Chương 4
Aaron had insisted.
“That’s the Carter nose. Poor kid never had a chance.”
It had been stupid.
Emily had replayed that stupid sentence a hundred times since his death.
She touched the baby’s cheek now.
“What exactly are you asking about the fertility clinic?”
Ortiz did not answer immediately.
“I’m asking whether anyone besides you and your husband would have known details of the pregnancy.”
“The clinic. My OB. Insurance.”
“Any donor material involved?”
“No.”
“You’re certain?”
Emily felt insulted.
“Yes, I’m certain.”
“Embryo created from your egg and your husband’s sperm?”
“Yes.”
Ortiz nodded and wrote it down.
“Any genetic testing done?”
“Before transfer. The embryo was screened.”
“Do you have records?”
“In the clinic portal.”
“Can you access them?”
Emily reached automatically toward the phone on the bedside table, then stopped.
The battery was at twelve percent.
A charging cable hung behind the bed where she could not reach it without moving.
Rachel noticed.
“I’ll plug it in.”
Emily almost said no.
Then nodded.
Rachel came closer slowly, making sure Emily saw every movement. She picked up the cable, plugged in the phone, and set it back down.
That small courtesy made Emily angry enough to want to cry.
Trust had changed so quickly.
Yesterday, Rachel had held Emily’s leg while she pushed and told her when to breathe.
Now Emily was measuring the distance between Rachel’s hand and the baby.
The North Lake portal opened with Face ID.
Emily signed in.
Her records were there.
Medication schedule.
Ultrasounds.
Transfer note.
Embryology report.
She opened the report.
Embryo ID NL-77C.
Day-five blastocyst.
The numbers meant little to Ortiz.
They meant something to Emily because she had stared at them every night during the two-week wait after transfer.
NL-77C.
She had whispered that ridiculous identifier when no one was around.
Come on, seventy-seven C.
Stay.
Please stay.
She turned the screen toward Ortiz.
“This one.”
Ortiz photographed the page with permission.
“Did anyone ever contact you about an error?”
“No.”
“A recall?”
“No.”
“Storage problem?”
“No.”
“No phone call asking you to repeat testing?”
Emily looked at her.
“No.”
Ortiz stopped writing.
“What?”
“Nothing yet.”
Emily leaned forward despite the pain.
“You don't get to say that word either.”
Ortiz closed her notebook.
“You’re right.”
The police officer looked toward the door, then back.
“Ms. Hale told security she believes the baby is genetically related to her.”
The room became very quiet.
Emily looked at the infant in her arms.
The first thing she felt was not fear.
It was offense.
Something hot and immediate.
“That’s insane.”
Ortiz did not respond.
“Did she say how?”
“She asked for counsel before giving a full statement.”
“Of course she did.”
“She did tell security she came because she had evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“I don’t have it.”
“Rachel?”
The nurse shook her head.
Emily looked back at Ortiz.
“She said the hospital changed a document at 3:12. That is not somebody guessing.”
“I agree.”
“Then someone told her.”
“Probably.”
“Someone here.”
“Possibly.”
Emily glanced at the release form.
“And the man?”
“We don’t know who he is.”
“He signed this.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
“He came to the door five minutes after I found his signature.”
“We need to verify the document.”
Emily’s jaw tightened.
“I’m not giving it to you.”
“You don’t have to right now.”
Rachel said quietly, “We can pull the original packet from the printer log.”
Everyone looked at her.
“What printer log?” Emily asked.
“Every printed patient document is tied to a user and device.”
“Can you see it?”
“No.”
“Who can?”
“IT. Risk. Records.”
“Then get them.”
Rachel hesitated.
“What?”
“The system audit is going to be restricted now.”
Emily stared at her.
“Restricted from whom?”
“From most staff.”
“Convenient.”
Rachel’s eyes flashed.
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“You’re part of the hospital.”
“Yes.”
“The hospital changed my baby’s chart.”
“One person may have changed something. That is not the same as the entire hospital trying to take him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No. I don’t.”
It was the first answer Emily believed completely.
At seven twenty in the morning, the unit director arrived.
By seven thirty, a risk-management attorney was on speakerphone.
By seven forty-five, Emily understood why people hated institutional language.
The chart had experienced an “unauthorized demographic modification.”
The hospital was conducting an “access review.”
The infant release document appeared to contain “an invalid secondary authorization.”
No transfer had occurred.
No employee had been authorized to remove the baby.
No current staff member was believed to pose an immediate threat.
Emily listened while holding her son and thought that every sentence had been built to avoid containing a human subject.
Someone altered the chart.
Someone signed the paper.
Someone tried to come through the door.
But institutions preferred verbs without people.
“Who changed it?” Emily asked.
The risk attorney on the phone said, “We are working to determine that.”
“Do you have the login?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“Whose?”
“We need to verify whether credentials were properly used.”
“Whose login?”
The unit director looked uncomfortable.
The phone said, “A patient-access supervisor.”
“Name?”
“We cannot discuss personnel information before—”
Emily hung up.
The unit director stared at the phone.
Rachel looked down.
Officer Ortiz almost smiled.
Emily placed the receiver back in its cradle.
“I’m not doing that for three hours.”
The director cleared her throat.
“Ms. Carter, I understand—”
“No, you understand your lawyer.”
“Emily,” Rachel said softly.
Emily turned on her.
“Don’t.”
Rachel nodded.
For the next hour, nothing dramatic happened.
That was almost harder.
Breakfast arrived.
The eggs were cold at the edges.
Emily ate half a piece of toast with one hand because the baby would not tolerate the bassinet for longer than thirty seconds. A housekeeping employee knocked, learned the room was restricted, apologized through the door, and moved on. Rachel changed the trash bag herself.
May you like
Emily watched a patch of morning sunlight crawl across the foot of the bed.
Aaron should have been there complaining about hospital coffee.
