Chapter 12: The Discovery
The deeper I dug into the Rollins family, the worse the stench became.
It wasn't just Maya. Over the course of the next month, I subpoenaed the financial records for the foster agency that had placed her, a private contractor called Safe Harbor Solutions.
I spent night after night in my office, drinking terrible coffee, tracing digital footprints. Noah slept on the small sofa in the corner, wrapped in a blanket, while I connected IP addresses to bank routing numbers.
The pattern emerged like a glowing map on my dual monitors.
The Rollins family hadn't acted alone. They were part of a ring. Safe Harbor Solutions was actively feeding the social security numbers of aging-out foster kids to a network of corrupt "foster parents." The parents opened lines of credit, maxed them out, and kicked back twenty percent of the stolen cash to the agency's regional director to keep the state auditors looking the other way.
It was systemic, predatory abuse on a massive scale. And they thought they were invincible because their victims were orphans. They thought nobody would ever listen to the kids the world threw away.
They had no idea they had just stepped into the crosshairs of someone who used to be one of those kids.
I drafted a federal class-action lawsuit under the RICO Act—Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations. It was a massive swing for a legal-aid clinic, but Mr. Henderson didn't bat an eye. He just signed the complaint and patted me on the shoulder.
"Give 'em hell, partner," he said.
The day the federal marshals served the lawsuit to Safe Harbor Solutions, my phone rang. It was the agency's external legal counsel. A massive, high-priced corporate law firm out of Chicago.
"Ms. Warren," a smooth, arrogant voice patronized through the receiver. "This is Richard Sterling from Sterling & Vance. We represent Safe Harbor. We'd like to invite you to our downtown offices to discuss this... misunderstanding. I'm sure we can clear this up before it embarrasses your little clinic in federal court."
"I don't do closed-door meetings with racketeers, Mr. Sterling," I replied smoothly. "But you can depose my client on the record tomorrow at 9:00 AM. In my office."
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"Your office?" he scoffed. "Ms. Warren, we have a dozen attorneys on this case. We won't fit in a storefront."
"We took over the whole floor, Richard," I countered coldly. "You'll fit. Bring your checkbook. You're going to need it."
