I turned my back on her weeping frame and walked toward the waiting government vehicle. I didn’t look back.
Grant Moore was sentenced to forty consecutive years in federal prison for identity theft, wire fraud, and treason. He broke down during sentencing, screaming for a mother who wasn’t allowed in the courtroom.
Warren Moore didn’t fare much better. The federal government seized everything—the estate, the offshore accounts, the cars. Facing a trial for treason that he could not win, my father pled guilty to conspiracy, accepting twenty-five years in a federal penitentiary. Given his age, it was a death sentence.
Judith Moore, having lost her husband, her son, and her wealth, moved into a cramped, subsidized apartment on the outskirts of the city, utterly ostracized by the high society she had worshipped her entire life.
I never saw any of them again.
Six months after the trial, I stood on the tiled edge of the Olympic-sized pool at the National Aquatic Center in Colorado. The air smelled of chlorine and ozone. The massive arena was empty, silent save for the gentle lapping of water against the gutters.
