I set the key on the table next to the steel lock.

“It fits the latch,” I said.

Brandon reached out and slid the key into the small keyhole without looking up.

The lock gave a sharp metallic click as the lever turned inside.

He lifted the heavy lid and took out a stack of yellowed state foster agency files.

On top was a certified copy of a 1996 King County birth registry document, stamped with a raised seal.

Raymond reached across the oak table and rested his thin hand on the edge of the paper.