Chapter 8: When He Came After the Boy
The call came to the house phone on a Friday evening.
Daniel answered.
I watched his face change — the way it went from neutral to careful to something harder — and I set down the dish I was drying and waited.
He hung up.
Turned to me.
"That was someone who said he was calling on behalf of Gerald Foss," Daniel said.
"He said we should think carefully about the claims being made by — and I'm quoting — 'a troubled teenager with a history of behavioral problems in foster care.' He said Foss is prepared to provide documentation of Jace's record to anyone who asks, including the adoption agency."
My hands went cold.
"He's threatening to have the adoption reviewed," Daniel said.
I didn't say anything for a moment.
I was thinking about Jace upstairs doing homework.
About Josie asleep down the hall with Benny the rabbit tucked under her arm.
"Call Patricia," I said.
"Already picking up my phone."
I went upstairs.
Knocked on Jace's door.
He looked up from his desk.
Read my face immediately — this boy who had spent years learning to read the faces of adults for signs of what was coming.
"What happened?" he said.
I sat on the edge of his bed.
"Someone connected to Gerald Foss called our house tonight.
He made a threat about your history in foster care.
About using it to challenge the adoption."
Jace went very still.
"Jace, I need you to know something before anything else." I waited until he was looking directly at me.
"Whatever is in any file, whatever anyone says about who you were in those years — it does not change a single thing about who you are in this house.
Do you understand me?"
He didn't answer right away.
"People said things about me," he said carefully.
"In some of those homes.
When I pushed back.
When I tried to keep Josie safe and they didn't like how I did it." His voice was controlled, but I could hear the edge underneath.
"It's in the file."
"I don't care what's in the file."
"You might, if—"
"Jace." I said it firmly.
"I don't care."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then something in his shoulders dropped — not defeat, but the releasing of a weight he'd been holding up.
"He's scared," Jace said quietly.
"If he's doing this, he's scared."
"Patricia said the same thing."
"Good." His jaw set.
"Then we don't stop."
Patricia moved fast.
By the following morning, she had filed a formal complaint documenting the phone call as witness intimidation.
By afternoon, the DA's contact had used it to accelerate the timeline.
The property sale was flagged.
Foss's attorney called Patricia directly.
I was in the room when she took the call on speaker.
"My client has no knowledge of any investigation," the attorney said smoothly.
"He's simply concerned about false allegations being made by—"
"By whom?" Patricia said.
A pause.
"By parties with an interest in complicating his business affairs."
"Your client called a private residence and threatened a minor's adoption status," Patricia said.
"That call was logged, timed, and witnessed.
I'd suggest your client's concern shift from false allegations to his own exposure." She paused.
"Tell Mr.
Foss that the toxicology archive has been reopened.
Tell him the name on the sign-off has been identified.
And tell him that a contemporaneous witness record has been submitted to the DA's office." Another pause.
"Then ask him how he'd like to proceed."
The line was quiet for a long moment.
"I'll relay the message," the attorney said.
And hung up.
Patricia set the phone down.
Looked at me.
"He'll try one more thing before he folds," she said.
"They always do."
May you like
She was right.
But the thing he tried next was something none of us had expected.
