When the chair was finished, Caleb sat on it.
"It works."
Mason smiled.
"That's what matters."
The investigation eventually reached the oversight committee.
Robert prepared a formal submission.
It included copies of the original contact requests, the agency's response, the placement notes, Thomas Carter's correspondence, Margaret Ellis's statement, and the documents Daniel had collected.
Mason attended the hearing.
He wore a clean black shirt and his leather vest.
Bear came with him.
Hannah also attended, although she chose to sit with Robert rather than beside Mason.
The room was small.
Several committee members sat behind a long table.
A clerk arranged documents.
A reporter sat near the back.
Mason looked at the empty chairs and thought about the children who had once waited in rooms like this.
He thought about Owen.
He thought about himself at eighteen.
He thought about the clerk who had told him there was nothing anyone could do.
When the hearing began, Robert presented the evidence.
He explained the timeline.
He described the requests.
He identified the inconsistencies.
He did not accuse every former employee of deliberate wrongdoing.
He focused on what the records showed.
Then Mason was invited to speak.
He stood.
For a moment, he looked at the committee.
He had never been comfortable speaking in formal rooms.
He was a mechanic.
He understood engines, tools, broken frames, and damaged metal.
He did not understand the language of policy.
But he understood what it meant to lose someone.
"My name is Mason Reed," he began.
"I was fourteen years old when my younger brother and I were separated."
He paused.
"My mother had died. We had no other close family members who could take us both. I was placed in foster care. My brother was placed somewhere else."
He looked at the committee.
"At the time, I was told that the separation was temporary."
He continued.
"I was told that we would see each other again."
His voice tightened.
"That didn't happen."
He explained how he had searched.
He described the request he made at eighteen.
He explained that he had asked only for a message to be passed to Owen.
He had not demanded an address.
He had not demanded custody.
He had simply wanted his brother to know he was alive.
Then he held up the document.
"Instead, my request was described as persistent interest and emotional instability."
One committee member lowered her eyes.
Mason continued.
"My brother was told to focus on his new family. I was told the records were sealed. Neither of us was given a meaningful opportunity to decide whether we wanted contact."
He took a breath.
"Years later, my brother discovered the truth. He spent years trying to contact me. He wrote letters. He hired an investigator. He kept a photograph of us in his wallet."
Mason looked down.
"He died before we could meet."
The room became silent.
Mason placed Daniel's letter on the table.
"This is his final letter to me."
He did not read the entire thing.
He read only one paragraph.
We were children. We deserved better.
When he finished, he looked up.
"I'm not here because I think every person involved intended to hurt us."
He paused.
"I'm here because good intentions don't erase consequences."
A committee member leaned forward.
Mason continued.
"Somebody decided that my brother's memories of me were an obstacle to his adjustment. Somebody decided that my requests were a problem rather than an expression of love. Somebody decided that silence was safer than honesty."
He looked toward the audience.
"Maybe they believed they were protecting him."
He returned his gaze to the committee.
"But protection should not require a child to forget someone he loves."
His voice became stronger.
"I cannot change what happened to us. I cannot give my brother back the years he lost. I cannot sit with him at a kitchen table and hear him tell me about his children."
He looked at Hannah.
"But I can make sure his children know the truth."
Then he looked back at the committee.
"And I can ask you to make sure another child does not have to spend forty years wondering whether their brother forgot them."
He stepped away from the microphone.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then one committee member thanked him.
Mason returned to his seat.
Bear leaned toward him.
"Well done."
Mason nodded.
He did not feel victorious.
He felt tired.
But he also felt that he had finally spoken for the boy who had once stood outside a county office holding a photograph.
The committee's review took several months.