. His office canceled it."
"Who canceled?"
"Mr. Voss."
A terrible silence settled over us.
Then Dr. Shaw said something I wasn't prepared to hear.
"Your fiancé's former wife came to see me before she left."
I looked up.
"Serafina?"
"She wanted to know whether Leonardo would ever become what she called 'normal.'"
My stomach tightened.
"I told her that deafness was not an intellectual defect. I offered to introduce her to Deaf parents and educators."
"What did she say?"
Dr. Shaw looked down.
"She said the Moretti family didn't need another problem."
That evening, as we drove back toward New York, I finally understood why Serafina's sudden concern felt so disturbing.
She had been given an opportunity to learn the truth.
She had refused it.
But now that a fortune was at stake, she wanted to play the devoted mother.
When we reached the estate, reporters were waiting outside the gates.
Camera lights flashed against the dark trees.
A news van blocked part of the driveway.
Marco met us at the entrance.
"There's a problem," he said.
Inside, Dante stood before the television.
The headline filled the screen.
FORMER MOB BOSS ACCUSED OF MISUSING DEAF SON'S CHARITABLE TRUST.
Beneath it played footage from the academy's opening ceremony.
Leonardo signing his speech.
Me crying beside Dante.
Our engagement.
Then the screen cut to Serafina standing outside a Manhattan courthouse.
"My son was denied appropriate care for years," she told the cameras. "I have returned to protect him."
I clenched my fists.
She hadn't even attempted a conversation with him.
Yet she was speaking as though she knew his needs better than the people who loved him.
Dante muted the television.
"She's using him."
"Then we don't use him in return," I said.
He turned toward me.
I continued.
"No press conference with Leonardo. No making him demonstrate his intelligence to strangers. He's a child, Dante. He deserves privacy."
Dante nodded slowly.
"What do we do?"
"We tell the truth about the records. We let the independent experts investigate. And we protect the academy."
Marco cleared his throat.
"That last part may already be difficult."
He handed Dante a letter.
Three major donors had suspended their commitments pending an external financial audit.
Together, they represented nearly twelve million dollars in future operating support.
The academy had opened less than a week ago.
And somebody was already trying to destroy it.
Then my phone vibrated with a message from an unknown sender.
Stop looking for Rebecca Shaw.
A second message followed.
Or the next person we hurt will be a child who can't hear us coming.
May you like
I looked through the window toward the garden, where Leonardo was playing with his new friends.
And for the first time since Falcone's death, I felt the familiar, sickening certainty that our enemies had found us again.
