Chapter 8 - A Name on the Envelope
The supervisor was named Arthur Beale. He'd worked nights at the building, fixing broken locks and repairing stairwell lights. After the fire, the company fired him for 'poor performance.' He moved to West Virginia and kept Lena's envelope in a toolbox for six years because opening it felt like breaking a promise.
Nolan arranged for federal investigators to meet him. I wasn't in that meeting. For once, that didn't bother me. I'd learned the difference between being told the truth and being asked to carry it.
While we waited, Mom made macaroni and cheese in the safe apartment's tiny kitchen. She burned the bottom of the pot. We ate it anyway. I told her my best friend, Harper, would probably think I'd run away with a circus. Mom said we'd work out a safe way for me to write to her. The word 'safe' had become part of every sentence.
At three o'clock, Nolan called. Arthur's envelope contained a carbon copy of an approval sheet and a photograph of the chained door. The copy was faded but readable. A handwritten authorization had been initialed V.H.
"Victor Harlan," Mom said when she saw the scan. "Chairman of Alder House. He stood at the memorial service and cried into a microphone."
"He's already named in the financial investigation," Nolan said. "This puts him closer to the decision than the paperwork we had."
He also told us that Arthur had agreed to testify. Mom sat back and put both hands over her face.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Lena didn't die without anyone remembering what she tried to do. That's all."
Then Nolan's phone rang again. He listened for less than thirty seconds before standing.
"A defense attorney contacted the courthouse," he said. "Ryan wants an emergency custody hearing. He claims Sarah abducted Emily and invented the violence to hide from her past."
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Mom looked at me, horror dawning.
"He's going to make her tell a judge what happened in that kitchen," she said.
