A pattern of injuries, documented over years at different clinics, on the body of a boy who kept being brought in and explained away.

Aurelio read it twice, and then he set the pages down very carefully, because his hands had begun to shake with something that was no longer grief.

It was rage — the clean, terrible rage of a man who has just understood that while he sat on his pride in his mansion, a child of his own blood had been starved and beaten a few miles away.

Chapter 8 — The Torn Letter