Chapter 5 - The Lawyer Who Told Me My Daughter Was in Danger
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I arrived at Charlotte Mercer's office early the following morning.
Christmas Day.
The city was quiet, and snow covered the sidewalks.
Most law offices were dark.
But Charlotte had agreed to meet me immediately.
I left Renee at home with Rosa Marquez, my longtime housekeeper, and two trusted staff members.
Rosa had practically helped raise me.
More importantly, she loved Renee without conditions.
Before leaving, I kissed my daughter's forehead.
“I'll be home soon.”
She hugged Button.
“Promise?”
I smiled.
“Promise.”
Charlotte's office occupied the top floor of a stone building near downtown Chicago.
She was in her fifties, with silver-streaked hair and the kind of calm expression that came from spending years dealing with frightened clients.
When I entered, she didn't waste time.
“Mr. DeLuca, I want to explain the situation carefully.”
“Is someone trying to take Renee?”
“A petition has been submitted raising questions about the records used during her placement. That doesn't mean anyone can simply take her from you.”
I sat down.
“Good.”
“But we need to respond promptly and establish what was altered.”
She opened a folder.
Inside were copies of Renee's original case records.
I recognized the dates.
Her foster placement.
Our supervised visits.
The final adoption order.
Then Charlotte placed another document beside them.
It was a hospital transfer record.
“Elena Vega was listed as deceased in the materials that accompanied Renee's placement,” she said.
“I know.”
“But a newly discovered hospital log suggests a woman using that name received treatment after the reported date of death.”
I stared at her.
“That's impossible.”
“Not necessarily.”
“What are you saying?”
“I'm saying we cannot yet confirm that the death information was accurate.”
I leaned back.
If Elena had survived, why had she never contacted her daughter?
Why had the adoption gone forward?
And why had my mother recognized her?
Charlotte continued.
“We also found a discrepancy involving a private child-placement contractor that worked with the agency.”
“What discrepancy?”
“A payment.”
I frowned.
“What kind of payment?”
“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars, made shortly before Renee was placed in foster care.”
My stomach tightened.
“From whom?”
Charlotte hesitated.
Then showed me the record.
The payment originated from the DeLuca Family Relief Trust.
The charitable fund my parents had managed for decades.
I stared at the screen.
“What was it for?”
“The description says emergency family services.”
“Who approved it?”
Charlotte slowly turned the page.
Two signatures appeared at the bottom.
Antonio DeLuca.
Carmen DeLuca.
I felt the room grow cold.
“My parents arranged the payment?”
“According to this record.”
I stood and walked toward the window.
For years, I'd believed my adoption of Renee began with a chance visit to a shelter.
Now I was staring at evidence suggesting my family had been involved before I'd ever met her.
Charlotte spoke again.
“Michael, there's something else you need to know.”
I turned.
“Renee's birth mother worked as a financial records specialist before she disappeared.”
“For whom?”
Charlotte looked directly at me.
“The DeLuca Family Relief Trust.”
I stared at her.
May you like
Then she added:
“And according to correspondence recovered by our office, Elena Vega had been investigating missing money shortly before she vanished.”
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