Chapter 6
The next morning, I found the old embryology report.
Seven years earlier, Glen and I had created four embryos.
One stopped developing.
One tested abnormal and was discarded with our written consent.
Two were considered suitable.
Embryo A became Ariel.
Embryo B remained frozen.
There was no Embryo D in the report.
Rebecca sent the discrepancy to Northlake’s attorney.
Their response arrived three hours later.
The clinic could not currently reconcile all historical labeling conventions used during the year of our treatment.
It was a sentence designed by lawyers to avoid panic.
It created panic anyway.
Northlake’s laboratory had changed ownership twice since Ariel’s birth. Some physical records had been scanned. Some software had been migrated. The clinic insisted that all reproductive material was tracked through multiple identifiers and witnessed procedures.
Yet someone had apparently used a disputed consent to authorize a transfer.
Confidence in their system had already cracked.
Detective Ruiz asked me to come to the police department.
Rebecca accompanied me.
The interview room was smaller than television suggested, with beige walls and a table bolted to the floor. Ruiz wore no uniform. She had dark hair threaded with gray and a manner that never became unkind but never encouraged dramatics.
She showed me an enlarged image of my supposed signature.
“Do you recognize the source?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Is there another document on which you signed your name in this exact formation?”
I studied it.
My signatures varied slightly, but this one had a distinctive flattened r in Mara.
Then I remembered.
“Our mortgage refinance.”
“When?”
“Last October. The closing agent made me sign electronically on a tablet. The signature looked strange because the stylus lagged.”
Rebecca glanced at Ruiz.
The detective nodded.
“We obtained a lawful copy of the refinance package with your attorney’s assistance. The signature appears pixel-for-pixel identical.”
Not similar.
Identical.
Digital signatures reproduced from the same image can match perfectly. Handwritten signatures cannot.
Someone had lifted mine from the mortgage file.
“Who had access?” I asked.
“Your husband received a complete electronic copy.”
The news did not surprise me.
That hurt more than shock would have.
Ruiz continued.
“The notarial certificate presents another issue. Evelyn Voss confirms that the commission number is hers, but she denies notarizing your signature.”
“Do you believe her?”
“We are investigating. She reported that a digital image of her stamp may have been exposed during a data breach at a title services company.”
“So Glen copied both.”
“That is one possibility.”
One possibility.
The discipline of the investigation required language that felt insultingly small.
Ruiz then showed me a still image from Northlake’s exterior security camera.
The date was May 29.
Glen’s car entered the parking lot at 9:12 a.m.
The image showed Glen driving.
Clara sat in the passenger seat.
In the rear was a child wearing a bright yellow cardigan.
Ariel.
My stomach clenched.
The second image showed Clara leaving at 11:06 in a wheelchair, as many clinics required after procedures involving sedation.
Glen pushed her.
Ariel walked beside them holding a blue gift bag.
“Why was she sedated?” I asked.
“We do not yet have authority to disclose Clara’s medical procedure to you.”
“But the embryo—”
“The clinic has confirmed that a thaw-and-transfer event was recorded. We have not independently verified whether the transferred material was yours or whether the transfer resulted in pregnancy.”
“Her tattoo says May twenty-ninth.”
“A tattoo is not a medical record.”
I nodded, though frustration burned behind my eyes.
Ruiz slid another image across the table.
This one came from the clinic’s internal hallway.
A woman in red glasses stood beside Glen.
“The lady Ariel mentioned,” I said.
“Her name is Nadine Cole. She was a patient coordinator at Northlake.”
“Was?”
“She was terminated yesterday.”
“Why?”
“Unauthorized access to records is among the issues under review.”
“Did Glen pay her?”
“We are examining financial connections.”
Rebecca asked whether Glen was considered a suspect.
Ruiz leaned back.
“I consider people, documents, and events relevant. Labels come later.”
After the interview, Rebecca and I walked toward the parking garage.
A man in a gray suit waited beside her car.
He introduced himself as Patrick Hume, counsel for Bennett Harbor Logistics.
“I’m not here on Glen’s behalf,” he said.
“Then why are you here?” Rebecca asked.
“Because company funds may be involved.”
He handed her a letter.
An internal audit had discovered that Vale Strategic Consulting received another $310,000 from a vendor reimbursement account controlled by Glen.
The payments had been described as transportation compliance consulting.
No consulting work could be verified.
My chest tightened.
Clara had received nearly half a million dollars between company and marital funds.
Hume’s expression was grim.
“The board placed Mr. Bennett on administrative leave this morning.”
“Does Glen know?” I asked.
“He was notified at nine.”
At that exact moment, my phone vibrated.
A message from my mother appeared.
What have you done? Glen says you are trying to destroy the company because you couldn’t give him another child.
I read it twice.
The words hurt even though I recognized the manipulation inside them.
Then another message arrived.
This one came from Clara.
It was a photograph taken in a medical examination room.
Only her face and shoulders were visible.
Her eyes were swollen from crying.
The caption read:
There is a heartbeat. Whatever you do to me, you cannot erase that.
Before I could respond, a second image arrived.
It showed the ultrasound screen.
In the corner was a patient identification number.
CV-8821.
Below it was a gestational age.
Seven weeks, four days.
The timing matched May 29 almost exactly.
May you like
But what caught Rebecca’s attention was the embryo code printed beneath the image.
E2-7714-D.
