Chapter 6
His name was Travis Boone.
I had not spoken to him in seven years.
When I met Nah, Travis existed only in stories.
Missed birthdays.
Unpaid child support.
Broken promises.
A screaming argument outside a daycare.
Then he disappeared.
When Leah was three, he signed documents terminating his parental rights after months of legal proceedings.
He did not fight the adoption.
He did not attend the hearing.
I became Leah’s father legally and permanently.
Now my mother’s public post had dragged him back.
Monica arranged everything.
“No direct contact.”
“Fine.”
“He has no parental rights.”
“I know.”
“He cannot undo the adoption because he changed his mind.”
“I know.”
“Graham.”
I looked at her.
She leaned forward.
“You need to hear it anyway.”
My hands stopped shaking slightly.
“He cannot take your daughter.”
I exhaled.
“Thank you.”
Travis wanted fifty thousand dollars.
His logic was disgusting.
My family was wealthy.
I was selling valuable property.
Leah’s “story” was now public.
He claimed reporters might pay him.
If I wanted him quiet, I should pay first.
Extortion.
Monica’s expression said the same thing.
We contacted police.
We saved every message.
I told Nah everything.
We told Leah only what she needed to know.
“He contacted our lawyer.”
Her face went pale.
“Does he want me?”
I hated the question.
“He wants money.”
She blinked.
“Oh.”
Somehow that hurt her too.
Of course it did.
A father returning only for money was another kind of rejection.
She looked at her cereal.
“Did he ask how I was?”
I could not lie.
“No.”
Her eyes filled.
Nah reached for her.
Leah pulled away.
Not angrily.
She just needed space.
That afternoon, she locked herself in her room.
At dinner, she barely spoke.
The next morning, she said she was sick.
She wasn’t.
I let her stay home anyway.
By noon, I found her sitting on the floor of my closet.
She had pulled out the old adoption folder.
I froze.
“Where did you get that?”
“Top shelf.”
“You shouldn’t be climbing.”
She gave me an annoyed look.
Typical Leah.
I sat beside her.
She held the adoption certificate.
“Did he really sign me away?”
My throat tightened.
“He agreed to the adoption.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
“It feels the same.”
I could not argue with her feelings.
So I didn’t.
She looked at my name on the paper.
“Were you happy?”
“The happiest.”
“Even though I wasn’t yours yet?”
I touched her shoulder.
“You were mine long before a judge signed anything.”
She leaned into me.
“Why didn’t he want me?”
There are questions adults wish children would never ask.
Not because we do not know the answer.
Because the honest answer is not theirs to carry.
“I don’t know what was wrong inside Travis.”
She listened.
“But whatever it was had nothing to do with your worth.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know you.”
She cried.
I held her.
That evening, Dad called from an unfamiliar number.
I almost ignored it.
Then answered.
“What?”
“Your mother has left.”
I frowned.
“Left where?”
“Our house.”
“What happened?”
“I confronted her about the post.”
“And?”
“She said she has nothing to apologize for.”
Of course.
Dad continued.
“I told her I was removing her access to our joint investment account until this legal mess is resolved.”
“Dad.”
“I know.”
“You can’t financially punish your wife.”
“I’m not.”
His voice sounded exhausted.
“Our lawyer advised separating funds because she transferred twenty thousand dollars yesterday.”
My stomach tightened.
“To whom?”
“I don’t know yet.”
I stood.
“Twenty thousand?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was hoping you knew.”
“No.”
Then something clicked.
“Travis.”
Dad went silent.
I felt cold.
“No.”
“I’m checking.”
“Check now.”
Dad called back forty minutes later.
His voice sounded sick.
“It went to a business account.”
“Whose?”
“Boone Consulting.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
My mother paid Leah’s biological father.
Why?
Dad did not know.
Monica moved fast.
Police moved faster.
The transfer created a direct connection between my mother and Travis.
Then investigators obtained messages.
Mom had contacted him first.
Before the social media post.
Before he called Monica.
She had found him online.
She told him I was “stealing family property because of Leah.”
She offered him money to “remind Graham where the girl came from.”
When Monica read that line aloud, I had to leave the room.
Nah followed me.
I stood in the hallway trying to breathe.
“She used him.”
Nah’s face was white with anger.
“She used Leah’s abandonment wound to punish you.”
I leaned against the wall.
“She wanted him to scare us.”
Nah touched my face.
“Graham.”
I closed my eyes.
“My own mother.”
I thought the folding chair was the worst thing she could do.
I had been wrong.
The police interviewed Mom.
She claimed she only wanted Travis to make me reconsider the sale.
She denied intending any threat.
Travis was less careful.
He had sent voice messages demanding payment.
He bragged that he could “make Graham’s life ugly.”
He even threatened to appear at Leah’s school.
That changed everything.
He was arrested for attempted extortion and harassment.
A protective order followed.
My mother was not immediately arrested.
But investigators were examining whether she participated knowingly.
Dad called me that night.
“I’m so sorry.”
I did not answer.
He continued.
“I should have stopped her years ago.”
“Yes.”
“I kept telling myself she was difficult, not cruel.”
I stared through my kitchen window.
“Dad, she found the man who abandoned my daughter and paid him to frighten her.”
His voice broke.
“I know.”
“No.”
My own voice rose.
“You don’t get to say you know.”
He went silent.
“You protected her every time she hurt someone.”
“I know.”
“You protected Claire.”
“Yes.”
“You forged my signature.”
“Yes.”
“And now my nine-year-old is scared someone is going to show up at her school.”
Dad was crying.
I did not care.
Not then.
“I am done cleaning up your family.”
He whispered:
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
I ended the call.
Three days later, the lake-house lien was released.
Dad had repaid the loan using his own assets.
The lender cooperated with investigators.
The sale returned to closing.
The cash buyer remained interested.
I should have felt relief.
Instead, I felt exhausted.
Then Leah did something unexpected.
She asked to visit Lake Briar House one last time.
“Why?”
She shrugged.
“I barely remember it.”
Nah looked at me.
I hesitated.
Then agreed.
We drove there Saturday morning.
Snow covered the ground.
The lake was frozen near the shore.
Leah ran straight toward the dock.
I followed.
She stood where Grandpa once held her.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Was he nice?”
“Very.”
“Did he really think I was family?”
I handed her a copy of his letter.
I had planned to save it until she was older.
But she needed it now.
She read slowly.
Her lips moved over the words.
When she reached the line about love being the only inheritance worth protecting, she started crying.
I crouched beside her.
“He knew me?”
“Yes.”
“I was little.”
“He knew enough.”
She folded the letter carefully.
Then she looked at the house.
“Sell it.”
I smiled sadly.
“That was already the plan.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I mean don’t keep it because of me.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
She slipped the letter into her coat.
“Grandpa said home is people, right?”
“Basically.”
She took my hand.
“Then I already have mine.”
For the first time since Christmas, I felt something inside me settle.
Then my phone buzzed.
Monica.
The sale was closing Monday.
May you like
But she had another update.
My mother had been charged.
