Chương 5
“You’re Ethan.”
He disliked that Rachel had described him before he arrived.
Maria seemed to detect the reaction.
“She told me your name,” she said. “That’s the extent of the biography.”
Rachel gave Ethan a look that said she had warned the woman.
He sat.
Maria did not begin with condolences.
Ethan appreciated that.
She spread copies of the documents across a conference table.
“I need both of you to understand something before we discuss what these might mean. Right now you have anomalies, a witness account from someone who is deceased, an old identification band of uncertain custody and an image of a child you have no legal or ethical right to treat as evidence of parentage.”
Rachel nodded.
Ethan said, “Thank you.”
Rachel looked at him.
“What?”
“You like her because she told me I’m not allowed to believe anything.”
“I like her because she’s precise.”
Maria ignored them.
“The photograph is not useful. Put it away. Do not contact the child. Do not go to her school. Do not contact neighbors, friends, relatives, doctors or anyone else likely to alert her before we know what happened.”
“We weren’t going to,” Ethan said.
Maria looked at Rachel.
Rachel said, “I wasn’t.”
“Good. Also, nobody posts anything.”
Ethan almost laughed.
“We are not social-media people.”
Maria looked at him.
“You’d be surprised how many people become social-media people when frightened.”
Rachel folded the photograph into the envelope.
“What can we do?”
“First, authenticate records.”
“How?”
“Some through requests. Some may require litigation. Some may no longer exist. You’re dealing with events from eleven years ago, systems that migrated, employees who left, and retention policies that differ by record type.”
“The hospital can just say they don’t have them?”
“They can say that if they don’t have them.”
“And if they destroyed them?”
“Destruction is not automatically improper merely because you need something eleven years later.”
Rachel’s jaw tightened.
Maria continued.
“Second, we find Judith Vance.”
“I found an address,” Rachel said.
Maria gave her a tired look.
“Of course you did.”
“I didn’t contact her.”
“Please continue that streak.”
Ethan leaned forward.
“What about DNA?”
Maria placed her cup down.
“That is the part people rush toward because it seems like an answer. It is not the first step.”
“If Emily is our daughter—”
“She is currently a child being raised by a woman who gave birth to someone in that hospital eleven years ago and has every reason to believe Emily is hers.”
Ethan stopped.
Maria’s voice softened slightly.
“A DNA test does not only answer your question.”
Rachel looked toward the window.
“It answers Joanna’s.”
“Yes.”
“And maybe destroys her life.”
“It changes it. I’m not going to decide in advance what destruction means for someone I haven’t met.”
Ethan watched Rachel.
For years he had believed grief had made her reckless.
Now she was the one who seemed to understand the danger before he did.
“What do you recommend?” he asked.
Maria tapped Linda’s letter.
“We find living witnesses. We authenticate what we can. If the evidence becomes credible enough, we approach Joanna Carter through counsel and offer a private, voluntary process.”
“And if she refuses?”
“Then we decide whether there is a legal path to obtain information. That depends on facts we do not yet have.”
Rachel said, “What about St. Vincent?”
“We send preservation notices today.”
That afternoon, Ethan canceled three meetings and told his team he had food poisoning.
It was the first time in six years he had lied to his employees about being sick.
He spent the day in his apartment with the curtains open and the television off.
At four fifteen he made coffee and forgot to drink it.
At five, he took the envelope from his briefcase even though Maria had told Rachel to retain the originals.
He had only copies.
He read Linda Mercer’s letter again.
One line bothered him.
J.V. said the family had already been through enough and correcting the chart would only create another dead child.
He stared at it until the sentence stopped looking like English.
Another dead child.
He called Rachel.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“What?”
“Where are you?”
“Grocery store.”
“What does ‘another dead child’ mean?”
Silence.
“Rachel?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve thought about it.”
“Yes.”
“What do you think?”
A shopping cart rattled somewhere near her phone.
“Maybe they knew there had been a switch.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“And decided not to correct it.”
“Maybe.”
“Because one child was dead either way.”
“Yes.”
“And one was alive.”
“Yes.”
He walked to the window.
Traffic moved twelve floors below.
“Did Linda say which family they thought had the living child?”
“No.”
“Then maybe they genuinely didn’t know.”
“Maybe.”
“You keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Not arguing with me.”
“Would you prefer I start?”
“No.”
“Then enjoy the growth.”
He heard a freezer door close.
“What are you buying?”
“Frozen waffles.”
He almost asked why.
Then he remembered she had always eaten frozen waffles when anxious, toasted until the edges nearly burned.
“You still do that?”
“Apparently.”
“Blueberry?”
“Plain. I’ve matured.”
The sentence hit him with an unexpected tenderness.
He sat on the edge of his couch.
“I’m sorry.”
Rachel did not ask what for.
“That is becoming a very large category,” she said.
“I know.”
Two days later Maria located Judith Vance.
Not through Rachel’s internet searches.
Through a former hospital attorney who reluctantly confirmed that Judith had retired to North Carolina after her husband died.
Maria called.
Judith refused to speak.
Then she hired a lawyer.
That changed the atmosphere of the case.
“It doesn’t prove guilt,” Maria reminded them.
They were back in her office.
“It proves she doesn’t want to talk.”
“Those are not equivalent.”
“What innocent retired hospital administrator gets a lawyer because two grieving parents ask about an eleven-year-old incident report?” Rachel asked.
“A smart one.”
Rachel muttered something.
Maria looked at Ethan.
“You’re quiet.”
May you like
“I was thinking the same thing Rachel was.”
Rachel looked surprised.
