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They walked into the bank and told the receptionist they wanted to open a safe deposit box. She guided them to the elevators where they descended into the basement level and filled out paperwork. For safety, Sandy asked that Marvin be the primary name on the safe deposit box and for Sandy to be added as the only other person granted access.
A polite woman collected the paperwork and distributed two keys before showing them into the vault where the boxes were located. Theirs was number 311. The bank employee inserted her master key into the top slot, and Sandy inserted his personal key into the lower one. Once the box slid out of place, the bank employee smiled and left them alone in the vault. Marvin Mann took the files and placed them in the box. A few minutes later, they were headed back to Cedar Creek.
PART III
Reunion
CHAPTER 26
Cedar Creek, Nevada Saturday, July 27, 2024
SLOAN MADE IT DOWN FROM THE FOOTHILLS, WHERE SHE HAD SPENT the morning combing through the files Eric had obtained on his father’s death, the hit-and-run accident that killed Baker Jauncey, and the disappearance of baby Charlotte and her birth parents. She was due to meet Nora at her studio at one o’clock, and had thirty minutes to freshen up. She pulled across the Louis-Bullat Bridge, found her quiet cul-de-sac, and parked in the driveway. The autopsy reports for Baker Jauncey and Sandy Stamos were on the passenger seat. She grabbed them and hurried inside.
She popped open a Diet Dr. Pepper, pulled out her phone, and sent a text message.
Hi Dr. Cutty,
Would you have time to review a couple of autopsy reports for me? They have to do with my research into forensic genealogy. Let me know. Thanks!
Sloan took ten minutes to run a brush through her hair and touch up her makeup. As she applied a fresh coat of lipstick she noticed the tremor in her hand. She had no idea what was waiting for her at Nora’s studio in Reid and Tilly Margolis, but she’d travelled all the way across the country to find out. She finished her Dr. Pepper on her way into town, found Nora Margolis Photography on the corner, and parked.
A quick glance into the rearview mirror was meant to settle her nerves. She’d spent twenty-nine years as Sloan Hastings, never once thinking of herself any other way. Yet now, in just the last couple of weeks, her identity had morphed. She’d become a part—small or large, she wasn’t sure—of another family. Acceptance was not what she was after. She was looking for answers. But some part of her understood that to the grandparents she was about to meet, Sloan was something more than a stranger. They had once known her, if for just a short moment in time, as Charlotte Margolis. They had held her and fed her, and then that child was gone. Now, nearly three decades later, she was returning as someone else. For as nervous as Sloan felt, she could only imagine what Tilly and Reid Margolis were going through. She decided answers could wait. This afternoon she’d simply be present.
She finally stood from her car and walked to the front of Nora’s studio. As soon as she opened the door, a crowd of people yelled “Surprise!”
Sloan froze in the doorway. In front of her were fifty strangers, all smiling and cheering. Nora emerged from the crowd and embraced Sloan in a hug.
“Not my idea,” Nora whispered into her ear. “But Tilly and Reid were just too excited. They invited the whole family. I’ve got a bottle of rosé chilling for after this is over.”
“God bless you. Stay close.”
“I won’t leave your side.”
Nora disengaged from her hug and took Sloan’s hand as the room quieted. Sloan felt every set of eyes fall onto her.
“Everyone,” Nora said loud enough to be heard over the whispers that filled the studio. “This is Sloan. Sloan, this is the Margolis family.”
“Your family,” a woman yelled from the back of the studio.
“Hear, hear!” a man yelled, and the family cheered again.
That same man walked from the crowd with a woman by his side. Sloan knew without introduction that she was looking at Reid and Tilly Margolis. She was not sure what she had expected her biological grandparents to look like, but the couple in front of her was not it. Sloan had done the math and knew Reid and Tilly were in their eighties, but money, privilege, and what appeared to be a hell of a lot of Botox, kept them looking younger. Reid Margolis wore a crisp, white button-down under a navy sport coat. Tall with broad shoulders, his hair was snow white and contrasted against his tanned skin. Khaki pants and docksiders gave the appearance of a man who had just stepped off a yacht in the Caribbean.
Tilly was slighter in stature and sweeter in presence. Less intimidating, for certain. Tall and thin, she, too, sported a head of white hair perfectly styled in a pixie cut. Her lips were plumped by filler and her face tight but softening from a long-ago lift. Despite the surgical augmentations, there was something sincere about the woman’s presence. Unlike her husband’s smile, which was plastic-banana fake and the same one he’d likely plastered across his face during countless business deals over the years, Tilly’s was kind and genuine.
Tilly approached and, without hesitation, lifted a hand to Sloan’s cheek.
“My sweet Charlotte,” Tilly managed before her eyes filled with tears.
Caught off guard by both the outpouring of emotion, and from being called Charlotte, Sloan took Tilly’s hand, feeling the soft redundancy of skin that betrayed the woman’s true age, and hugged her.
“Don’t cry,” Sloan said. “Because I’ll cry if you cry.”
The embrace lasted a full minute as the family applauded the reunion. Tilly finally relinquished her grip and looked from Sloan to her husband.
“Her eyes, Reid. I see him in her eyes.”
“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Nora said. “That’s the first thing I noticed. You have Preston’s eyes.”
