Chapter 95 The publication

Chapter 95 The publication
Vincent Moretti's memoirs are published on a Tuesday in early March, released by a small independent press that specializes in criminal justice reform narratives. The title is "The Fixer's Confession: Thirty Years in the Shadow of William Sterling," and the cover is a stark black-and-white photograph of the Sterling mansion, taken from the end of Oakhaven Lane. The white door is visible. The pool is not.

The book lands like a detonation.

Eleanor has been preparing for this for months. She coordinated with Diana Kerr at the newspaper, with Isabella on the legal strategy, with the foundation's PR team on messaging. She's written a companion essay that runs the same day as the book's release, framing Vincent's confession not as absolution but as accountability. "Vincent Moretti does not ask for forgiveness," she writes. "He offers the truth, fully told, for the first time. What we do with that truth is up to us."

The news cycle erupts. Vincent's revelations about Drew's death—that he knew the brake line would be tampered with, that he could have intervened and chose not to—make national headlines. The district attorney's office announces a review of the case. Legal analysts debate whether Vincent can be charged as an accessory after thirty years. Victim advocacy groups praise the book as a landmark in restorative justice. Senator Cartwright, still nursing his political wounds, issues a statement calling Vincent a "disgraced criminal profiting from his crimes," which Eleanor promptly quotes in a follow-up article that notes the senator's own estranged daughter is a regular at foundation retreats.

Through it all, Vincent remains at his small apartment in Boston, refusing all interview requests except one. He gives a single television interview to a national news program, sitting calmly in a studio chair while the anchor asks him increasingly pointed questions.

"Do you consider yourself a murderer, Mr. Moretti?"

Vincent pauses. When he speaks, his voice is steady. "I consider myself someone who enabled murder. Someone who stood by while it happened. Someone who could have stopped it and didn't. Whether the law considers that a crime is for the courts to decide. Whether I consider it a sin is between me and whatever higher power might exist."

"Do you expect to be charged?"

"I expect to face whatever consequences come. I've spent thirty years running from them. I'm done running."

The interview airs on a Thursday night. By Friday morning, three different prosecutors' offices have announced they're reviewing the case. By Friday afternoon, the district attorney who handled William's original trial announces she will not pursue charges, citing Vincent's extensive cooperation with federal investigators and the age of the case. "Vincent Moretti has already served time for his crimes," she states. "His continued cooperation with ongoing investigations and his public confession constitute a form of accountability that the legal system rarely achieves."

The family gathers at the Sterling mansion that weekend to process. Vincent is there, sitting quietly in the corner while the conversation swirls around him. Sophie, who drove up from DC, is simultaneously proud of the legal outcome and frustrated that she didn't get to argue the case herself. Sam, home for spring break, is processing in his usual quiet way—by reorganizing the fossil collection and saying very little. Josie is on video call from DC, where she's finishing her Library of Congress fellowship. Mateo sits beside the iPad, as close to his sister as geography allows.

Isabella has been quiet all evening. She's been by her father's side through the entire process—the writing, the legal review, the publication, the media storm—but there's a weight in her eyes that hasn't lifted.

"I keep thinking about the cabin in the White Mountains," she says finally. "When Maya and I drove up there to confront him. I was so angry. I'd spent two years hunting him, and I thought when I finally found him, I would scream at him and never forgive him. But when I saw him standing in that doorway—this old man with graying hair and regret in his eyes—I couldn't do it. I couldn't hate him the way I wanted to."

"You didn't need to hate him," I say. "You needed to hold him accountable. There's a difference."

"I know. I've learned that. But there's still this part of me that's angry. Not at him anymore—at the years. At the lost time. At the version of my father I could have had if William hadn't destroyed everything."

Vincent speaks from his corner. "I could have made different choices. Every day, for thirty years, I could have made different choices. William didn't force me to do anything. I chose loyalty over integrity, again and again. That's not William's fault. That's mine."

"I know," Isabella says. "I know that intellectually. But the heart doesn't always follow the head."

"No. It doesn't." Vincent rises slowly from his chair. "I'm going to take a walk. By the pool. I've always found the lights calming."

He steps out onto the back porch, and through the window, I watch him stand at the edge of the water, watching the colors cycle through their eternal progression. Blue to purple to green. Blue to purple to green.

Isabella watches him too. "He's going to keep writing. He told me he's already started a second book. About restorative justice. About what it means to face consequences willingly."

"That sounds like a book worth reading."

"It does." She turns to face the room. "I've been thinking about something. The foundation's work has always been about breaking cycles. But we've focused on survivors—women and children escaping abuse. We haven't done as much work with perpetrators. With people who want to change but don't know how."

"You're thinking about restorative justice programs," Eleanor says.

"I'm thinking about creating a program. A parallel retreat track. For men who've committed harm and want to be accountable for it. It would be separate from the survivor retreats, obviously—different location, different staff. But the principle would be the same. Facing the truth. Breaking the cycle."

Sophie looks up from her laptop. "That's a massive undertaking. Legally complex. Emotionally draining. Potentially controversial."

"I know."

"I'm in. I'll handle the legal research."

Isabella almost smiles. "I was hoping you'd say that."