Chapter 3 - EMBRYO C-17C
I could not stop staring at the shipping manifest.
Denver.
Colorado Reproductive Institute.
Patient number 88421.
The page contained no patient name.
Only codes.
Dates.
Temperatures.
Courier signatures.
To anyone else it might have looked like ordinary medical logistics.
To me it looked like a missing child.
“Is this legal?”
I asked.
Dr. Vance’s expression told me the answer before she spoke.
“Not without the proper consent.”
“I never gave consent.”
“I understand.”
“Then why was it sent?”
“That is what we need to determine.”
Julian stood beside the window.
His confidence was gone.
No smug smile.
No cruel jokes.
Nothing remained of the man who had mocked me fifteen minutes earlier.
“What would a clinic in Denver do with it?”
“Store it.”
“Transfer it.”
“Use it in an approved donation program.”
“Or return it.”
Julian turned.
“Use it?”
Dr. Vance nodded carefully.
“If paperwork showed Clara and Julian had donated the embryo, another patient could have received it.”
My throat tightened.
“How old would the child be?”
Dr. Vance looked at the date.
“If a transfer occurred shortly after arrival and resulted in a full-term pregnancy, the child would likely be around one year old.”
Sienna looked at Miles.
The same age.
Two embryos.
Two possible children.
My hands went cold.
“Call them.”
“I already did.”
I looked at Dr. Vance.
“When?”
“This morning.”
“And?”
“They confirmed that C-17C arrived.”
My pulse jumped.
“What happened to it?”
“They refused to release additional information without a court order.”
“Why?”
“Patient confidentiality.”
“It’s my embryo.”
“They have records showing otherwise.”
“What records?”
Dr. Vance placed another page on the table.
A donation consent.
My name was printed at the top.
Julian’s beside it.
At the bottom were two signatures.
Mine.
His.
I looked at Julian.
He stared at his signature.
“That’s mine.”
The room went still.
I turned toward him.
“What?”
He rubbed a hand across his mouth.
“That’s my signature.”
“You signed this?”
“I don’t remember this document.”
“But it’s your signature.”
“Yes.”
Sienna closed her eyes.
I felt something inside me become very quiet.
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Julian.”
“I signed dozens of fertility forms.”
“You signed away our embryo?”
“I said I don’t remember.”
“That isn’t good enough.”
His eyes met mine.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
I stepped toward him.
“You do not get to tell me you know.”
“You signed paperwork that allowed our child to be taken.”
“I didn’t know.”
“How convenient.”
“I didn’t.”
I laughed once.
“You cheated on me.”
“You lied about Sienna.”
“You let me believe my body had failed.”
“And now your signature appears on a form donating my embryo to strangers.”
“But somehow every piece of this happened around you while you knew nothing.”
“I didn’t say I knew nothing.”
That stopped me.
Sienna looked at him sharply.
I stared.
“What did you know?”
Julian’s jaw flexed.
“Not here.”
I almost smiled.
Sienna had used those exact words in the hallway.
Apparently secrets always preferred private rooms.
“Say it.”
He looked toward Dr. Vance.
Then toward Sienna.
“Marianne told me the clinic had one embryo left.”
My heartbeat slowed.
“When?”
“After our last appointment.”
“The appointment where Dr. Hale told us none survived?”
“Yes.”
“How long after?”
“Two days.”
I remembered those two days.
I barely left bed.
Julian had spent most of them at work.
Or so he claimed.
“What did your mother tell you?”
“She said one embryo had been held for additional testing.”
“And?”
“She said the results were uncertain.”
“And?”
“She told me we should donate it.”
My lungs tightened.
“We?”
“She said it would help another family.”
“What did you say?”
He looked down.
“I told her I didn’t care.”
The words hurt in a different way.
Not because he had actively chosen evil.
Because he had been indifferent.
Our potential child had been reduced to paperwork he could not be bothered to question.
“You didn’t care.”
“I was angry.”
“At me?”
“At everything.”
