Chapter 4: The Agency
The woman at the foster care agency was named Carol Marsh.
She had a small office with a window that faced the parking lot and a desk stacked with manila folders.
She shook my hand, gestured to the chair across from her, and waited while I set both notebooks on her desk.
She looked at them.
Then she looked at me.
"How long have you known about this?"
"Since last night."
She opened the first notebook — Mia's — and read the first page without speaking.
Then she opened the second one.
Her expression didn't change much, but she turned the pages more slowly.
"Mia is your foster daughter?"
"Going on fourteen months."
"And she never told you about the payments."
"She was afraid I'd send her back."
Carol set the second notebook down.
"Mr.
Hale.
I need to ask you something directly, and I need you to answer me the same way."
"Go ahead."
"Did you know any money was changing hands?"
"No.
I work double shifts at the plant.
I deposited money into the household account every month for bills and groceries.
I thought it was being used for that."
"Vanessa manages the household finances?"
"She did.
I trusted her."
Carol folded her hands on the desk.
"The names in this second notebook — Tyler, Sophie, Dani — those are all children who were placed in your home?"
"Apparently.
Before Mia.
I knew we'd had other placements that didn't work out.
Vanessa handled the agency contact.
I wasn't involved in the day-to-day."
"You weren't involved," Carol repeated.
Not as an accusation.
More like she was placing the words somewhere she could look at them.
"I know how that sounds."
"It sounds like a man who was working and trusting the wrong person." She picked up her phone.
"I'm going to need to make some calls.
I'd like you to stay, if you're able."
I stayed.
For the next forty minutes I sat in that chair and listened to Carol make three phone calls.
She spoke carefully, in the measured language of someone who had learned to say serious things without her voice going up or down.
She used words like *pattern of conduct* and *financial exploitation* and *mandatory review.*
After the third call she set her phone down and looked at me.
"Tyler's current placement worker is pulling his file today.
Sophie aged out of the system eight months ago, but her last case notes are being flagged.
Dani—" She paused.
"Dani is still in placement.
Different home now.
She'll be contacted."
"What happens to Vanessa?"
"That depends on what the review finds.
But I want to be honest with you — what you've brought me this morning is significant.
Three prior placements, documented payments, a pattern going back at least two years based on these dates." She tapped the second notebook.
"This isn't a misunderstanding."
"She told Mia she'd report her as a problem placement if she said anything."
Carol's expression shifted.
Just slightly.
"She said that directly to Mia?"
"Mia told me last night.
Yes."
Carol wrote something down.
"I'll need a written statement from Mia.
And from you.
Can you bring her in this afternoon?"
"I'll bring her whenever you need her."
"Mr.
Hale." Carol looked up from her notepad.
"I want you to understand something.
The fact that you came in this morning, the fact that you brought both notebooks, the fact that you're asking these questions — that matters.
Children in these situations often go unheard for a long time.
Mia was lucky."
I thought about Mia standing in the kitchen the night before.
Hands shaking.
Voice steady.
Ten months of silence.
"She shouldn't have had to be lucky," I said.
Carol nodded once.
"No.
She shouldn't have."
I stood to leave.
At the door I stopped.
"The other kids — Tyler, Sophie, Dani.
Will anyone tell them what's happening?"
"Their workers will be in contact."
"I mean will anyone tell them that someone found out.
That someone did something about it."
Carol looked at me for a moment.
"I'll make sure of it."
I walked back to my truck in the parking lot and sat there for a minute before I started the engine.
Then I called Mia.
She picked up on the second ring.
"How did it go?" she asked.
"They're taking it seriously.
I need you to come in this afternoon and give a statement.
Are you okay to do that?"
A pause.
"Will Vanessa know?"
"She'll find out eventually.
But you'll be with me the whole time."
Another pause, longer.
"Okay," she said.
"Yeah.
Okay."
I started the truck.
"Mia.
You did the right thing telling me."
She didn't say anything for a moment.
"I was scared you'd be mad at me," she said finally.
"For not telling you sooner."
"I'm not mad at you.
Not even close."
The line was quiet.
Then: "Dad?"
It was the first time she'd called me that without it being an accident.
I kept my eyes on the parking lot exit and didn't say anything for a second.
"Yeah," I said.
"I'm here."
I pulled out of the lot and drove home to get her.
May you like
But when I turned onto our street, Vanessa's car was still in the driveway.
And there was another car parked behind it that I didn't recognize.
