Chapter 9 - The Boy Who Vanished

My brother’s name was Caleb. He was nine when they took him, not fifteen. I had been fifteen, too old to forgive myself and too young to stop a man who knew exactly what papers to carry.

Caleb had been sick. My mother had left us in a hospital waiting room while she hunted for a nurse. A man in a gray coat said he was from child services. He knew our names. He knew our address. He said Caleb needed a temporary medical placement.

My mother never signed a release. It didn't matter.

By the time she got back, he was gone.

For eleven years I had searched for a brother everyone told me to stop looking for.

“The crescent-and-stars logo,” I told Ortiz, “was on the transport form they left behind.”

She entered it into her computer. A minute later her posture stiffened.

“Northline Medical used that symbol until 2019,” she said. “After that the company changed names.”

“What names?”

She pulled up a list. I recognized two from the binder in Room 417.

Adrian sat down hard. “They’re connected.”

“Possibly,” Ortiz said. “Don't jump from a logo to a conspiracy.”

“I’m not jumping.” I could barely keep my voice steady. “I'm finally seeing what was right in front of me.”

The next morning a judge dismissed the emergency custody order pending review of the forged signature. Sophie went home with Adrian under temporary protective supervision. Vivienne was ordered to stay away from her until a hearing.

I should have returned to my tiny apartment, slept twelve hours, and let the detectives work. Instead, I accepted Adrian's offer to meet at his townhouse. The front doors opened into a room big enough to hold my entire childhood street.

But Sophie's room was small. A single lamp. A bed facing the wall. No pictures of Laurel.

“She said photos made me sick,” Sophie explained.

I sat on the rug. “Do you want one now?”

She nodded.

Adrian brought in a framed picture of Laurel holding newborn Sophie. His hands shook as he set it beside the bed.

That night, Sophie finally slept without leaving the hall light on.

At 2:13 a.m., a message came to my phone from a number I had called every year on Caleb’s birthday.

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It contained only four words.

MARA. DON'T TRUST ADRIAN.