Chapter 6 - THE NAME I HAD FORGOTTEN
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then I laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because sometimes the human body has no correct reaction left.
“That’s impossible.”
Marcus did not answer.
I looked at Elias.
“Tell him.”
Elias remained silent.
“Tell him the lab is wrong.”
“Ava.”
“No.”
My voice rose.
“Grant is their father.”
The words sounded desperate even to me.
“We were married. I never—”
I stopped.
A memory moved at the edge of my mind.
Not a man.
A room.
Bright lights.
A doctor.
Grant holding my hand.
I had wanted children for almost two years.
Grant had blamed me.
Month after month.
Test after test.
He had finally taken me to a private fertility clinic in Manhattan.
I remembered injections.
Blood draws.
Sedation.
A procedure.
Then Grant telling me it had worked.
I stared at Elias.
“The fertility clinic.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“We thought of that too.”
I sat down.
“My embryos.”
“Were they genetically tested?” Elias asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ever see the records?”
“Grant handled everything.”
Of course he did.
Grant handled the money.
Grant handled the doctors.
Grant handled the insurance.
Grant handled the papers he said were too complicated for me.
I had spent years confusing control with competence.
Marcus placed another document on the table.
“The clinic closed seven months ago.”
“Why?”
“Federal investigation.”
My stomach dropped.
“For what?”
“Fraud. Improper storage. Falsified donor records.”
I looked at Emma and Rose.
“Whose children are they?”
“They’re yours,” Elias said immediately.
I stared at him.
“My genetic children?”
“Yes. The maternal match is conclusive.”
“But their father?”
“We don’t know yet.”
A horrible thought hit me.
“Grant knew?”
Elias nodded.
“I think so.”
That explained his obsession with a son differently.
Maybe Grant had not merely wanted an heir.
Maybe he had expected a particular child.
A child carrying particular blood.
Marcus opened another file.
“Grant paid the clinic seventy-five thousand dollars privately.”
“For treatment?”
“No.”
“For what?”
“We don’t know.”
Lydia spoke from the sofa.
“I remember Dr. Vale visiting the maternity floor.”
I turned.
“When?”
“The evening before you delivered.”
“He had no reason to be there.”
“No.”
Elias looked at Marcus.
“Vale is tied to the clinic?”
“We’re checking.”
My hands began shaking.
Then a name rose from somewhere I had buried it.
Dr. Leonard Price.
The fertility specialist.
Tall.
Kind eyes.
Silver glasses.
He had always seemed uncomfortable around Grant.
“Leonard Price.”
Marcus typed.
“What about him?”
“He was my doctor.”
Marcus searched.
Then frowned.
“What?”
“He didn’t own the clinic.”
“Who did?”
Marcus rotated the screen.
My heart stopped.
CHARLES WHITMORE INVESTMENT HOLDINGS.
Elias looked at me.
The pieces were coming together.
Whitmore financed Grant.
Whitmore owned the fertility clinic.
Whitmore knew about my father’s trust.
And somewhere inside that clinic, Grant’s biological role in my pregnancy had disappeared.
“Why?” I whispered.
Elias answered.
“Because the father matters to the trust.”
“How?”
“Your father’s trust has a morality clause.”
I stared at him.
“A what?”
“Thomas Bennett apparently distrusted Grant.”
“He knew Grant?”
“He investigated him after learning you were married.”
I felt another wound open inside me.
My father had known about my marriage.
Had been close enough to know Grant’s name.
Close enough to worry.
“The trust excludes any spouse proven to have financially exploited, abused, or coerced you.”
I looked at the twins.
“So if Grant is their father—”
“He could potentially argue parental control over their shares if something happened to you.”
“But if he isn’t?”
“He has no biological claim.”
I understood.
“That’s why he needs forged records.”
“Yes.”
My pulse accelerated.
“And the other baby?”
“Rebecca Shaw’s daughter may have been intended as a substitute child whose paternity they could control.”
Elias stood.
“Marcus, find Dr. Price.”
“He disappeared after the clinic investigation.”
“Find him anyway.”
Marcus made three calls.
Twenty minutes later, he looked almost surprised.
“We found him.”
“Where?”
“Not far.”
He glanced at me.
“Rikers Island.”
I stared.
“Prison?”
“Pretrial detention. Charged with falsifying medical records.”
“Can we talk to him?”
Elias’s lawyer answered.
“With his attorney’s permission.”
By evening, permission had been arranged.
Not because Elias threatened anyone.
He didn’t need to.
Dr. Price wanted to talk.
He had apparently been waiting months for someone to ask the correct question.
We spoke by secure video.
The man on the screen looked nothing like the doctor I remembered.
He had lost weight.
His hair was uncombed.
His eyes looked exhausted.
When he saw me, he covered his mouth.
“Ava.”
I sat forward.
“Who is my daughters’ father?”
His eyes filled.
“I’m sorry.”
“Who?”
He looked toward his attorney.
The attorney nodded.
Dr. Price swallowed.
“The embryos transferred to you were created with your eggs.”
“I know.”
“And donor sperm.”
The room went silent.
“What donor?”
Price’s face tightened.
“I wasn’t told the identity at first.”
“At first?”
“Whitmore’s people sent the sample directly.”
“Why would they choose a donor?”
“Grant was infertile.”
The sentence struck hard.
“He knew?”
“Yes.”
“And he blamed me for two years?”
Price closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Rage rose so fast I almost choked.
Every insult.
Every accusation.
Every night Grant had told me my body was failing him.
He had known the entire time.
“Who was the donor?”
Price looked at Elias.
Then away.
Elias noticed.
“So did I.
My stomach turned.
“No.”
Price began speaking rapidly.
“I tried to stop it after I learned.”
Elias’s face went completely still.
“Learned what?”
Dr. Price looked at me.
“The genetic material came from a private donor registry.”
“What donor?”
Price whispered the name.
“Elias Vance.”
Nothing in the room moved.
I stared at Elias.
He stared at the screen.
“That’s impossible.”
Price shook his head.
“No.”
Elias stepped forward.
“I have never donated sperm.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Price’s face became pale.
“The sample was collected from a fertility preservation program you participated in after cancer treatment when you were twenty-six.”
Elias froze.
I looked at him.
Cancer?
He did not look at me.
Price continued.
“The storage facility was acquired by Whitmore Medical Ventures three years ago.”
My mouth went dry.
“So Whitmore stole it?”
“Yes.”
“Why Elias?”
Price looked terrified.
“Because Thomas Bennett had changed the trust.”
Elias’s voice was barely audible.
“How?”
Price swallowed.
“He added a provision six months before his stroke.”
“What provision?”
Price looked at me.
“If Ava had children with a man Thomas deemed financially independent and legally unrelated to Grant Miller, the children’s shares became untouchable by a spouse.”
I stared at him.
“That still doesn’t explain Elias.”
“No.”
Price’s eyes closed briefly.
“Thomas named Elias Vance specifically.”
The room went silent.
Elias took one slow step toward the screen.
“Why would Thomas do that?”
Price shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
A voice spoke behind us.
Lydia.
“Maybe I do.”
We turned.
She was holding the old photograph of my father.
Her finger pointed to a man standing in the background.
A much younger man.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Watching Thomas Bennett cut a ribbon outside his factory.
Elias.
And beside Elias stood a smiling teenage girl.
Elias stared at the photograph.
All the blood drained from his face.
“My sister.”
I looked at him.
His voice broke for the first time.
May you like
“Thomas Bennett knew my sister.”
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