Chapter 13 - Isabella's Voice
Two days later, Isabella sat in a private conference room at the Manhattan District Attorney's office.
She wore a simple, light blue silk blouse—short-sleeved. For the first time in four years, the bruises on her wrists and arms were uncovered. She did not wear makeup to conceal them. She did not wear a heavy coat to pretend they did not exist.
Massimo sat two chairs down, his hands folded in his lap. He did not speak. He did not tell her what to say. He simply remained there—a mountain of silent, immovable support.
The female prosecutor leaned forward. "Mrs. Hale, are you prepared to enter these medical records and your personal testimony into the formal grand jury record?"
Isabella looked at the documents on the table. For years, Grant had told her that speaking out would destroy her, that her father would lock her away, that she was worthless without the Hale family's management.
She looked at her father. Massimo met her gaze, giving her a slow, gentle nod.
You decide, his eyes told her. You are free.
May you like
Isabella turned back to the prosecutor. Her voice was no longer the broken whisper from Room 1402. It was clear, steady, and resolute.
"I am ready," Isabella said. "I want to document every blow, every threat, every locked door, and every lie he told my daughter."
