Chapter 3: The Transfer
"What transfer?""
Daniel's attorney answered before Daniel could.
"Don't say another word.""
He stood so quickly his chair rolled backward and struck the wall.
Daniel stared at him.
For half a second, neither man moved.
That half second told me more than an hour of testimony could have.
His attorney knew.
Maybe not everything.
But enough to be afraid of what Daniel might say next.
I placed my phone faceup on the table.
"What transfer, Daniel?""
He dragged a hand across his mouth.
"I misspoke.""
"No, you didn't.""
"I meant the share transfer.""
My lawyer, Rebecca Shaw, had been silent for most of the meeting. Rebecca was fifty-two, wore steel-framed glasses, and had the unnerving habit of becoming calmer when everyone else became emotional.
She opened her notebook.
"Which shares?""
Daniel looked at her.
"The company.""
"Which company?""
"You know which company.""
"I know about Carter Meridian," Rebecca said.
"I know about the entity registered with Claire Bennett. I don't know which transfer you just referred to.""
Daniel's attorney stepped between them.
"This meeting is over.""
Rebecca didn't even look at him.
"No, Martin. Your client is free to leave.""
Then she turned one page of her notebook.
"But if he does, we're filing an emergency motion this afternoon requesting preservation orders over every disclosed and undisclosed entity connected to him.""
Daniel froze.
Martin closed his eyes for a moment.
"Rebecca.""
"Would you prefer 2:00 or 2:30?""
"You're threatening my client.""
"I'm describing my schedule.""
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Daniel noticed.
That made him angrier.
"This is funny to you?""
"No.""
I folded my hands.
"But it's interesting.""
"What is?""
"How quickly you stopped smiling.""
His face reddened.
"You think because you found a few documents—"
"Forty-one.""
"What?""
"Forty-one documents.""
I held his gaze.
"And apparently your mother brought more.""
Evelyn sat at the end of the table with both hands clasped around her handbag.
Daniel turned on her.
"You have no idea what you've done.""
Evelyn looked tired.
"I know exactly what I've done.""
"You've ruined your own son's life.""
"No, Daniel.""
Her voice was quiet.
"You keep confusing consequences with betrayal.""
That silenced him.
My phone vibrated again.
Claire.
*Don't ask him. He'll lie.*
Then:
*Meet me alone.*
Then an address.
St. Catherine's Women's Center.
I stared at the name.
I knew St. Catherine's.
Every woman who had spent years in fertility clinics knew the names of places like that.
St. Catherine's had been one of the clinics we considered after our second failed cycle.
We never went there.
At least I hadn't.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
Another message arrived.
*Ask Daniel what happened to the embryos from your first cycle.*
The room disappeared.
Not literally.
The table was still beneath my hands.
The air conditioner still hummed.
Somewhere outside, someone pushed a cart down the hallway.
But my mind went somewhere else.
Four years earlier.
A consultation room.
A doctor with tired eyes.
Daniel sitting beside me.
His palm resting on my knee.
"We retrieved nine," the doctor had said.
Nine eggs.
Five mature.
Three fertilized.
Two stopped developing.
One made it far enough to test.
Then came the phone call.
Abnormal.
Not viable.
Nothing to transfer.
I remembered standing in our kitchen afterward, holding the counter because my legs wouldn't support me.
Daniel had taken the phone from my hand.
"It's over," he'd whispered.
Then he held me while I cried.
I looked at him now.
"Where are they?""
He didn't blink.
"Where are what?""
"The embryos.""
Martin immediately said, "Daniel, don't answer.""
Evelyn inhaled sharply.
Rebecca looked from my phone to me.
"What did Claire send you?""
I turned the screen toward her.
She read it.
Her expression barely changed, but the pen in her hand stopped moving.
"Daniel," Rebecca said, "this has moved beyond a divorce asset discussion.""
He laughed.
Too loudly.
"Are you serious? She's sending cryptic messages because she wants attention.""
"Then you should have no problem answering.""
"I don't remember.""
My stomach turned.
"You don't remember?""
"It was years ago.""
"Do you remember telling me there was nothing left?""
He looked toward the window.
"That's what the clinic told us.""
"What clinic?""
His eyes came back to mine.
"The clinic we used.""
"Name it.""
He hesitated.
One second.
Two.
Three.
"Daniel.""
"North River.""
Rebecca wrote something down.
I knew that name too.
North River Reproductive Medicine.
Where we'd undergone treatment.
