Downstairs, Chase was completely unaware. He was too busy watching Jader laugh, softly and nervously, as she recounted a story about one of her coding students accidentally triggering a robot to spin in circles.
«It wouldn’t stop,» she said with a grin. «We had to unplug the whole panel.»
Robert chuckled politely, but his mind was spinning. He had seen that necklace before. In a hospital. Wrapped in a blood-soaked blanket.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed from the hall. Catherine returned, calm and cold as porcelain. She took her seat with a tight smile.
«Sorry,» she said. «Just needed to check a message.»
«Everything okay?» Chase asked.
«Of course,» she replied. But then, she turned to Jader and asked flatly, «Have you ever tried to trace your birth parents?»
Jader’s face dropped. She hesitated. «I used to,» she whispered. «But I stopped when someone warned me to let it go.»
There was a silence so thick Chase could feel it pressing against his ribs.
«Someone warned you?» he repeated, leaning in.
Jader nodded. «Yeah. It was about three years ago. I filed a request for non-identifying records. The next week, I got a typed note in the mail. No return address. Just one sentence.»
«What did it say?» Robert asked, his voice low.
Jader glanced between them. «It said, ‘Stop digging. Some graves are sealed for a reason.'»
Catherine’s knuckles turned white around her wine glass.
«And you just stopped?» she asked, trying to sound casual.
«I was fifteen,» Jader replied. «It scared me. I figured maybe my parents were dangerous. Or powerful. So, I let it go.» She looked away, embarrassed. «I just told myself the past didn’t matter.»
Chase reached for her hand under the table. «It matters,» he said.
Robert cleared his throat. «You said the necklace came with you as a baby. Do you still have any of the paperwork from the system?»
Jader blinked. «Only a copy. Why?»
«Would you be willing to let us see it?» he asked, too quickly.
Catherine shot him a sharp look, but Jader just shrugged. «Sure. It’s at my apartment.»
Catherine’s voice cracked the room in half. «I want to see it. Tonight.»
An hour later, Chase pulled up outside Jader’s tiny apartment in a quiet part of Southside Chicago. The contrast couldn’t have been sharper, from penthouse ceilings to creaky floorboards. Catherine and Robert had insisted on coming. Catherine said she wanted clarity. Robert hadn’t said anything at all.
Jader apologized for the mess, even though her place was spotless—books stacked neatly, a small potted plant on the windowsill, and an old laptop charging on a makeshift desk made from stacked crates.
«It’s in here,» she said, retrieving a slim manila folder from a fireproof box under her bed. «It’s not much, just intake notes and a faded medical report.»
She handed it to Catherine, who opened it with trembling fingers. The top page was a hospital report:
Female infant. African-American. Approx. age, five days. Found abandoned near Lincoln Park shelter. Wearing crescent moon necklace. No injuries. No witnesses.
Catherine’s breath caught. Beneath it was a social worker’s note, dated 2007:
Infant appeared healthy. Anonymous caller reported location. Caller’s voice, female, mid-thirties. Possibly educated. Refused to give a name. Said, «She’s safer without me.»
Robert stepped back as if struck. Catherine sat down slowly on the edge of Jader’s couch. She wasn’t blinking. She was whispering, «Oh my God, it was you.»