Dust lay thick on the counters.
A cracked mug sat beside the sink.
Beneath the pantry shelves, they found the loose floorboard.
Under it sat a metal lockbox.
Inside were files.
Dozens of them.
Names. Dates. Payments. Placement agreements. Medical transfers. Confidential memoranda. Hawthorne had operated for years in the space between wealth and secrecy, turning frightened families into paperwork and children into problems to be managed.
Priya’s face grew paler with every page.
Then Rowan found Lily’s file.
His daughter’s first photograph was clipped to the inside cover.
She was impossibly small, wrapped in hospital blankets, eyes closed, one tiny hand curled near her mouth.
Rowan touched the edge of the photograph with one finger.
“Lily,” he whispered.
Priya leaned over the file. “There’s a placement name.”
Rowan’s heart pounded.
The adoptive family listed was sealed under a confidentiality code, but an internal memo had been tucked behind the medical records.
