Chapter 4: What the Papers Actually Said
Gerald Foss called me at seven the next morning.
"I've reviewed the petition," he said.
"Victor Marsh's attorney filed in family court yesterday afternoon.
They're claiming improper notification of the biological father prior to the adoption hearing."
"Was there improper notification?"
A pause.
"The agency sent notice to a last-known address in Phoenix.
Marsh claims he'd moved eighteen months prior and never received it."
"Can he prove that?"
"He has a lease agreement for a new address dated before the notice was sent.
It's not nothing, Daniel."
I sat at the kitchen table.
Carrie was still asleep.
The coffee was hot in my hands.
"What does he actually want, Gerald?"
"The petition asks for the adoption to be vacated and for a custody evaluation to begin."
"He wants custody."
"He wants standing.
Whether he actually wants Carrie or wants something else — that I can't tell you yet."
I set the mug down.
"What do you mean, something else?"
"Natalie had a life insurance policy.
Carrie is the beneficiary.
The payout is held in a custodial account until Carrie turns eighteen, managed by the legal guardian." Gerald's voice was careful.
"If the adoption is vacated and Marsh is granted guardianship, he controls that account."
The kitchen was very quiet.
"How much?" I asked.
"Four hundred and twenty thousand dollars."
I didn't say anything for a moment.
"He didn't come here for Carrie," I said.
"I think that's likely.
But we have to prove it." Gerald cleared his throat.
"I need everything you have on him.
His history with Natalie, any documentation of his absence, any communication or lack of it over the years.
And Daniel — I need to know if Natalie ever said anything to you about why he left."
"She said he walked out when Carrie was four.
She said he didn't fight the informal separation of parental contact.
She said she never heard from him again."
"Did she document that?
Any messages, any legal filings, anything in writing?"
"I don't know.
Her things are in storage.
Paula has the key."
"Get into that storage unit today," Gerald said.
"And Daniel — don't let Carrie near that man.
Not until we know more."
After I hung up, I sat there for a while without moving.
Four hundred and twenty thousand dollars.
Natalie had worked two jobs for the last three years of her life.
She had taken out that policy quietly, without telling anyone, because she was raising a child alone and she understood what alone really meant.
She had done it for Carrie.
I heard footsteps on the stairs.
Carrie appeared in the kitchen doorway in her school sweatshirt, her hair still tangled from sleep.
"Morning," she said.
"You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep.
Sit down, I'll make you eggs."
She dropped into her chair and pulled her knees up.
She watched me at the stove with the easy comfort of someone who had done this a hundred mornings.
"Dad," she said.
She had started calling me that three weeks after the adoption.
Not as a test.
Just because it had become true.
"Yeah?"
"Is everything okay?
You have your thinking face on."
I turned and looked at her.
Ten years old, sharp as a tack, and she had already learned to read the people she loved for signs of trouble.
She had learned that young.
"Everything's fine," I said.
"Eat your eggs."
She watched me for one more second.
Then she picked up her fork.
I turned back to the stove so she wouldn't see my face.
Gerald was right.
I needed Natalie's records.
And I needed them before Victor Marsh's attorney filed anything else.
But there was something else Gerald hadn't said, and I hadn't asked, because I already knew the answer was going to be complicated.
If the adoption was contested and the case dragged on — and my medical status was re-examined — a court might decide a man with a recently uncertain terminal diagnosis was not the most stable guardian regardless of the legal outcome.
May you like
Victor Marsh didn't just have the insurance money as leverage.
He had my medical file.
