Chapter 18 - Richard Castellano

Richard’s trial began eleven months after Marea.

Natasha testified on the fourth day.

By then, she no longer woke every morning expecting his name on her phone.

That fact mattered more than she had expected.

The prosecutor first asked about Adrian’s records.

Then the music box.

Then Richard’s surveillance file.

Then the controlled call.

“Did Dr. Castellano admit knowing who you were before your first date?”

“Yes.”

“Did he say why he approached you?”

“He said it was because of my father’s records.”

“Did he claim the relationship later became genuine?”

“Yes.”

The prosecutor paused.

“Did that change your understanding of the surveillance?”

“No.”

Richard watched her.

This time, she did not study his expression for danger.

That habit was dying.

His attorney cross-examined aggressively.

“You received financial benefit from your father’s estate after this investigation began?”

“I discovered property he had already purchased for me.”

“You reopened a business?”

“Yes.”

“And publicity increased your profile?”

Priya had warned her this might come.

Natasha answered calmly.

“I would trade every article for my father being alive.”

The attorney moved on.

He challenged the hospital evidence.

He suggested Richard’s login could have been used by residents.

He argued score changes reflected complex medical judgment.

Then prosecutors called specialists.

Audit experts.

Transplant physicians.

IT analysts.

They showed that Richard’s badge entered secure workstations within minutes of multiple changes.

They showed payments tied to beneficiaries.

They showed messages between Richard and Gerald Pike.

One message read:

MOVE VALE TONIGHT. FOUNDATION CONFIRMED.

Another:

MARQUEZ ISSUE?

Pike had answered:

REVIEW BOARD WILL HANDLE.

Elena left the courtroom before that exchange was discussed.

Natasha followed.

In the hallway, Elena leaned against the wall.

“I knew it.”

“Yes.”

“I knew what the ledger said.”

“Yes.”

“But seeing his message…”

“I know.”

Elena looked at her.

“No. You don’t.”

Natasha accepted the correction.

“You’re right.”

Elena breathed.

Then nodded.

“Thank you.”

They stood together.

No forced comfort.

Just presence.

On the ninth day, Gerald Pike testified.

He described pressure from Vittorio initially, then Richard later.

“Dr. Richard Castellano became more aggressive after his father withdrew,” Pike said.

“Why?”

“He believed the foundation could finance expansion.”

“Through transplant manipulation?”

“Yes.”

“Did Richard know patients could die if their priority scores were improperly lowered?”

“Yes.”

Richard looked down.

On the eleventh day, the prosecution played Adrian’s video.

Natasha left before it started.

She had heard enough versions of her father’s final fear.

She went to the studio.

Matteo was repairing a broken cabinet hinge badly.

“What are you doing?”

He looked guilty.

“Helping.”

“You are destroying a nineteenth-century brass screw.”

“I was told this cabinet was reproduction.”

“The cabinet is. The hardware isn’t.”

He handed over the screwdriver.

“I have committed a crime.”

“Finally, one I can prosecute personally.”

He smiled.

She sat on the workbench.

“Pike testified.”

“How bad?”

“For Richard?”

“Yes.”

“Very.”

“For you?”

She considered.

“Different.”

Matteo nodded.

He had become better at not filling silence.

Natasha said, “Do you ever wonder whether someone can love you and still treat you terribly?”

“Yes.”

“My father loved me and lied to protect me.”

“Yes.”

“Richard says he loved me.”

Matteo waited.

“I think he did.”

Matteo’s expression did not change.

“That sounds difficult.”

“I expected you to argue.”

“It is not my love to define.”

She looked at him.

“I think he loved me in the only way he knows how. Like possession.”

“That is possible.”

“And it still does not make what he did less abusive.”

“No.”

“Both can be true.”

“Yes.”

She smiled faintly.

“There’s your favorite word.”

“I’ve diversified. Sometimes I say no.”

The verdict came three days later.

Guilty on twenty-seven counts.

Not every count.

Enough.

Richard stood motionless.

Diane sobbed.

Natasha sat beside Priya.

She felt no triumph.

No sudden release.

The judge remanded Richard pending sentencing.

As officers approached, he turned toward Natasha.

For one second, she saw the man who once brought her peonies.

Then the man who pressed his thumb into a bruise.

Then the man who tracked her father’s belongings.

Then simply a man facing consequences.

He mouthed something.

She could not hear it.

She did not need to.

Outside, reporters shouted.

Natasha stepped to the microphone once.

“The patients and families were the center of this case. My father understood that before I did. I hope the record remembers their names, not only the names of the people who harmed them.”

She read seventeen names.

Sofia Marquez among them.

When she finished, no one shouted a question.

For six quiet seconds, the cameras simply recorded.

Later, Priya found Natasha in the courthouse stairwell, sitting with her shoes in her hands.

“You did not look relieved,” Priya said.

“I thought I would.”

“Relief is not a verdict.”

Natasha nodded. “What is it, then?”

“Sometimes it is waking up three months from now and realizing you did not check the lock twice.”

Natasha looked at the closed stairwell door.

“That sounds very small.”

“Small can be enormous.”

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Natasha put her shoes back on.

For the first time that day, she believed there might be a life after evidence.