Chương 13
The first in-person meeting between the twins took place in a family-services office with beige walls and a basket of toys intended for younger children.
Ethan arrived early and spent ten minutes trying to fix a loose leg on a waiting-room table. He stopped when Serena told him the building had maintenance staff.
Hannah entered wearing her cream corduroy jacket.
It had a tear near one pocket. Seeing the same jacket from her missing-person photograph made Ethan feel as though the image had stepped out of every flyer in town.
They stood three feet apart.
Hannah looked him over. “Your hair’s worse.”
“You cut yours with kitchen scissors.”
“Naomi had sewing scissors.”
“That explains nothing.”
She smiled briefly.
Ethan did not hug her until she stepped forward first.
The hug was not the reunion he had imagined. Hannah’s body stiffened after two seconds, and he released her immediately. She sat on the couch and placed her hands between her knees.
“You smell like Mr. Hale’s garage,” she said.
“That’s probably permanent.”
“He still has the ceramic ducks?”
“Seven of them.”
“There were six.”
“He found one at an estate sale.”
Hannah shook her head with genuine disapproval. “He needs an intervention.”
They spoke about school, Maya, the broken kitchen outlet, and the fact that their chemistry teacher still pronounced aluminum as though he were British. Ordinary subjects arrived cautiously, like animals checking whether a room was safe.
Eventually Hannah asked, “Have you seen Mom?”
“Twice.”
“How is she?”
Ethan considered the question. “She’s working fewer hours. The hospital put her on leave after the charges. Aunt Rebecca is paying part of the rent.”
“Rebecca should pay all of it.”
“She might have to sell the SUV.”
“That’s almost justice.”
Ethan looked at her.
Hannah rubbed her thumb over the torn pocket. “I’m allowed to be petty.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know if I want to see Mom.”
“You don’t have to decide now.”
“She keeps writing letters.”
“She writes me too.”
“Do you read them?”
“Sometimes.”
“What does she say?”
“That she’s sorry. That sorry isn’t enough. Then a lot of details about court and therapy.”
“Therapy words?”
“Some.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “She’ll become emotionally fluent just in time to annoy everyone.”
Ethan laughed, and Hannah did too. The sound startled them both.
After the meeting, Serena allowed them to walk outside together. They stopped near a row of young trees supported by wooden stakes. Cars passed on the road beyond the parking lot.
“The police found some of the photographs,” Hannah said.
“From your account?”
“Only thumbnails.”
“They found the one you sent me.”
“The dog conversation?”
“Yes.”
“That was a terrible dog.”
“It was wearing sunglasses.”
“It was a lab in sunglasses. The internet has millions.”
Ethan pushed his hands into his jacket pockets. “Why didn’t you save the files somewhere else?”
“I did.”
He turned.
Hannah watched traffic. “Not because I’m a criminal genius. The church computer froze when I tried uploading them, so I sent a few to myself from the copier. The copier emailed them through a vendor account.”
“Do police know?”
“I told Ruiz yesterday.”
“Can they get them?”
“They’re trying.”
The copier company retained archived scans for ninety days under the church’s service plan. A warrant produced seventeen images Hannah had copied the night before she disappeared: checks, altered invoices, spreadsheets, and the second page of the transportation form Claire signed.
The page listed New Promise Outreach as the destination.
Daniel’s initials appeared beside a handwritten correction changing Mercy House to New Promise.
Claire had signed only the first page.
The evidence did not erase her responsibility. It proved Daniel had deceived her about the destination.
It also proved Claire’s first honest account.
Daniel’s attorney proposed a plea agreement months later. Caleb Voss had already agreed to testify. The church’s insurer had frozen accounts, and former New Promise residents filed a civil suit. Additional families came forward about Bridge Fund assistance that existed in newsletters but not in their lives.
The prosecutor met separately with Hannah, Ethan, and Claire before accepting the agreement.
Daniel would plead guilty to multiple offenses, surrender financial assets, and serve a prison sentence whose length depended on the judge. He would also provide records identifying everyone placed at New Promise and funds diverted through the ministry.
Hannah opposed the deal at first.
“He gets to explain himself,” she told Ethan after the meeting. “He’ll say he was saving kids.”
“He’ll say that at trial too.”
“At trial, people hear everything.”
“At trial, his lawyer calls Mom a liar and you a thief.”
“I did steal records.”
“You copied evidence of fraud.”
“Try saying that while twelve strangers decide whether I was an unstable runaway.”
Ethan sat beside her on a bench outside the courthouse. Winter had turned the grass hard and colorless. Claire waited inside with her attorney. She had not asked to join them.
“What do you want me to say?” Ethan asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I can tell you to reject it.”
“That would make it easier to blame you.”
“I can tell you to accept it.”
“Same problem.”
They watched a man struggle to fold a stroller beside a parked car. After several attempts, he kicked one wheel and immediately looked embarrassed in front of the toddler.
Hannah said, “I hate that everybody gets to become complicated now.”
“Who?”
“Mom. Rebecca. Naomi. Even Caleb says he thought the farm was helping people at first. Daniel probably believes half his own lies.”
“You want them to be simple.”
“I want one clean person to hate.”
Ethan looked at the courthouse doors. “I tried that.”
“How’d it go?”
“I posted evidence online and almost damaged the case.”
“Very heroic.”
“I also trespassed at church.”
“That part’s better.”
She pulled her sleeves over her hands. “What do you think I should do?”
May you like
Ethan could have answered quickly. The old version of him would have. He would have chosen a position, explained its logic, and called certainty support.
“I think you should ask what lets you live with the outcome,” he said. “Not what makes the story sound finished.”
