Chương 6
Denise looked up.
“What did you do?”
“Told them I was from Nebraska.”
“You’re from Connecticut.”
“They didn’t ask follow-up questions.”
Claire took a coffee.
It had cream.
She drank coffee black.
Her father had been getting this wrong for fifteen years.
She drank it anyway.
At two thirty, Ethan posted a statement.
Claire saw it because Natalie texted her a screenshot.
Last night was an intensely private family matter that became public in a painful and regrettable way. I reacted emotionally after learning information concerning my relationship and an expected child. I regret my behavior and ask for privacy as all involved determine the truth.
Claire read the phrase after learning information three times.
He was pretending he had discovered the pregnancy was not biologically his at the party.
He was rewriting events while people were still cleaning broken glass from the floor.
She called her attorney.
“I want to release the donor consent.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make the document less useful. It makes public release less strategic.”
“He’s calling me a liar.”
“He’s implying uncertainty.”
“He hit a glass into my face.”
“Which is on video.”
Claire stood near the hotel window.
“So I do nothing.”
“You preserve evidence. You request records. You document contact. You let him make mistakes.”
“I hate this.”
“Most clients do.”
Her lawyer’s name was Maya Flores. Claire had hired her for the prenup because Maya had once made Ethan’s attorney say “I need to consult my client” seven times in one meeting.
“Claire,” Maya said, “I need to ask you something uncomfortable.”
“Okay.”
“Did you have sex with anyone else during the conception window?”
“No.”
“Any relationship Ethan could characterize as inappropriate?”
“No.”
“Any ex, colleague, friend, messages he could take out of context?”
Claire almost said no.
Then she thought of Daniel Reed.
“Maybe.”
Maya became quiet.
“Explain maybe.”
Daniel was an anesthesiologist at the hospital where Claire worked. Thirty-two. Divorced. Kind in an unshowy way that Claire had initially found almost dull after years around people like Ethan.
He had become her friend through fundraising committees.
Three months earlier, after one of Claire’s appointments, she had cried in a hospital stairwell because Ethan had gone back to the office instead of staying for counseling.
Daniel found her there.
He sat two steps below her and handed her a packet of peanut butter crackers from his scrub pocket.
They talked for twenty minutes.
Nothing happened.
Later, he texted to ask if she was okay.
A few conversations followed.
Some were personal.
One message from Claire said:
Sometimes I think I’m building a life with someone who only loves the version of me that agrees with him.
Maya exhaled when Claire read it aloud.
“Not ideal.”
“It isn’t an affair.”
“I know that. I’m telling you how it could be used.”
Claire sat on the edge of the bed.
“Ethan knows about Daniel?”
“I don’t know.”
“Assume he does.”
That afternoon, the clinic called.
They had located the May 28 authorization record.
The donor change was requested by phone.
The caller answered Claire’s date of birth, home address, last four digits of her Social Security number, and account security question.
“What security question?”
“Your childhood street.”
Claire felt sick.
Ethan knew all of it.
“Was the call recorded?”
“Yes.”
“Can I hear it?”
“Not immediately. It is now part of an internal investigation.”
“Was it my voice?”
A pause.
“I’m not authorized to characterize the recording yet.”
That meant no.
Claire knew it.
The compliance officer continued.
“There is another issue.”
“What?”
“The donor profile sent to your portal after the change does not match the donor material used in your procedure.”
Claire gripped the phone.
“I’m sorry?”
“The insemination record indicates the original donor selection was used.”
Claire stared at the wall.
“So the donor was not changed.”
“According to the treatment record, correct.”
“Then why did someone call pretending to be me to change it?”
“We don’t know.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Claire wrote the two donor numbers in her notebook.
Original donor.
Requested replacement.
“What was the replacement donor number?”
The woman gave it.
Claire looked at the profile she had downloaded.
Thirty-one. Engineer. Green eyes.
A strange familiarity tugged at her.
Not the profile.
The age.
The profession.
Something else.
She opened Ethan’s family photo album on her laptop.
Margaret had sent it while planning the wedding because she wanted “appropriate childhood images” for a slideshow Claire had not requested.
There was Ethan at twelve.
Ethan at graduation.
Ethan with a younger man beside a sailboat.
Claire stopped.
The caption had been typed by Margaret.
Ethan and Julian, Newport, 2018.
Julian Cole.
Ethan’s first cousin.
Thirty-one years old.
Structural engineer.
Green eyes.
Claire’s hands went cold.
She called Maya.
“I think I know who the replacement donor was supposed to be.”
Maya did not say anything for several seconds.
Then, “Do not call Ethan.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Do not call the cousin.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Do not call Margaret.”
Claire looked toward the envelope on the desk.
“I might have to.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to know whether Julian ever donated sperm.”
Maya sighed.
“I hate your life today.”
“So do I.”
Margaret answered on the first ring.
Claire did not waste time.
“Did Julian Cole ever donate sperm?”
Silence.
Not confusion this time.
Recognition.
Claire stood.
“Margaret.”
“Where did you get that name?”
“That is not an answer.”
Margaret’s breathing changed.
“Claire, do not speak to Julian.”
“Did he?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know something.”
“I know Ethan asked him.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
Claire sat slowly.
“Why?”
“After Ethan’s diagnosis.”
“For what purpose?”
Margaret’s voice sharpened. “Claire, I told Ethan it was inappropriate.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“He was twenty-nine. He was devastated. He began talking about preserving the family line.”
May you like
Claire almost laughed because it sounded so grotesquely old-fashioned.
Then she remembered Ethan’s grandfather’s portrait in the Cole family office. The trust structures. The repeated use of legacy in speeches.