“You were sleeping with Sienna.”
He said nothing.
“So while you were planning to leave me, your mother asked what to do with our embryo, and you said you didn’t care.”
His voice lowered.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Sienna looked at him with disgust.
“That’s why she had your signature.”
Julian turned.
“What?”
“Marianne said you signed willingly.”
“I didn’t sign this knowingly.”
“You signed something.”
He stared at her.
“How much did you know?”
She looked away.
Julian’s voice hardened.
“How much?”
Sienna rocked Miles slowly.
“Your mother told me Clara didn’t want children anymore.”
I laughed bitterly.
“She told you that?”
“Yes.”
“And you believed her?”
“At first.”
“You had watched me spend three years trying to become a mother.”
“I know.”
“You had watched me cry in your kitchen.”
“I know.”
“You sat beside me after every failed test.”
“I know.”
“And you believed I suddenly didn’t want children?”
Sienna’s eyes filled.
“No.”
“Then stop saying you did.”
She looked at me.
“I wanted to believe her.”
That was finally honest.
“You wanted Julian.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted the house.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted the life.”
Her voice cracked.
“Yes.”
I nodded.
It hurt.
But truth often hurt less than excuses.
Dr. Vance interrupted.
“There is something else about the Denver shipment.”
I looked at her.
“The courier request came from Dr. Hale’s office.”
“Where is he?”
Julian asked.
“No longer employed here.”
“When did he leave?”
“Six months ago.”
“Why?”
Dr. Vance hesitated.
“He resigned during an internal compliance review.”
“What review?”
“A discrepancy involving stored embryos.”
The room went still again.
I stared at her.
“Was I the only one?”
“No.”
The word was quiet.
Terrifying.
“How many?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Julian swore under his breath.
Dr. Vance continued.
“Several patients reported inconsistencies between their treatment summaries and archived laboratory data.”
“Missing embryos?”
“In some cases.”
“Altered records?”
“Yes.”
“How long has this been happening?”
“We’re still investigating.”
I looked at Miles.
Suddenly this was not just my tragedy.
There could be other women.
Other couples.
Other children.
Other families built on lies.
“Why wasn’t this reported publicly?”
“The review was preliminary.”
“And now?”
“Now we have evidence of unauthorized record manipulation.”
I looked at the DNA report.
“And a child.”
“Yes.”
Julian walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To call my mother.”
Sienna stood immediately.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“Why?”
“Because she’ll disappear.”
Julian laughed.
“My mother is seventy-two.”
“She owns homes in three countries.”
“She has private accounts.”
“She has people who handle everything for her.”
“You think she hasn’t prepared for this?”
Julian stared at her.
“How long have you been afraid of her?”
Sienna said nothing.
That answer was enough.
Julian lowered his phone.
I looked at Dr. Vance.
“Can anyone stop Marianne from leaving?”
“Not based on what we have in this room.”
“Then we need more.”
Dr. Vance nodded.
“I contacted an attorney who specializes in medical fraud.”
Julian immediately objected.
“You contacted a lawyer without us?”
“She contacted one for Clara.”
He looked at me.
I felt something unexpected.
For years, Julian’s reaction had mattered more than my own.
I had measured my decisions against his approval.
That woman no longer existed.
“Yes.”
I turned to Dr. Vance.
“Who?”
“Marcus Bennett.”
I knew the name.
Former federal healthcare prosecutor.
Now private counsel.
He had represented whistleblowers in several major hospital fraud cases.
“When can I meet him?”
“He’s downstairs.”
Julian stared.
“You planned this.”
Dr. Vance looked at him.
“I prepared for the possibility that Clara had been the victim of a crime.”
He had no response.
We left the consultation room fifteen minutes later.
Sienna remained with Miles while a nurse cleaned the milk from the hallway.
I walked toward the elevators.
Julian followed.
“Clara.”
I kept walking.
“Clara.”
I stopped.
He stood several feet behind me.
For the first time in a year, he looked uncertain around me.
