LOGINBy late afternoon, the name Jonathan Vale had become the centre of everything on Adrian's desk. Daniel had spread copies of the transfer record beside old company correspondence, while I sat near the window, trying to understand why a man who had supposedly been helping us protect four children had left behind so many unanswered questions. The witness signature was genuine, according to the preliminary examination. The red notation was a different matter. Its author remained unidentified, and the initials R.B. could not be reliably connected to Richard Blackwood. We had made progress, but not enough to accuse anyone without risking another mistake. Daniel closed one of the folders. “There's something bothering me about the transfer.” “Only one thing?” I asked. He gave me a tired smile. “The document says the guardian requested restricted follow-up. That means the request should have been recorded somewhere. Even if the guardian's name was kept confidential, there should be a corr
By the time we arrived at Blackwood International the following morning, I had rehearsed at least a dozen ways the meeting could go wrong. Richard might have removed the envelope. The witness signature might be unreadable. The document might reveal nothing useful at all. After everything we had uncovered, I was beginning to understand that the truth rarely arrived in the form I expected.Adrian noticed my silence as we crossed the lobby.“You've been staring at the same spot on the floor for three minutes,” he said.“I'm preparing myself.”“For what?”“For the possibility that your uncle has destroyed the only document that could tell us what happened to Anna.”Adrian stopped beside the elevator and turned toward me. “If he has, we'll investigate why. If he hasn't, we'll examine the evidence. Either way, we don't walk in there assuming we already know what he did.”“You make it sound simple.”“It isn't.” His expression softened. “But I learned something from you. I don't have to solve
I barely slept that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the four transfer numbers on Daniel's laptop. Three children had documented arrivals, while the fourth had been received under an alternate identity. Someone had deliberately erased a name and voided the original transfer, but they had left enough evidence behind to suggest that the missing child had not simply disappeared. Anna might still be alive. The thought frightened me because hope could be cruel when it rested on incomplete evidence. I had spent weeks discovering that the people I trusted knew pieces of my history I had never been allowed to see. I could not bear the possibility of finding Anna only to learn that someone had used her name to lure us into another trap. Beside me, Adrian shifted beneath the covers. “You're awake,” he murmured. “So are you.” “I was trying to convince myself you were asleep.” I turned toward him. The faint light coming through the curtains outlined his face, softening the stern
The message from the unknown number followed me all the way back to the Blackwood estate. I kept reading it, hoping the words would change into something less troubling. They didn't. Ask Thomas what happened to the children after they were separated. Ask him why one child was never recorded as arriving anywhere. Whoever had sent it knew about the protection agreement, the missing fourth child, and the secret transfer records. More importantly, they knew enough to understand that Anna's disappearance was only one part of what had happened twelve years ago. Adrian sat beside me in the back seat, watching the road pass outside the window. He had been unusually quiet since we left Hawthorn House. I knew that silence. It was the same one he wore whenever a memory slipped close enough for him to feel it but remained too distant for him to grasp. “Are you thinking about the man who wore the ring?” I asked. “Partly.” He turned toward me. “I'm thinking about the children. We were separate
The photograph remained on the table long after Daniel stopped examining it. The little girl in the picture stood between Adrian and me, her silver charm resting against a pale dress. She looked about our age, perhaps a year younger, and there was something unsettling about the way she faced the camera. The other children were smiling, but Anna’s expression was serious, as if she had already learned that adults could make promises they never intended to keep. “Anna remembered you before you forgot,” I repeated, reading the message on my phone. “What is that supposed to mean? I was a child. I barely remember anything from that period.” “Maybe she remembers the day you met,” Adrian said. He stood beside me, his hands resting on the back of my chair. “Or perhaps the person who sent this wants us to believe she remembers you. We have to separate what we know from what someone wants us to think.” I turned to look at him. There had been a time when I would have accepted his confidence a
I barely slept that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the photograph of four children standing outside Vale House. I saw the little girl hiding behind the adult's coat, her silver charm resting against her wrist, and I imagined her waiting for someone who had promised to return. Anna Vale. Her name had appeared in an incomplete foundation record, followed by three words that refused to leave my mind: Transfer not confirmed. For twelve years, I had believed my childhood was a collection of ordinary memories interrupted by a tragedy I couldn't fully explain. Now I understood that someone had made decisions about my life before I was old enough to question them. I had been moved from one place to another, separated from people who knew my history, and given explanations that fell apart whenever I looked too closely. And somewhere in the middle of it all, a little girl had disappeared. When I entered the study the following morning, Adrian was already there, speaking with D







