Chapter 5 - The File
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Mrs. Higgins, a stout woman in a floral blouse who had spent thirty years navigating the bureaucracy of the foster system, frowned deeply. She clutched her clipboard to her chest, her professional demeanor instantly turning defensive.
"Mr. Cole, I appreciate your company's generous donation today, but you cannot simply demand a child's private file," Mrs. Higgins said sternly. "These children are wards of the state. Their histories are strictly confidential and protected by federal law. If you are interested in fostering, you must begin the background check protocol—"
"Her mother’s name was Sarah Cole," Nathan interrupted, his voice dropping into a dangerous, lethal register. He placed both hands flat on the folding table, leaning into the director's space. "Her date of birth is August 14th, 1987. Sarah was my biological sister. June is my niece. And she has been trapped in your system for four years."
Mrs. Higgins froze, all the color draining from her face. Her eyes darted from Nathan’s furious, grief-stricken face to the little girl sitting alone in the back row.
"Oh, dear God," Mrs. Higgins whispered.
Without another word of protest, she set her clipboard down and motioned for Nathan to follow her into a small, windowless office behind the gymnasium. She unlocked a filing cabinet, her hands trembling slightly, and pulled out a thick, manila folder bearing June's name.
She handed it to Nathan. "Mr. Cole, you have to understand. The mother had no identification on her when she passed away, other than the name she gave the hospital years prior. There was no emergency contact listed. We ran searches, but without a social security number..."
Nathan didn't hear her excuses. He flipped the folder open.
The paperwork documented a tragedy of bureaucratic indifference. Reports of Sarah’s death from an undiagnosed congenital heart defect. The inventory of their apartment: no food in the fridge, an eviction notice on the door, and a five-year-old child found huddled in a closet two days after her mother died.
Then came the foster placement records.
June had been moved seven times in four years. The caseworker notes were a horrifying testament to the little girl's coupons.
Placement 3: Terminated. Foster parents claim child is too withdrawn and refuses to integrate.
Placement 5: Terminated. Overcrowding in the home. Child exhibits severe anxiety regarding food scarcity.
Placement 6: Terminated. Foster father requested removal, citing child’s night terrors disrupting the household.
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Nathan gripped the edges of the folder so tightly the thick paper crumpled. He was worth eight hundred million dollars. He had private jets, a mansion with fourteen empty rooms, and staff to manage his life. While he was building an empire, his own blood had been crying herself to sleep in crowded homes, making coupons out of construction paper just to beg someone not to throw her away.
He slammed the folder shut.
