Chapter 4 - Unearthing the Past
The next three weeks were a blur of depositions, grand jury hearings, and media storms.
The story broke wide open on every national news network. The House on Elm Street. The CPS Corruption Ring. The headlines dominated the papers for days. The public outcry was so massive that the governor immediately suspended the entire regional CPS leadership board and appointed an independent special prosecutor to audit every single foster home placement made in the state over the last ten years.
I moved into a small, quiet apartment run by a state witness protection transition program while the legal proceedings moved forward. Sarah Chen came by every afternoon with dinner, making sure I was eating, sleeping, and seeing a therapist.
On a rainy Tuesday afternoon, Detective Martinez called me to the coroner's office.
The basement of the county morgue was quiet, sterile, and cold. Dr. Aris Thorne—a dedicated state forensic pathologist, no relation to the corporate monsters of my past—lay out three small cardboard boxes draped with white velvet cloths on the stainless steel examination table.
"We completed the DNA extraction and dental matching this morning, Maya," Dr. Thorne said gently, stepping back to let Martinez speak.
Martinez stood beside me, his coat damp from the rain outside. "We have positive identifications for all three remains found behind the garage."
He touched the first box. "Leo Sanders. Age seven. Reported missing from the foster system four years ago."
He touched the second box. "Maya Lin. Age six. The little girl you shared a name with. Reported as a runaway in 2024."
He stopped at the third box, his voice catching slightly. "And Gracie Miller. Age four. She was Sarah Chen's very first field placement case five years ago—the one that started Sarah's suspicion that something was rotten in the system."
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I didn't let them fall. I laid my hand gently on top of the velvet cloth covering Gracie's box.
"They aren't statistics anymore," I whispered. "They have their names back."
"Thanks to you," Martinez said. "Their trial date is set for November. The prosecutor is seeking the death penalty for Mr. and Mrs. Ericson, and life without parole for Evelyn Cross and Judge Vance."
"What about Bethany?" I asked, wiping my cheek with the back of my sleeve.
"Bethany’s lawyer negotiated full immunity for her testimony," Martinez said. "She’s been placed with a wonderful, vetted aunt in Oregon. She asked me to give you this."
Martinez reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of lined notebook paper.
I unfolded it carefully. Written in neat, blue ballpoint ink was a short message:
May you like
Maya, Thank you for not letting me become like them. Thank you for saving me from that house. I hid the granola bar because I wanted to be brave like you. Good luck. —Bethany
I folded the note carefully and tucked it into my jacket pocket right next to my heart.
