Samantha Wolf‑Iverson — Point of View
Samantha Wolf‑Iverson had learned long ago that bad news never arrived all at once. It came in pieces — a phone call, a rumor, a name whispered in a clinic hallway — and then, eventually, it landed on her desk. Tonight, it arrived as a text from Eliza.
Aiyana Red Elk is alive. She said, “NorthStar.” Call me.
Samantha didn’t call. Not yet. She sat at her kitchen table, laptop open, the glow of the screen reflecting off the half‑empty mug of tea she’d forgotten to drink. Outside, the prairie wind rattled the windows, a restless sound that matched the feeling in her chest. Aiyana Red Elk. Alive!
Samantha closed her eyes for a moment, letting the relief wash through her — sharp, unexpected, almost painful. She had entered Aiyana’s name into the database three months ago. She remembered the family’s faces. The way her aunt had held Samantha’s hands and said, “Please don’t let her disappear twice.”
Samantha opened the database. Rows of names filled the screen — color‑coded, cross‑referenced, meticulously maintained. Forty‑two cases now. Forty‑two families are waiting for answers.
She typed into the search bar:
NorthStar
The cursor blinked. She hit enter. One result appeared. Just one. Samantha leaned forward, heart thudding.
Case #14 — Rayna Wolf (Age 15)
Status: Missing — 7 years
Notes: Last seen near the NorthStar Resource Management worksite (temporary).
Samantha’s breath caught. Rayna Wolf. Her cousin. The reason she started the database. She clicked the file. The notes she’d written years ago appeared, her own handwriting staring back at her in digital form:
- NorthStar Resource Management filed a land‑use permit 11 days before Rayna disappeared.
- The permit was dissolved 3 weeks later.
- The company listed no employees, no assets, no forwarding address.
- County records are incomplete.
- The sheriff’s office is uncooperative.
- The family was told, “She probably ran away.”
Samantha swallowed hard. That year, she vividly recalled the county dismissing the case, the tribal police being prevented from accessing the site, and the company vanishing overnight. She had written the notes herself, but seeing them now — with Aiyana’s clue echoing in her mind — made her stomach twist.
She clicked the permit number. A scanned PDF opened. At the bottom of the form, barely legible, was a signature:
NorthStar Resource Management, LLC
Field Supervisor: J. K. (Initials only)
Samantha stared at the screen. Aiyana had said, “NorthStar.” Rayna’s file mentioned NorthStar. The permit dissolved after Rayna vanished. And now Aiyana had survived something connected to the same name.
Samantha’s hands trembled as she opened a second tab and typed:
NorthStar Resource Management dissolution records
A list of dissolved companies appeared — all with similar names, all dissolved within months of filing. She clicked the oldest one. Filed: 7 years ago. Dissolved: 3 weeks later. An identical pattern. The same timeline. The same silence. Samantha leaned back in her chair, pressing a hand to her mouth. It was not a coincidence. It was not by chance. This wasn’t a one‑off. This was a pattern.
A pattern she had missed. She should have noticed a pattern. A pattern that had been hiding in plain sight. Her phone buzzed again.
Eliza Morningstar: Call me. Now.
Samantha stared at the screen, then at Rayna’s file, then at the single word Aiyana had said. NorthStar.
She closed the laptop gently, as if the truth inside it might have broken if she moved too fast. Then she grabbed her keys. It was time to tell Eliza what she’d found. And time to admit that the case that started her database — Rayna’s case — had never been cold. Someone had simply buried it.