Chapter 3 - Second Drawer
By dawn, Maya was stable enough for me to leave her room for fifteen minutes, and a friend I trusted met me at the apartment building.
His name was Ben Ortiz, and we had served together in the Army before he became an investigator for a private compliance firm.
I asked him only to witness what I found.
"No hero routine," he said when I explained the situation.
"Photograph first.
Touch second."
The apartment smelled of cold air, spoiled formula, and the sour residue of dishes left unwashed.
Ben filmed the walk from the entryway to the bedroom while I called out the time.
Maya's dresser stood beside the window, its second drawer shut tight.
Inside were folded socks, a small cloth bag, and a manila envelope taped beneath the drawer bottom.
I photographed the arrangement from three angles before moving anything.
The envelope contained a typed incident summary, a pharmacy receipt, and a photocopy of my driver's license.
The summary claimed Maya had experienced repeated episodes of confusion, refused nourishment, and endangered her infant through neglect.
It named my mother as the primary witness.
It was dated the day before Eleanor left for Miami.
At the bottom appeared a line for my acknowledgment as spouse.
A black signature sat there already.
It looked like mine.
"Did you sign that?" Ben asked.
"No."
I remembered signing the kitchen-table forms, but I had never seen this document, and I knew that specific signature had not come from my hand.
The pharmacy receipt listed a strong over-the-counter nighttime medication and a bottle of honey.
Neither was automatically suspicious.
Placed beside a report about confusion and a woman too weak to stand, they deserved attention.
Ben photographed the receipt while I checked the dresser without opening any unrelated private items.
Beneath the socks lay a sealed plastic pouch containing two tiny audio recorders.
One recorder carried a strip of pink tape.
The other carried blue.
Neither was turned on.
"We should stop here," Ben said.
He was right.
We sealed the objects separately and wrote down exactly where they had been found.
I wanted to throw the forged report against the wall.
Instead, I called Ellen and described it.
She instructed me to bring copies for the hospital record and to contact law enforcement if I suspected forged documents or tampering.
Before I could reply, my sister called.
I put her on speaker, and Ben heard every word.
"Happy New Year, big brother," Chloe said.
"You're home early."
"How did you know?"
Her silence lasted just long enough.
"Mom saw the account cards shut down."
"Tell me why the refrigerator was empty."
"You don't know what Maya has been doing."
"Then tell me."
"She's not well, David.
Mom has records."
I looked at the envelope on the dresser.
"What records?"
"The ones you authorized."
"Send them."
Chloe's voice sharpened.
"Don't make this a war."
Then she disconnected.
Ben looked toward the ceiling, as though the answer might be written there.
At that moment, a knock rattled the apartment door.
Through the peephole I saw two uniformed officers and a woman carrying an official-looking folder.
"David Mercer?" she called.
May you like
"We're here about a welfare complaint involving your newborn son."
