Page 28 of His Daughter

"I know what they'll push back with, but I need you to push harder. The father was never consulted. That's their liability, not mine."

"Understood. I'll have a team on the phone with their legal department today."

David called back the next afternoon. I was pacing. Julian was on the couch eating from a bag he'd brought from the Italian place on Fifty-Third. He'd set an identical bag on my desk. I was ignoring it.

"Their attorney's name is Pratt," David said. "She's citing federal privacy regulations and sealed records. She said, and I'm quoting, 'The agency is bound by confidentiality obligations to all parties involved. We cannot release identifying information about birth mothers or prospective adoptive families without a court order.'"

"Then get a court order."

"We can. It'll take weeks. There's a faster path."

I stopped pacing. "Talk."

"Their liability. The birth father — you — was never notified. That's not a privacy issue. That's a procedural failure. If we press on the notification requirement, their own counsel will advise them to cooperate rather than risk a lawsuit that exposes the deficiency publicly. I've drafted a letter. I can send it today."

"Send it now."

"Declan — "

"David. Now."

He sent it. The agency received it by noon. Their counsel called David by three. I sat in my office, watching the clock on my phone, and Julian was watching me from the couch, his container untouched now, and neither of us spoke.

David called at 3:47 p.m.

"They're releasing the file. Pratt advised them this morning that withholding information from a biological father who was never notified constitutes a legal liability they can't sustain. They'd rather cooperate than litigate."

"When?"

"It's being sent to my office now. I'll forward it within the hour."

I hung up, put the phone on the desk, pressed both hands flat against the surface, and breathed. My arms were shaking.

Julian looked at me from the couch. "They're releasing it?"

I nodded. I couldn't speak. He nodded back, picked up the bag from the Italian place, brought it to me, and set it on the desk directly in front of my hands.

"Eat," he said. "You'll need it."

I ate, standing up by the window, without tasting anything. Julian went back to the couch and pretended to read something on his phone.

Nolan came that evening. He stood in my doorway, and I looked up from the inbox I'd been refreshing every thirty seconds, and he asked one question.

"What are you going to do when you find her?"

I stared at him. What was I going to do? Demand custody? Negotiate? Show up at a stranger's door and claim a child I didn't know existed a week ago?

"I don't know," I said.

Nolan nodded. He turned and walked away.

Then Graham walked into my office. He closed the door behind him. "I've exhausted my contacts. I've got nothing on Kira."

I looked at him. Same spot he always stood — two feet from the desk, hands behind his back, spine straight. But his shoulders were tight. A fraction of distance in his eyes I couldn't explain.

"Nothing?"

"She's off the grid. No credit activity, no phone, no address updates. Wherever she went, she went deliberately."