Chapter 7: The Man Who Thought He Was Untouchable
I spent Sunday on the phone.
The first call was to a woman named Patricia Hale, a family law attorney who had helped a colleague of Daniel's through a custody dispute two years earlier.
I'd kept her number.
I explained the situation in broad terms — a potential wrongful death, a witness with a written record, a subject about to leave the state.
She was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, "Send me what you have.
I'll tell you if there's enough to move on."
The second call was harder.
I called the foster mother — Donna — the one who had first warned me about Jace's research.
I told her what we'd learned.
She was silent for a long time.
"I always thought something wasn't right," she said finally.
"The way those kids came in.
Jace was already — he was already in survival mode when I got him.
Most kids take a few weeks to get there.
He arrived that way."
"Did you ever hear the name Gerald Foss?"
Another pause.
"No.
But I heard the mother's name.
Renata.
She was — from what the file said, she was trying to get her life together.
She had a job.
She had an apartment.
And then she was gone."
"Donna, if there's a formal investigation, would you be willing to speak to what you observed about the children's condition when they came into care?"
"Absolutely," she said.
Without hesitation.
By Monday, Patricia had reviewed Roy's document and called me back.
"It's not nothing," she said.
"The record is contemporaneous — he wrote it down at the time, not years later.
That matters.
The question is whether the physical evidence still exists.
Medical records, toxicology if it was done, any financial connection between Foss and the mother." She paused.
"I have a contact at the county DA's office.
I'd like to make a call."
"Make it," I said.
I didn't tell Jace all of this immediately.
I told him we were looking into it, that adults were helping, that he didn't have to carry this part alone.
He looked at me for a long moment when I said that last part.
"I've been carrying it alone since I was thirteen," he said.
"I know," I said.
"That's why I'm telling you — you don't have to anymore."
He nodded slowly.
He didn't look entirely convinced.
But he nodded.
Thursday, Patricia called again.
"The DA's contact pulled the original death record.
There was a toxicology report.
It was filed and then — this is the interesting part — it was marked incomplete and archived without follow-up.
Someone signed off on closing it." She paused.
"The signature belongs to a city health official who, as of eight years ago, was on the board of one of Foss's development companies."
The line hummed between us.
"Patricia," I said.
"How fast can this move?"
"Fast," she said.
"If Foss is leaving the state, I can push for an emergency hold on the property sale pending investigation.
That keeps him local.
And once he's local and he knows someone is looking—" She let that sit for a moment.
"Men like Foss make mistakes when they feel cornered."
"Then let's corner him," I said.
What I didn't know — what none of us knew — was that Foss had already found out someone was asking questions.
May you like
And his first move was not to run.
His first move was to go after Jace.