“I didn’t know about Miles.”
I looked at him.
“I believe you.”
Relief appeared briefly.
Then I continued.
“That doesn’t make you innocent.”
His face fell.
“You chose cruelty when you thought I was broken.”
“You enjoyed believing I had failed.”
“You made my pain part of your new love story.”
“And even if you didn’t steal my child, you created the conditions that allowed everyone around you to do it.”
He swallowed.
“I know.”
“Good.”
The elevator arrived.
Before I entered, he spoke again.
“If there’s another child…”
I looked back.
His face had gone pale.
“What?”
“If that embryo became a child…”
He could barely finish.
“What do we do?”
The elevator doors began closing.
I held his gaze.
“We find them.”
The doors shut.
Downstairs, Dr. Vance introduced me to Marcus Bennett.
He was in his early forties.
Tall.
Dark suit.
No dramatic handshake.
No polished sympathy.
He simply looked at the folder in my hands and said, “I’ve reviewed enough to know this is bigger than a custody dispute.”
We sat in a private conference room.
For the next hour, he asked precise questions.
Dates.
Names.
Payments.
Foundation records.
Marianne’s involvement.
Sienna’s role.
Julian’s signature.
When I mentioned the Bright Tomorrow Foundation, he stopped writing.
“Who handles its finances now?”
“Julian is chairman.”
“Sienna oversees operations.”
“Who handled them during your marriage?”
“I did, with our CFO.”
“Name?”
“Thomas Reed.”
“Still employed?”
“Yes.”
Marcus leaned back.
“Can you access historical records?”
“Not anymore.”
“Why?”
“Julian removed my credentials after the divorce.”
Marcus wrote something down.
“What funded your fertility treatments?”
“Insurance covered some.”
“The foundation covered research grants at St. Jude’s.”
His pen stopped again.
“What kind of grants?”
“Reproductive medicine.”
He looked at Dr. Vance.
She looked back.
Neither spoke.
A cold feeling moved through me.
“What?”
Marcus turned to me.
“How much money did your foundation give St. Jude’s reproductive center?”
“Over four years?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe eight million.”
He closed his notebook.
“That matters.”
“Why?”
“Because if Marianne or Julian controlled foundation funding, they may have had influence inside the clinic.”
I shook my head.
“Julian never controlled it while we were married.”
“Who did?”
“I did.”
“And Marianne?”
“She sat on the board.”
Marcus was silent for a moment.
Then he asked one final question.
“Did Marianne ever insist on a particular doctor for your treatment?”
I remembered.
My stomach turned.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Peter Hale.”
Marcus exchanged a look with Dr. Vance.
He reached into his briefcase and removed a photocopy.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”
He slid it toward me.
It was a bank transfer.
Bright Tomorrow Foundation.
Three hundred fifty thousand dollars.
Recipient.
Hale Reproductive Consulting LLC.
Date.
Six weeks before my final IVF cycle.
I stared at Marianne’s approval signature.
Then at the second signature beside hers.
Thomas Reed.
Our CFO.
“What was this payment for?”
“No grant description exists.”
Marcus turned another page.
“There were four more payments.”
My chest tightened.
“How much?”
“Just under two million dollars.”
I looked at him.
“Where is Thomas?”
Marcus didn’t answer immediately.
Then he placed his phone on the table.
“I tried contacting him this morning.”
“And?”
“His office says he resigned yesterday.”
My pulse jumped.
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Where did he go?”
“They don’t know.”
Marcus looked directly at me.
“But at six twelve this morning, he sent an email to a secure address maintained by my firm.”
I leaned forward.
“What did it say?”
Marcus opened the message.
There were only seven words.
IF CLARA FINDS OUT, MARIANNE WILL DESTROY EVERYTHING.
Attached was a photograph.
A steel storage locker.
A handwritten number.
417.
And beneath it, one final sentence.
May you like
THE ORIGINAL RECORDS ARE NOT AT ST. JUDE’S.
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