“But we adopted her,” I said, my voice cracking. “The agency in Chicago—”

“The agency was a shell,” Rose interrupted. “Richard set it up through a shell corporation in Delaware. He paid a lawyer to handle the custody transfer directly from me to you.”

“Why?” I whispered. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he wanted his child,” Rose said. “But he didn’t want to lose your family’s money. He didn’t want to lose the standing his marriage gave him.”

I stared at the signature at the bottom of the custody waiver.

It was Richard’s handwriting, bold and familiar.

Beside it was Rose’s signature, shaky and faint.

“He told you she was an orphan,” Rose said. “He told you the biological mother was a teenager who couldn’t keep her.”

“Yes,” I said. “He said we were saving her.”

“He was saving his own reputation,” Rose said. “And he kept me on a leash for twenty years to make sure I never told you.”

She reached out and turned the page, revealing a series of bank statements.

They showed monthly transfers from a private account in Richard’s name to an account in Baltimore.