Chapter 11 - THE CHILD THEY THOUGHT THEY OWNED
Sebastian knew the name Saint Agnes House.
He hated that he knew it.
His sister Caroline had volunteered there.
His father had donated money.
After Caroline died, the donations stopped.
The building was sold.
Records were transferred to a church archive on Belmont Avenue.
We went the next morning.
Not all of us.
Elena and I went with Jasmine.
Sebastian sent security and stayed outside.
He was trying not to take over.
Badly.
The archive smelled like paper and radiator heat.
A retired administrator named Sister Margaret listened to Elena’s story.
Then she removed her glasses.
“I remember Sofia.”
Elena began crying before the woman said anything else.
“Was she here?”
“For eleven months.”
“Why?”
“Temporary private placement.”
“By who?”
Sister Margaret hesitated.
“Lucia Vega-Hale.”
Elena covered her mouth.
“Where did Sofia go?”
The nun stood.
“I need to check.”
Those ten minutes felt longer than the custody hearing.
She returned with a file.
Sofia had been transferred to a foster family under a sealed identity.
Not adopted.
Transferred.
The authorization carried a signature.
Caroline Calder.
Sebastian’s sister.
I looked through the archive window.
Sebastian was standing beside the car.
He could not hear us.
Sister Margaret explained.
Caroline had discovered Lucia intended to move Sofia out of state.
She intervened.
Used emergency legal channels.
Protected the child’s location.
“Why didn’t she tell Elena?”
“She planned to.”
“When?”
Sister Margaret’s eyes filled.
“The week she died.”
Elena collapsed into a chair.
Jasmine asked the question none of us wanted to ask.
“Is Sofia still in Chicago?”
The file had one current reference.
A court-appointed educational advocate.
We could not simply obtain the address.
Sofia was now ten.
Old enough to have a life.
Old enough to be harmed by adults crashing into it.
Elena understood.
She asked for nothing illegal.
Only that the proper authorities contact the child’s guardian.
As we left, Sister Margaret stopped me.
“There’s something else.”
She handed me a photocopy.
A letter from Caroline.
It was addressed to Sebastian.
Never sent.
I gave it to him outside.
He read it silently.
His face changed.
“What?”
He handed it to me.
One line had been underlined.
SEBASTIAN, IF DAD’S RECORDINGS EVER SURFACE, DON’T TRUST THE PERSON WHO TELLS YOU VERONICA IS THE WORST ONE.
I looked at him.
“Who is worse?”
He stared at the letter.
Then at the date.
Caroline had written it three days before her death.
At the bottom was a name.
Not Lucia.
Not Daniel.
MARTIN CALDER.
May you like
Sebastian’s uncle.
