Chương 8
Not hatred.
Fear wearing expensive clothes.
“And you think that makes him weak.”
“I think it makes him vulnerable.”
“To me.”
“To anyone.”
“You don’t get to protect adults from the people they choose.”
“I know that now.”
“No, you know you got caught doing it badly.”
Margaret went silent.
Claire almost regretted the sentence.
Almost.
Then Margaret said, “That may also be true.”
Claire had not expected that.
She rubbed her belly.
“What did your source actually tell you?”
Margaret gave her his name.
Daniel Mercer.
Claire wrote it down.
“He worked in the lab?”
“Inventory systems.”
“Why did he leave?”
“He said he resigned.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Margaret paused.
“He was terminated.”
“For?”
“I don’t know.”
“You paid a fired employee for stolen information without knowing why he was fired?”
“He had documentation.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“Send me everything.”
“Richard told me not to contact—”
“I’m telling you to send it.”
“I will.”
“And Margaret?”
“Yes?”
“If you ever touch my belongings again, if you ever investigate my medical history again, if you ever contact a doctor, clinic, hospital, employer, friend, relative, or anyone else about me without my permission, you will not meet this baby.”
Silence.
Claire’s heart pounded.
She had not planned to say it.
Once spoken, it felt solid.
Margaret’s voice became very quiet.
“I understand.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
Claire ended the call.
Margaret sent the files fourteen minutes later.
Daniel Mercer had given her screenshots.
Claire studied them with Martin.
One showed an internal spreadsheet.
Another showed an email chain.
A third showed a laboratory inventory screen containing 17B.
The screenshots looked convincing.
That did not mean they were.
Martin hired a digital-forensics consultant through the law firm.
Two days later, the consultant found something strange.
One screenshot had been altered.
Not dramatically.
A date.
The original metadata suggested the image had been edited after capture.
Claire stared at the report.
“Can you prove what changed?”
“No,” Martin said. “Not from this file alone.”
“Could Margaret have changed it?”
“Possible.”
Claire called Richard.
It was the first time she had contacted him since the dinner.
He answered immediately.
“Claire.”
“Did Margaret alter the screenshots?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t.”
“Then don’t answer like you do.”
“You’re right.”
She closed her eyes.
Everyone was learning.
Slowly.
Painfully.
“Where is she?”
“At the office.”
“Does she know I’m calling?”
“No.”
“Can you access the original files Mercer sent?”
“Probably.”
“Don’t.”
Richard paused.
“Okay.”
“I want Martin to handle it.”
“Understood.”
Claire almost ended the call.
Then she asked, “How are you?”
Richard laughed softly.
“Is that a serious question?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your timing could use work.”
“So could yours.”
“That’s fair.”
She heard him breathe.
“Margaret moved into the guest room.”
Claire said nothing.
“I’m not telling you for sympathy.”
“Good.”
“I thought you should know that what happened has consequences here too.”
Claire looked out Anna’s kitchen window.
A man across the street was trying to close an umbrella that had turned inside out.
“I don’t want your marriage destroyed because of me.”
“It wouldn’t be because of you.”
She believed him.
That made it worse.
“Richard?”
“Yes?”
“Why did you catch her?”
“What?”
“At the restaurant. When she slipped.”
He was silent.
Then he said, “Because she was falling.”
Claire smiled despite herself.
“Right.”
“What else would I do?”
She did not know.
Maybe that was what frightened her about families.
People could betray you and still catch you before you hit the floor.
Three weeks passed.
Claire returned home.
Not because everything was repaired.
Because Anna’s sofa was ruining her back.
Evan moved into the second bedroom without being asked.
They lived like cautious roommates.
He made coffee.
She complained that it was weak.
He assembled the crib.
She discovered he had attached one rail backward.
They argued for eleven minutes.
Halfway through, Claire realized they were arguing about the crib rather than embryos, mothers, lies, or genetic parentage.
She sat on the floor and laughed.
Evan stared at her.
“What?”
“We’re fighting about screws.”
“You said these were the wrong screws.”
“They are.”
“You told me not to use the other ones.”
“I was wrong.”
He looked genuinely shocked.
Claire threw an instruction booklet at him.
He caught it.
That night they ate takeout on the floor of the nursery.
The crib remained crooked.
Neither mentioned the clinic.
For forty minutes, they were simply two exhausted people expecting a baby.
Then Claire’s phone rang.
Martin.
The clinic had agreed to release additional audit records under confidentiality protections.
The thaw entry for embryo 17B was real.
So was the cancellation.
The embryo had been removed from storage preparation, scanned, and then returned.
No transfer had occurred.
Claire sat very still.
“So the baby—”
“This record does not establish anything about your pregnancy.”
“But our embryo wasn’t transferred.”
“According to these records, 17B was not.”
“What about the others?”
“All four embryos are currently accounted for.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Relief arrived.
Then stopped halfway.
“Currently?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“That’s the remaining problem.”
The audit showed that 17B had been scanned under the wrong patient batch during a storage reorganization.
The mistake was corrected seventeen minutes later.
The erroneous billing code had been generated automatically from the incorrect workflow entry.
There was no evidence that Claire had received an embryo transfer.
Her pregnancy was almost certainly the natural conception she and Evan had believed it to be.
Almost.
Claire looked at Evan.
He was watching her.
“Tell me,” he said.
She put the phone on speaker.
Martin repeated it.
Evan sat down.
His face disappeared into his hands.
Claire expected him to cry.
Instead he laughed.
A helpless, exhausted sound.
“Our kid,” he said.
Claire’s eyes filled.
Then Martin spoke again.
“There’s more.”
The relief vanished.
“What?”
“Daniel Mercer was the employee who made the incorrect scan.”
Claire stared at the phone.
Evan lowered his hands.
“What?”
Martin continued.
May you like
Mercer had not merely witnessed the discrepancy.
He had caused it.
