Chapter 5 - St. Agnes
St. Agnes Recovery House had closed seventeen years earlier.
That was what the internet said.
It had once operated in a brick building forty miles north of the city, serving women recovering from difficult pregnancies and families arranging private adoptions.
Mara found the property records.
The building still existed.
It was now owned by a company called Agnes Family Services LLC.
The company had no public website.
No phone number.
No employees listed.
But it was active.
Claire wanted to drive there immediately.
Mara stopped her.
“Not with Lily.”
“I’m not sitting here.”
“You’re also not walking into an unknown private facility with an infant.”
Emma volunteered.
Claire refused to let her go alone.
So Mara went with Emma.
The building looked abandoned from the road.
Old red brick.
White columns.
Curtains over every window.
A small brass plaque beside the door read PRIVATE RESIDENCE.
Emma knocked.
Nothing.
She knocked again.
A woman in her seventies opened the door.
“Yes?”
“My name is Emma Carter.”
The woman’s eyes changed.
Barely.
Emma noticed.
“I’m looking for information about a newborn transferred here eight weeks ago.”
“No newborns are transferred here.”
“Then you won’t mind telling me why this facility appeared on a hospital transfer label.”
The woman looked at Mara.
“Who are you?”
“Counsel.”
The door began to close.
Emma placed her foot against it.
“My sister gave birth to twins.”
The woman went pale.
“Leave.”
“One of them disappeared.”
“I said leave.”
“Her name is Rose Carter.”
“I don’t know that name.”
“Do you know Margaret Carter?”
The woman froze.
That was enough.
Mara touched Emma’s arm.
“We have what we need.”
They stepped away.
The woman slammed the door.
As they walked back to the car, a curtain moved on the second floor.
Emma looked up.
For one impossible second she imagined seeing someone holding a baby.
Then the curtain closed.
They drove away.
Three miles later Mara noticed a black SUV following them.
It remained behind them through four turns.
Mara called the police non-emergency line.
The SUV disappeared.
That night Claire received an email from an anonymous address.
There was no message.
Only one attachment.
A photograph.
Claire opened it.
Her knees weakened.
A newborn girl lay inside a hospital bassinet.
The child wore a pale blanket.
A white bracelet circled her ankle.
On a card beside her was a handwritten note.
BABY B.
2:14 A.M.
Claire enlarged the image.
The baby’s face was tiny and wrinkled.
But the chin.
The nose.
The shape of the eyelids.
She looked like Lily.
Claire pressed one hand to her mouth.
Emma put her arm around her.
Claire whispered, “That’s my daughter.”
A second email arrived.
This time there were words.
Your mother did not act alone.
Julia tried to stop it.
Find Julia before Margaret does.
Emma looked at Claire.
“Julia’s alive.”
Claire nodded.
“Then we find her.”
Mara traced what she could from the emails.
Nothing useful.
The sender used privacy services.
But Julia Sloan had recently renewed a nursing license in another state.
Mara found a forwarding address attached to the filing.
A town two hours away.
The next morning Emma drove there.
Julia did not live at the address.
It belonged to a mailbox rental store.
Emma waited outside.
At 3:17 p.m., a woman wearing a baseball cap entered.
Emma recognized her immediately.
Julia Sloan.
Emma followed.
“Julia.”
The nurse stopped.
Every muscle in her body tightened.
“Don’t.”
“My sister remembers.”
Julia turned slowly.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I’m sorry.”
Emma stepped closer.
“Where is the baby?”
Julia looked toward the parking lot.
“I can’t talk here.”
“Then where?”
Julia wrote an address on the back of a receipt.
“Thirty minutes.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
Julia pushed the receipt into her hand.
“But I’m the reason you have the photograph.”
Then she left through the rear exit.
Thirty minutes later Emma arrived at a small public park.
Julia sat on a bench beneath an oak tree.
No one else was nearby.
Emma sat beside her.
Julia did not look at her.
“Your sister delivered two healthy girls.”
Emma’s eyes burned.
“Healthy?”
“Lily was stable. The second baby had mild breathing trouble, but she responded quickly.”
“So she lived.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
Julia closed her eyes.
“I don’t know where she is now.”
Emma’s stomach dropped.
“What happened?”
“Your mother had medical proxy authority while Claire was unconscious.”
“She signed a transfer.”
“Yes.”
“To St. Agnes.”
Julia nodded.
“But there was no medical reason to transfer the baby.”
Emma stared.
“Then why?”
“Because St. Agnes wasn’t acting as a medical facility.”
Julia finally looked at her.
“It was moving babies into private placements.”
Emma felt sick.
“Adoptions?”
“Some legitimate. Some not.”
“My mother sold my niece?”
May you like
Julia’s face crumpled.
“I think she did.”
