Chapter 15 - The Next Safe Harbor
The surviving photographs did not end the investigation. They gave it somewhere solid to stand.
Investigators compared the truck number with archived insurance schedules. Samuel identified the loading supervisor. Records preserved during the Thorne asset liquidation supplied payment dates that matched his diary.
For once, the truth advanced through patient work rather than a desperate confrontation beside deep water.
Six weeks after we closed the basin, Bellwether's attorneys agreed to preserve their remaining historical records and enter discussions about funding the investigation and cleanup. Our lawyers warned us that an agreement could take months. We kept the wage reserve intact.
On the morning the Sovereign Star departed for her first assignment, I stood on the dock beside Tobias and Dan. Nurses leaned along the rails above us. A young deckhand checked a mooring line twice before signaling that he was ready.
I liked him for checking twice.
The ship moved away slowly, opening a strip of dark water between her hull and the pier. I felt the old pressure beneath my ribs, the memory of a seat belt that would not release.
Then a nurse waved. I lifted my hand and stayed until the vessel passed the bend.
Back at the office, a letter from Penelope waited among the morning correspondence.
I had declined her earlier requests for visits. This envelope contained no plea for money and no explanation of what she had done. It held a child's photograph and four handwritten lines.
His name is Noah. His placement is changing. The caseworker says there may be questions about family medical history. You do not owe me an answer. Please answer her.
I sat with the photograph for a long time.
The boy had one sock slipping off and a determined grip on a yellow toy boat. Whatever the findings about his parentage and the trust, he had inherited none of the responsibility for the adults who had used his existence as part of their scheme.
Tobias read the letter after I handed it to him.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
There had been years when everyone asked what I could endure, what I could pay, what I could keep running. The different question still took practice.
“Speak to the caseworker. Give her accurate information. Find out what he needs.”
“And after that?”
I looked through the window at the place where the hospital ship had disappeared.
“After that, we make the next decision.”
I called the number on the official card enclosed with the letter and left my name. An hour later, the caseworker returned my call.
“Ms. Sullivan,” she said gently, “there is something about Noah's current situation I need to explain.”
May you like
I pulled a clean sheet of paper toward me.
“I'm listening.”
