Chapter 11
The morning papers were still lying unread on the porch when Julian drove down to the county courthouse, the silver locket wrapped securely in a velvet cloth inside his briefcase. He bypassed his own office on the third floor and headed straight down to the records department in the basement, where he found Detective Marcus Vance—Arthur’s nephew—sitting behind a cluttered desk stacked high with old case files and empty paper coffee cups.
Marcus looked up as Julian approached, raising a single eyebrow. "Counselor. You look like a man who hasn't slept in a week. What brings you down to the catacombs?"
Julian pulled a chair up to the desk and sat down without waiting for an invitation. He opened his briefcase, retrieved the locket, and placed it gently on the center of Marcus’s desk. "I need a favor, Marcus. Off the books, at least for now."
Marcus leaned forward, peering down at the tarnished silver pendant. He didn't touch it immediately, recognizing the serious demeanor in Julian’s eyes. "What am I looking at?"
"A piece of a puzzle I’ve been trying to solve for the past seventy-two hours," Julian said quietly. "Ten years ago, a baby was left at the St. Jude Community Outreach Clinic. That baby is my daughter. My wife took her in, believing she was saving her from a bad situation. But the clinic records from that month were destroyed, and this locket is the only physical clue we have left regarding her biological mother."
Marcus let out a slow whistle, leaning back in his squeaking chair and crossing his arms. "An illegal adoption case involving a minor. Julian, you know as well as I do that touching this could open up a Pandora's box of federal statutes, kidnapping charges, and custody battles that could tear your family apart."
"I know the risks," Julian said firmly. "But if I don't find out the truth on my own terms, someone else will eventually. The state is auditing those old municipal health funds, and digital genealogy databases are matching unknown DNA profiles every single day. I want to find her mother before the system finds us."
Marcus sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair before reaching out and picking up the locket with the tip of a pen. He popped open the casing, staring at the miniature photograph inside for a long, silent moment. As he studied the elderly woman’s face, a flicker of recognition crossed his features.
"Wait a minute," Marcus muttered, leaning closer to the light. "I know this face."
Julian’s heart skipped a beat. "You know her?"
"Not personally," Marcus said, pulling a keyboard toward him and clicking open a secure municipal database. "About six months ago, I worked on a missing persons cold case involving an estate dispute up in the northern county. An eccentric philanthropist named Eleanor Vance—no relation to me, thankfully—passed away and left a disputed multi-million-dollar trust with no clear heirs. The primary beneficiary was her estranged granddaughter, who vanished without a trace right around the time she would have turned twenty."
Julian stared at the detective, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly slamming together with terrifying speed. "What was the granddaughter's name?"
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"Sarah," Marcus said, hitting enter on his keyboard and bringing up a scanned police file from a decade ago. "Sarah Vance. And according to the missing persons report filed by her uncle, she was pregnant when she disappeared."
***
