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“With all that has happened here, all the potential adoptions, I’m curious why you haven’t mentioned people coming to Widow’s Point to search for their biological mothers,” Kaitlin said.
“I never really considered it. Maybe they do, and law enforcement just never got involved.”
“I understand the need to find out where you come from,” Kaitlin said. “I’m adopted and familiar with running into dead ends even after exhausting all possible leads.”
The ferry’s horn announced their approach to the mainland, effectively ending the conversation. Other passengers began gathering their belongings and ambling toward the exits in anticipation of docking.
“I should go,” Kaitlin said, suddenly anxious to maintain the privacy of her mission. “My appointment is at ten.”
“And I need to get to the ME’s office.” Matt hesitated, something unspoken hovering between them as they hovered. “Will you be on the afternoon ferry back?”
“That’s the plan. Unless something delays me.”
“I’ll look for you, then. Maybe we can grab a bite to eat?”
Kaitlin nodded, oddly comforted by the prospect of spending more time with Matt, despite her earlier desire for solitude. The ferry shuddered slightly as it connected to the dock with mechanical finality.
They parted ways at the terminal, Matt into a cab and Kaitlin to a rideshare to the attorney’s office in the Old Port district. As her Uber pulled away from the curb, she caught a final glimpse of Matt’s tall figure receding among the crowd and felt a curious pang she wasn’t ready to examine too closely.
The law offices of Jansen & Walsh occupied the second floor of a restored brick building on Exchange Street. Original beams crossed the ceiling above sleek modern furnishings. This meeting wasn’t going to be cheap, but she pushed aside her perpetual worry over her dwindling accounts.
Martin Walsh, a trim man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses, greeted her with a firm handshake and ushered her into a conference room overlooking the busy street below.
“Ms. Mathews, a pleasure to meet you. Your email mentioned questions about historical adoption practices in Maine, particularly during the late 1980s and early 1990s.”
“Yes.” Kaitlin settled into the offered chair, arranging her notes before her. “I’m researching the operations of a maternity home on Widow’s Point Island that closed in 1991.”
Walsh’s expression shifted subtly, a tightening around the eyes that suggested recognition. “I’m familiar with the facility, though I never worked directly with them during my early career. They had their own medical and legal team, as I recall.”
“Yes, I believe their administrator was an attorney. Robert Holloway?”
Walsh shook his head. “It doesn’t ring a bell.”
“What were the legal requirements for adoption in Maine during that period?” Kaitlin asked, pen poised over her notebook. “Specifically regarding consent and documentation.”
Walsh leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled before him. “Not so different from today’s requirements. Maine has always mandated thorough documentation. Biological parents had to provide written consent—typically not valid until seventy-two hours after birth. Home studies of prospective adoptive families were required. Court approval of placements. All fairly standard procedure.”
“And international adoptions? If the adoptive parents were from, say, the United Kingdom?”
Walsh’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Those would have been subject to additional requirements—compliance with the sending country’s laws, immigration clearances, often involvement from agencies specialized in international placements.” He studied her with increasing curiosity. “Are you researching a specific case?”
Kaitlin hesitated. “I’m exploring several angles. My research indicates that some financial arrangements may have been… unusual.”
“Unusual how?”
“Large payments. Well over one hundred thousand dollars in some instances, transferred directly to the foundation, which wasn’t actually in operation at the time.”
The attorney frowned. “During that time, it was legal for adoptive parents to cover certain expenses, medical costs, living expenses for the birth mother during pregnancy, and some legal fees. But the amounts you’re describing would be extraordinary for that time period, especially if they weren’t clearly itemized for legitimate expenses.”
“Would that constitute a black-market adoption?”
Walsh’s body language told her he was executing professional caution in his word choice. “That’s a loaded term with specific legal implications. There’s a spectrum between fully documented, regulation-compliant adoptions and truly illegal placements. Without knowing the exact circumstances of any particular case—”
“What about documentation forgery?” Kaitlin interrupted, unable to contain the question burning in her mind. “Does that happen? Such as coercing birth mothers to give up their children with forged written consent?”
The attorney’s face grew serious. “Of course it would have to be proved, but that would cross firmly into illegal territory. It would involve multiple layers of fraud: international immigration violations, document falsification, and potentially identity theft.” He leaned forward. “Ms. Mathews, these questions suggest something beyond simple research. If you’re investigating potential criminal activity, even historical cases—”
“It’s complicated,” Kaitlin admitted, discomfort tightening her throat. “I’m trying to understand what might have happened to certain women who stayed at the mansion and their babies.”
