Page 7 of Saving Stella

For a moment, she thought it was Tyler, but no—it was an older man with his white hair slicked-back into a neat hairstyle and a heavy leather briefcase clutched in one hand. In his wool navy suit and shiny loafers, he looked out of place under the grueling hot desert sun.

“Apologies. But, are you Ms. Stella Louise Lennon?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s me. Can I help you Mr. …?”

“Owens.” He handed her a card from his suit pocket. “Harry Owens. I’m a lawyer from New York.”

She gave the card a quick glance before taking it. “You’ve come a long way, Mr. Owens. What brings you to Las Vegas?”

The older man’s mouth spread into a smile. “You.”

“M-me?”

“Yes. Ms. Lennon, I’ve spoken with your parents, and they’ve told me that you are fully aware of the circumstances of your adoption.”

“I—” Her mouth clamped shut as a strange, tingling sensation formed in her chest at the realization that this man was a stranger. He “claimed” to have spoken with her parents, but didn’t kidnappers and serial killers first lull their victims into trusting them before they struck? Should she scream? Run away?

Those options sounded extreme for now, so she mustered up all her confidence. “W-what do you want, Mr. Owens?” If that was his real name.

“Apologies, Ms. Lennon.” Mr. Owens raised a hand in front of him. “It just occurred to me that coming up to a lone woman in an empty parking lot could be misconstrued as something nefarious.” He cleared his throat. “I just arrived an hour ago, and I thought coming here would be the best way to catch you, and when I saw you walking out, I didn’t want to waste any time. But, I can come back tomorrow and make an appointment. Or I could send you a certified letter, if that suits you better?”

The word “certified letter” coming from a lawyer sounded ominous.

“Am I being sued, Mr. Owens?”

As far as she knew, she hadn’t done anything that would warrant a lawsuit. She hardly ever went out—most days she just went to work and headed back home, while weekends were spent cleaning and relaxing at home with a good book or binge-watching her favorite streaming shows. Last night’s “date” was probably the first time in months she’d even stepped in a bar or restaurant.

“No, not at all. Ms. Lennon, I have information—possible information about your birth parents.”

She blinked, her body seizing as shock hit her system. “M-my birth parents?”

“Yes. I’ve been retained by an … interested party to contact you.”

Her heart thudded in her chest. Growing up, Stella had never wanted for anything—she had her adoptive parents’ love and support from the very beginning. Bernard and Alice Lennon were her real parents, as far as she was concerned.

Yet, part of her had always wondered who her birth parents were and what they were like.

More importantly, why did they give her up?

“Who is this interested party?” It didn’t sound like Mr. Owens meant her birth parents.

“My client wishes to remain anonymous for now,” he began. “But, if you’d like to talk, may I suggest a place down the road—the Borderline Cafe? You can take your car, and I’ll take mine.”

“I know it,” she said. It was a very public place, and the baristas there knew her. There would be no safer place to go. “All right.”

It was a miracle she managed the five-minute drive without crashing, considering her hands were shaking like a leaf the entire time. By the time she sat down with Mr. Owens at a corner booth, she had mostly calmed down.

“As you may already know,” the lawyer began, “because you had a closed adoption, any records of your birth parents are sealed.”

“Did you or your client manage to get them unsealed?” When she turned eighteen, Stella had looked into her adoption records, but when she found out they were sealed, she had decided it wasn’t worth the time, effort, or money to get them opened. Perhaps, she had thought, her birth parents had good reason to do a closed adoption.

“I’m afraid I don’t know the exact details of how my clients found out about you. But, they have reason to believe you may be related to them.”

“Like a cousin or something?”

“Again, I can’t say,” he said cryptically. “But, my client would like to confirm via a DNA test. My client will pay for all expenses, of course, including a private lab that can collect your sample at home discreetly. If you wish to confirm with a second lab, we can do that, too, but we would have to negotiate as the samples will have to remain anonymous.”

“I see.”

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