Chapter 7 - THE MAN WHO STOLE TWENTY-FIVE YEARS
Lawrence Vale had taken twenty-five years from me.
And now investigators were examining whether he'd also played a role in Elena Malenkov's death.
Victor stared at the document.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
Then he looked toward Detective Morgan.
“Where is Vale?”
She answered carefully.
“We're working to locate him.”
Victor's expression hardened.
I recognized the look.
The one people feared.
The one that made dangerous men lower their voices.
But before he could speak, I leaned forward.
“Victor.”
He turned.
I took a breath.
“Don't.”
His jaw tightened.
“Grace—”
“If you care about finding the truth, let the police do their job.”
For a moment, the room went silent.
Nobody challenged Victor Malenkov.
At least, that was what everyone said.
But I wasn't interested in his reputation.
I wanted answers.
Not revenge.
Victor slowly exhaled.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
The admission surprised everyone.
Including him.
Over the following days, investigators traced Vale's business records.
They found connections to falsified adoption paperwork, suspicious transfers, and the old clinic's financial operations.
Several former employees agreed to provide statements.
One nurse remembered Elena arriving at the clinic years after her daughter's supposed death.
She'd been carrying a photograph.
And demanding to see the original records.
Another remembered Vale becoming furious when Elena refused to leave.
The details were troubling.
But the investigation would need to establish exactly what happened.
Then a new discovery emerged.
Elena had rented a storage locker shortly before she died.
Its contents had never been collected.
The facility had been acquired by another company.
But archived records showed the locker had been sealed after the original investigation.
Detective Morgan arranged for a lawful search.
Inside were several boxes.
Old letters.
Photographs.
Medical paperwork.
And a small blue dress.
My breath caught.
The dress was tiny.
Handmade.
With delicate white stitching around the collar.
On its label was embroidered one word.
GRACE.
Tears filled my eyes.
Elena had known my name.
She'd chosen it.
Then the investigator found a notebook.
Its pages were filled with dates and questions.
Where was the baby transferred?
Who signed the death certificate?
Why did the attending physician leave the country?
Why did Lawrence Vale keep refusing to provide records?
Elena had spent years searching.
For me.
Her daughter.
The final entry was dated the morning of her death.
I believe Grace is alive.
My heart stopped.
The next sentence made Victor cover his face.
Tonight, I will finally meet the woman who has been raising her.
I stared.
Margaret Bennett.
Elena had been planning to meet my mother.
Then I found the final line.
If anything happens, tell Victor I never stopped loving him.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Detective Morgan turned another page.
A photograph slipped out.
It showed Elena standing outside St. Augustine's.
Beside her was a woman I recognized immediately.
Margaret Bennett.
May you like
My mother.
And according to the date, the photograph had been taken two days before Elena died.
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