Page 115 of The Quiet After The Fall

Sawyer pushes through the crowd toward me, weaving past guests frozen with their phones half raised, and the second she reaches me her hand finds my arm like she needs to confirm I’m real. “It’s actually happening.”

“Yeah,” I say in astonishment, keeping my eyes on my father. “Fuck. I can’t believe it.”

She looks past me to where they’re turning him around, and lets out a small laugh. Neither of us actually believed this would work out, and to see it unfolding is nothing short of a miracle. Her grip on my arm loosens, and her eyes find Ella’s to my side. No words pass between them but I know exactly what their looks are saying. Thank you. I’m sorry. It’s almost over.

After months of lying to Ella and dragging Sawyer into my shitstorm life, seeing that look pass between them is enough to make my hands unclench for the first time all day.

Another detective peels away from the group, her eyes scanning the guests. Her lips fall into a straight line as she spots Moretti, and I realize they’re not done. Holy shit. She signals to a few of the officers behind Moretti and in seconds, he’s surrounded.

Ella’s hand goes rigid in mine and Sawyer goes still on my other side. I’m too shocked to move.

Moretti doesn’t try to bolt like I’d expect. He sets his drink down and calmly speaks with them. I’m sure he’s betting he’ll be off the hook like always. And maybe he will be. I have no idea why or how they’re coming for him right now.

“Vincent Moretti,” the detective says. “Turn around, please.”

She starts to recite his rights while Vince tries to talk over her. Another officer answers, “We’ll discuss at the station.”

For a quick moment, Moretti’s eyes find Ella’s across the tent. I can’t read his expression, but Ella holds her chin high and squeezes my hand until they turn him around and lead him out of the tent.

I’m proud of her, which catches me by surprise. That small act of defiance is so much more than I’ve ever seen from her. The Ella I know would have run to him, pleaded with the officers, had their lawyers on the phone before the cuffs even closed. She’s got her own reckoning to get through now.

The tent clears out quickly, guests either following the officers or heading for their cars. A few stragglers are still hanging around, eating and drinking like watching two men get arrested is just another day.

I spot my mother hurrying out, heading toward the house, and make a mental note to check on her shortly.

I still have Ella’s hand in mine on one side when Sawyer laces her fingers through mine on the other.

“What should we do?” Sawyer whispers.

“Aldrich.” It’s a deep voice coming from behind me.

I turn to find the lead detective we’ve been working with heading toward the three of us.

“We’re going to need a statement from you,” he says. His eyes move over Sawyer, then Ella, then back to me. “All three of you, probably.” He pauses, like he’s deciding how much to say here, in the open, with nosey stragglers still watching. “And there’s something you should know before we get into it. About your father.”

Something in his tone tells me I’m going to be shocked at what he says next.

The detective glances toward the lawn where they’re getting my father into the back of an SUV. “Your father’s been cooperating with an ongoing investigation into Vincent Moretti for a few weeks now.”

I glance at a wide eyed Ella. “Cooperating, how?”

“Feeding us valuable information. That’s all I can say.”

It takes me a second to absorb his words. Sawyer’s voice has me turning toward her. “Does this mean Richard’s working on a deal? Get you Moretti to save his own ass?”

“That’ll be for the DA to sort out.” He sighs, rubbing his palms against his pants. “But yeah, probably. Wanted you to hear it from us before you heard it somewhere else.”

Sawyer’s hand tightens in mine. I don’t look at her. I can’t yet. Because if I do, I’m going to have to acknowledge the fact that even now, fucking cuffed in the back of an SUV, my father found a way to make sure he comes out of this on top.

“Is he going away?” I ask. “For any of it?”

“That’s above my pay grade.” The detective’s voice softens a bit. “But cooperation doesn’t erase what he did. He’ll need great attorneys and a stellar deal to get out of serving time.”

Motherfucker. He’s destroyed lives. Caused the deaths of eight people. Framed a man who’s already lost years in a cell. My mother’s probably already locked herself in a bathroom with a bottle of pills because of him. And he always comes out of it all, standing on two feet.

“He’ll find a way to win,” I say, mostly to myself.

The detective doesn’t respond, there’s no reason to. He just nods, hands me a card, and tells us someone will be in touch about the statements.