Chapter 7 - The Order in the Folder
Grant's attorney arrived at County General carrying a thick folder and wearing the expression of a man certain he'd already won. He introduced himself as Leonard Price and demanded to see the girls immediately.
Dana met him in the lobby. “Their medical care and safety come first. You can speak to counsel.”
Price produced a signed temporary custody order. The order looked legitimate, but its date raised a question: it had been issued while Elena was listed as missing. The court record said she was served in person at an address where she had never lived.
Leah Santos arrived before anyone moved. She read the paper without expression and asked Price to provide the underlying affidavit.
“It's confidential,” he snapped.
“Then the issuing court can transmit it directly.”
Price retreated to make a call. Fifteen minutes later Leah confirmed the paper was real but that a judge would need to review the apparently false service and current child-safety information. Until then, the girls remained under hospital care with appropriate protective measures.
Elena was shaking by the time she learned the news. “He wins with paper every time.”
“Not every time,” Leah said. “Paper has a trail.”
Price's polished shoes left wet prints across the lobby. He had called Nora and Violet 'the minors' without once asking how Violet felt. Dana noticed that detail and wrote it in her notebook, not as proof of a crime but because it told her how easily adults could turn children into entries on a form. When Price left, neither girl asked where he had gone.
Back in Violet's room Nora asked whether police could keep secrets from bad people. Leah answered carefully. “We can keep information private when it helps protect you. And we can listen when you tell us something isn't right.”
Nora reached inside the pocket of her hoodie and pulled out a small brass key hanging from pink thread.
“Mom always said to hide a spare when you might need to get out,” she whispered. “Daddy has a room behind the laundry. I took this from his drawer.”
On the key was a stamped number: 214.
Elena's hands flew to her mouth. “That isn't the laundry-room key,” she said.
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“Then what is it?” Paul asked.
“Room 214 was where Richard told me never to let the girls go.”
