Chapter 10: The County Records Office
The basement of the county courthouse smelled of damp paper, old glue, and the lingering dust of forgotten decades. Fluorescent tubes buzzed overhead with a low, irritating hum that grated against my nerves as I flipped through the heavy leather-bound ledger from twenty years ago. Ever since Clara mentioned that Martha’s family had tried to block her from receiving local medical assistance back in Ohio, I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that our past wasn't entirely buried. A sharp shadow hung over the edges of our temporary peace—the lingering threat of Martha’s estranged, wealthy older brother, a man named Sterling Vance who owned half the commercial real estate across the state line and viewed people like us as disposable trash. If Sterling ever found out Martha was sick and living in my tattoo shop with my son, he would use every high-priced lawyer in the district to tear us apart legally.
I ran my calloused finger down the brittle yellow page until my eyes stopped at a formal affidavit filed by a probate lawyer in Toledo two decades ago—a declaration of abandonment signed under pressure while Martha was barely twenty years old and entirely alone. My jaw tightened so hard my back teeth ached. They had tried to strip her legal rights the moment she refused to give the baby up for adoption to one of their corporate cronies. She had fled with the newborn in the middle of the night, trading a life of luxury and control for a lifetime of roadside motels and minimum-wage diner shifts just to keep her son safe from her family's cold, calculating grip. The door at the top of the concrete basement stairs creaked open, and heavy footsteps echoed down the stairwell. I slid the ledger shut, standing up just as Clara stepped into the dim light of the aisle, holding a white envelope in her hand.
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“Jax,” she said, her breath slightly elevated as if she had hurried all the way from the diner. “You need to see this. A man in a tailored gray suit came into the diner about twenty minutes ago asking questions about a woman matching Martha’s description, traveling with a young boy.” My entire body went rigid. Every instinct I had honed over years on the streets flared to life. “Did he leave a name?” I asked, my voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register. Clara shook her head, handing me a small embossed business card she had fished from the counter after he walked out. The heavy cardstock bore a sleek gold imprint: Vance Holdings & Legal Acquisitions — Corporate Enforcement Division. “He didn't give a name,” Clara said, her eyes fixed on mine with fierce urgency. “He just said he was looking for his sister, and he had local sheriff deputies checking every motel and trailer park on the highway strip.”
I gripped the small card between my fingers until the stiff paper bent in half. Sterling Vance had finally tracked the paper trail. He wasn't looking out for his sister’s health; he was looking to clean up a twenty-year-old family embarrassment before it hit the society columns. And he was getting dangerously close to our front door. “He’s coming this way,” I said, my mind racing through every exit route, every bolt on the heavy iron workshop door, and every way I could protect the two people who had just given my life a purpose. Clara reached out, her hand resting firmly on my forearm. “We’re not running this time, Jax,” she said, echoing the fierce resolve I had seen in Leo’s eyes earlier that morning. “We stand right here.” I nodded slowly, pocketing the card, and headed back up the stairs toward the loft where my son was waiting.
