Chapter 5 - The old signature
Monday morning, North Ridge’s attorney sent my lawyer, Rebecca Sloan, a packet after verifying my parental status.
The program had opened its own internal review.
I sat in Rebecca’s office.
She placed the intake documents in front of me.
Patient:
Silas Matthew Fairmont.
Age:
Referral concern:
Severe separation dysregulation, oppositional behavior, destructive tantrums, inability to tolerate limits, prolonged grief fixation.
My hands shook.
“Destructive?”
“Keep reading.”
Reported behaviors:
Screaming for father during routine caregiving.
Throwing objects.
Refusing meals.
Attempting to leave supervised settings.
Aggression toward grandmother.
Two statements were partly true.
Three were distorted.
One was simply false.
“Who wrote this?”
“Millicent completed the family questionnaire.”
Then:
Parental consent.
My name.
Gideon Fairmont.
Signature.
I stared.
It looked like mine.
Not perfectly.
Enough.
“I didn’t sign this.”
Rebecca nodded.
“We know.”
“How?”
“North Ridge compared it with the consent form your mother uploaded.”
“Compared to what?”
“She also supplied a copy of your school emergency authorization.”
There it was.
One year earlier, I had signed a form authorizing Millicent to:
Pick Silas up from school.
Consent to emergency medical care if I could not be reached.
Communicate with school staff about immediate logistical matters.
It had my genuine signature.
The North Ridge consent signature appeared to have been copied from that document.
Not handwritten freshly.
A pasted image.
Same angle.
Same tiny break in the G.
Same compression artifact.
North Ridge had accepted it electronically.
“Why didn’t they call me?”
“They say Millicent represented that you were traveling and unavailable during business hours.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I know.”
“Is that enough for them?”
“It shouldn’t have been.”
Rebecca’s expression hardened.
“They know that too.”
No miracle crime solved.
A process failure.
Millicent had exploited familiarity and bad verification.
Then I read the proposed intake date.
Saturday.
5:30 p.m.
The day of the park.
The drive from Riverside Commons to North Ridge:
Two hours and thirty-eight minutes.
If I had been another hour late?
If Keira had not noticed?
If Millicent had simply put Silas in the car?
My stomach turned.
Rebecca said:
“Do not speculate beyond the record.”
“I know.”
“What we know is she scheduled intake without your authorization and submitted a consent containing your copied signature.”
“And packed his room.”
“Yes.”
“Was she going to drive him there?”
“That appears to be her plan.”
“Kidnapping?”
Rebecca shook her head.
“Do not start choosing charges.”
Of course.
Lawyers destroy satisfying vocabulary.
“She had lawful temporary care until you arrived. She had not yet removed him across state lines. She had not refused a direct demand to return him because you arrived before departure. Let police and prosecutors characterize criminal conduct.”
I leaned back.
“What do I call it?”
“An unauthorized residential placement.”
May you like
That sounded too clean.
It was also accurate.
