Then he added, "I also think we should investigate Daniel's research. He may have uncovered information that isn't in the records you currently have."
Mason looked up.
"He found my petitions."
"Then he may have found the responses."
"Responses?"
"Yes. If the agency received correspondence from you, there should be some record of it."
Mason sat very still.
For the first time, he understood the scale of the questions.
It was no longer simply a story about two brothers who had been separated.
It was a story about what had happened after they were separated.
Who had made decisions?
Who had received requests?
Who had answered them?
And why had two brothers spent decades believing that the other might not want to be found?
The first answer arrived on a Thursday morning.
Robert called Mason while he was working in the motorcycle shop.
"Can you come in?"
Mason wiped his hands on a rag.
"What did you find?"
"I'd rather show you."
"Is it bad?"
Robert paused.
"It's important."
Mason looked toward Bear, who was adjusting a carburetor.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes."
Bear immediately straightened.
"What happened?"
"Robert found something."
"Good something or bad something?"
"I don't know."
Bear tossed the rag onto the workbench.
"I'm coming."
Mason shook his head.
"You don't need to."
"I know."
Bear grabbed his jacket.
"That's why I'm coming."
They arrived at Robert's office shortly before noon.
Hannah was already there.
She sat beside the desk, holding a folder.
Mason took the chair opposite her.
Robert placed two documents in front of him.
The first was a copy of an old contact request.
The date was almost forty years earlier.
Mason recognized the handwriting.
It was his.
His name appeared at the bottom.
He had written the request when he was eighteen.
He remembered the words because he had spent days deciding how to phrase them.
I am requesting permission to contact my younger brother, Owen Reed. I understand that his placement may be confidential. I am not asking for his address. I only want the agency to tell him that I am alive and that I would like to hear from him if he wishes to respond.
Mason stared at the document.
"I remember this."
Robert nodded.
"Look at the second page."
Mason turned it over.
A handwritten note appeared near the bottom.
Contact not recommended. Older sibling demonstrates emotional instability and fixation on prior placement.
Mason stopped breathing.
Bear leaned forward.
"What the hell does that mean?"
Robert spoke carefully.
"It appears that someone characterized your repeated attempts to contact your brother as evidence of emotional instability."
Mason stared at the words.
"I was eighteen."
"I know."
"I had just spent four years trying to find him."
"I understand."
"I wasn't unstable."
Robert did not interrupt.
Mason's voice grew louder.
"I was trying to find my little brother."
Hannah placed a hand on his arm.
Bear looked as though he wanted to put his fist through the wall.
Robert waited until Mason had finished.
Then he pointed to the second document.
"This is more significant."
It was a communication from the agency to the prospective adoptive family.
The names were partially redacted, but one sentence remained visible.
The minor has expressed recurring memories of an older sibling. These memories may interfere with attachment to the prospective family and should be managed through therapeutic support.
Mason read it twice.
Then a third time.
"They told Owen to forget me?"
Robert shook his head.
"We cannot conclude that from this document alone."
"But they knew he remembered me."
"Yes."
"And they knew I was looking."
"Yes."
Mason pushed the paper away.
"Then why didn't they tell him?"
Robert folded his hands.
"That's what we need to establish."
Hannah looked at the documents.
"Could the adoptive parents have received these?"
"Possibly."
"Could they have been told not to let Daniel contact Mason?"
Robert hesitated.
"We need the complete file before answering that."
Mason stood.
He walked to the window.
Outside, people crossed the street carrying shopping bags. A delivery truck stopped at the corner. A woman pushed a stroller past a coffee shop.
Ordinary life continued.
Mason placed one hand against the glass.
For nearly forty years, he had imagined Owen growing up somewhere, perhaps wondering why his older brother had never returned.
Now he was learning that Owen might have spent years believing Mason had been judged unfit to remain part of his life.
The thought was unbearable.
"Did he know?" Mason asked.
Robert looked at the documents.
"Daniel eventually discovered the records."
"That's not what I mean."
Mason turned.