She pressed a business card into my hand, wrote a number on the back, and disappeared into the crowd.

The handwritten message read: Ask about the archived grant approvals from 2003.

That was the year my mother vanished.

PART 13

Elena would not meet at the foundation.

She chose a public café near the courthouse and arrived carrying a canvas bag that looked too small to contain twenty-three years of secrets.

She was in her early thirties, careful with her words, and plainly worried about getting herself into trouble.

“I can’t give you original records that don’t belong to me,” she said.