Part 6
The phrase ward of the state hung in the quiet of the study long after Richard ended the call.
He stood by the window, picturing the overcrowded municipal facilities, the overworked caseworkers, and the fluorescent-lit group homes. He pictured Lily, with her fierce independence, her carefully guarded secrets, and her absolute terror of authority, being fed into that bureaucratic machinery. She wouldn’t survive it. She would run the first time a door was left unlocked, disappearing back into the concrete shadows of the Upper East Side.
Richard walked to his desk, opened his laptop, and dialed the senior partner of his personal legal team. It was past midnight, but Richard paid retainers large enough to render the hour irrelevant. When the groggy attorney answered, Richard gave a single, explicit directive: pull every available precedent regarding the emergency guardianship of an undocumented minor.
The next morning, spring sunlight flooded the terrace. Richard was reviewing the initial legal briefs on his tablet, a cup of black coffee in hand, when the sliding glass doors slid open.
Lily stepped out into the morning air. She was swallowed in a plush, white hotel-style robe that pooled around her ankles, the sleeves rolled up half a dozen times so her hands could reach the pockets. Her dark hair was damp and combed flat from the shower.
“Sleep well?” Richard asked, setting his tablet face down.
“Your bathtub is huge,” she replied, sliding into the chair opposite him. She looked out at the sprawling view of the park. “And the hot water doesn’t run out. I sat there waiting for it to turn cold, but it didn’t.”
It wasn’t quite an answer to his question, but it was a rare admission of comfort.
Mrs. Chen stepped out onto the terrace carrying a silver tray. She set a massive plate of blueberry pancakes and a glass of fresh orange juice in front of the girl, offering a warm, silent nod before retreating to the kitchen. Lily ate with steady focus, though the frantic, desperate edge from the diner had softened slightly.
Halfway through the meal, she put her fork down. She studied Richard with the same calculating gaze she used to survey a street corner.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked. The question was blunt, stripped of any childish innocence.
Richard met her gaze. “Several reasons. Gratitude, obviously. But mostly because I believe you deserve kindness and a safe place to sleep.”
“I’m not a regular kid,” she said, crossing her arms over the oversized robe.
“No,” Richard agreed smoothly. “You aren’t. You’re extraordinary.”
Lily frowned, highly suspicious of praise that didn’t come attached to a demand. She looked down at the table, tracing the edge of her placemat with a damp finger. “The detective lady asked me about my parents yesterday. When you and the advocate were talking by the door.”
Richard kept his posture relaxed, leaning back in his chair. “What did you tell her?”
“That I don’t have any. Not anymore.”
Lily picked up a blueberry, rolling it between her thumb and index finger. “My mom got sick when I was seven. She coughed a lot. After she was gone, I stayed with her friend in a cramped apartment in Queens. But then one night that lady packed her bags and left while I was sleeping. I’ve been fine on my own since then.”
She delivered the summary of her life with a flat, clinical detachment. It was a practiced recitation. The casual way she spoke of total abandonment hit Richard harder than if she had screamed or cried. To Lily, adults vanishing wasn’t a tragedy. It was just the default state of the world.
Before Richard could find a response that didn’t sound like hollow pity, his phone vibrated against the glass tabletop. It was an urgent text from Detective Harris.
Massive breakthrough. Warrants executed overnight. Multiple arrests. Bringing someone from CPS. Need to speak with you and Lily ASAP.
An hour later, the private elevator chimed. Richard met them in the foyer. Detective Harris stepped out first, followed by Ms. Washington, the child advocate. But Richard’s attention immediately snapped to the third person in the car.
He was a slender man in his early forties, wearing a worn corduroy jacket and wire-rimmed glasses. He carried a thick manila folder pressed tightly to his chest.
“Mr. Blackwood,” Harris said, her tone strictly professional. “This is Dr. Bennett from Child Protective Services. Given the new developments in the case, and Lily’s undocumented status, the state has officially stepped in to determine her placement.”