Chapter 32 - THE LETTERS LAURA NEVER SENT
Rachel’s investigation moved faster than the police because anger gave her supernatural administrative abilities. Within forty-eight hours she knew exactly which details in the documentary’s promotional packet could only have come from sealed or restricted records. My full statement about striking Corinne. A specific phrase from Dr. Hart’s initial notes. A reference to the coached message hidden in Maisie’s rabbit that had never appeared in open court. “They didn’t get this from public records,” Rachel said. “Could Corinne have given it to them?” “Some of it. Not all. She never had copies of certain sealed child-welfare materials.” “Then who?” Rachel’s jaw tightened. “Someone with access.”
The production company refused to identify its confidential source. Their attorney used words like journalistic privilege and public interest. I used words Rachel asked me not to repeat in writing. Then a junior associate at Rachel’s firm came into her office at six thirty on a Monday morning and confessed before investigators even questioned him. His name was Owen Mercer. Twenty-eight. Smart. Quiet. I had seen him carry boxes during the restitution phase. He had access to archived digital folders while helping migrate old case files. He had copied documents and sold them to a research intermediary for twelve thousand dollars.
Twelve thousand.
I stared at him across Rachel’s conference room.
“My daughter’s trauma was worth twelve thousand dollars?”
Owen started crying.
“I was in debt.”
I stood.
Rachel said my name once.
I stayed where I was.
Owen wiped his face. “I didn’t know they were going to use the child material.”
“You copied it.”
“Yes.”
“You sold it.”
“Yes.”
“You knew it was sealed.”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
I thought of Corinne saying I was owed. Different act. Same mechanism. Need transformed into permission.
Rachel terminated him immediately and referred the breach to law enforcement and the bar authorities. The production company suddenly became more cooperative when they learned their source might have committed crimes obtaining the files. They agreed to remove certain material relating to Maisie.
Not enough.
The trailer had already spread.
At school, Maisie’s punch became gossip. One parent complained that “the Carter situation” created disruption. I read the email twice and almost called them. Maisie stopped me.
“No.”
“What?”
“I handled it.”
“How?”
“I apologized to Tyler.”
“The kid who insulted your mother?”
“Yes.”
“You apologized?”
“For punching him. Not for being mad.”
I stared at her.
She shrugged.
“You said those are different things.”
I felt something in my chest loosen.
“What did he say?”
“He said sorry too.”
“For the documentary?”
“For calling Mom a thief.”
“And?”
“And now we hate each other normally.”
I laughed.
Then she didn’t.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“I want to know what Corinne said in the prison interviews.”
“No.”
The answer came automatically.
Maisie’s face closed.
I caught myself.
“I mean… I don’t like the idea.”
“That’s different.”
“Yes.”
“Can I?”
“Some of it might be hard.”
“I know.”
“We should do it with your therapist.”
She nodded.
Progress.
Rachel eventually obtained a transcript of Corinne’s prison interviews through negotiations with the production company. The raw material was hundreds of pages.
Most was what I expected.
Corinne discussed Laura.
Me.
Northcrest.
Prison.
Then halfway through one interview, the producer asked:
“Do you believe Ethan Carter ever truly loved you?”
Corinne answered:
“Yes.”
“Do you still love him?”
A long pause.
Then:
“No.”
I expected relief.
Instead I kept reading.
The producer asked why.
Corinne said:
“Because I finally understood that the version of Ethan I loved only existed when he didn’t know who I was.”
Then the producer asked:
“And Maisie?”
Corinne’s answer was one sentence.
“I loved the idea of being needed by her more than I loved who she actually was.”
I stopped reading.
That was the most accurate description of Corinne I had ever seen.
Then Rachel turned the page.
“Keep going.”
The next question was about the documentary.
May you like
Corinne’s answer changed everything.
“I never agreed to let you use Maisie.”