Where I'd injected hormones into my stomach every night.
Where Daniel had once kissed my forehead in the parking lot and told me he'd love me whether we had ten children or none.
I opened my email on my phone.
Searched.
*North River.*
Hundreds of messages.
Appointment reminders.
Invoices.
Lab updates.
Medication instructions.
I searched another word.
*embryo.*
There it was.
The final report.
I opened it.
My eyes moved over words I had read so many times I once knew them by heart.
Retrieved.
Mature.
Fertilized.
Arrested.
Nonviable.
Then I stopped.
Something was wrong.
There was an attachment.
A PDF.
I had never noticed it.
Or maybe I had and hadn't understood.
I opened it.
Storage disposition acknowledgment.
My name.
Daniel's name.
A reference number.
And beneath it:
*Transfer requested to external facility.*
My fingertips went cold.
"Rebecca.""
She moved beside me.
I handed her the phone.
She read the document.
Then read it again.
"Did you authorize this?""
"No.""
"When did you receive it?""
I checked the date.
Two days after Daniel told me the cycle had failed.
"I didn't.""
"You did," Daniel said.
Every face turned toward him.
He realized his mistake immediately.
I stood.
"What?""
His attorney whispered, "Jesus Christ.""
Daniel pointed at the phone.
"You signed all the forms. There were dozens.""
"Which form did I sign?""
"I don't know.""
"You just said I authorized it.""
"I said you signed forms.""
"Those are not the same sentence.""
Rebecca touched my arm.
"Don't argue facts with him right now.""
But I couldn't stop looking at Daniel.
Because suddenly I remembered something.
The night after the clinic called.
I had taken a sleeping pill prescribed after the procedure.
Daniel had brought paperwork into the bedroom.
Insurance forms, he'd said.
He'd put little yellow tabs beside signature lines.
I was exhausted.
Drugged.
Grieving.
I signed where he pointed.
"Those papers," I whispered.
Daniel's face changed.
Barely.
But I saw it.
Rebecca saw it too.
"What papers?"" she asked.
I told her.
Daniel shook his head.
"No. Don't do this.""
"Do what?""
"Turn every memory into some conspiracy.""
I walked around the table.
He stepped back.
"Did you have me sign an embryo transfer authorization while I was medicated?""
"No.""
"Look at me.""
"I said no.""
"Then why are you backing away?""
He stopped.
I was close enough now to see sweat near his hairline.
This was the man who had called me cold because I didn't scream when he wanted me to.
The man who had photographed newborn twins and sent them to me before my divorce ink dried.
The man who thought pain made people stupid.
Maybe it did.
For a while.
But grief had given me a strange education.
It taught me how to survive a question without receiving an answer.
I picked up the photograph Evelyn had brought.
Daniel outside the restaurant.
The unknown man beside him.
"Who is this?""
Daniel glanced at it.
"No idea.""
Evelyn spoke.
"Dr. Marcus Vale.""
Rebecca looked up sharply.
"From St. Catherine's?""
Evelyn nodded.
I turned toward her.
"You know him?""
"No. But I know his name because Daniel called him the night Claire went into labor.""
Daniel slammed his palm against the table.
"Enough!""
Everyone jumped except Rebecca.
Daniel's chest rose and fell.
His mother stared at him.
"I heard you," Evelyn said.
"You heard half a conversation.""
"I heard you say, 'If anyone checks the old records, we're all finished.''"
Martin turned toward his client.
"You told me there were no outstanding issues involving medical records.""
Daniel said nothing.
Martin's face hardened.
"Did you lie to me?""
"Not here.""
"Did you lie to me?""
"I said not here!""
Rebecca quietly began gathering her files.
"We're done.""
Daniel looked relieved.
For approximately two seconds.
Then Rebecca continued.
"I'm contacting the court. I'm also sending preservation notices to North River, St. Catherine's, Carter Meridian, and every entity identified in the financial records.""
Daniel's relief vanished.
"You can't do that.""
"Watch me.""
"Those records are private.""
"Then I'm sure the appropriate legal process will confirm that.""
He looked at me.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?""
I stared at him.
"What?""
"To humiliate me.""
The absurdity was almost breathtaking.
"You had twins with my best friend.""
His mouth tightened.
"And now you're trying to make me look like some criminal.""
"I haven't made you look like anything.""
I picked up my bag.
"You've been doing an excellent job without my help.""
I left before he could answer.
Evelyn followed me into the hallway.
"Anna.""
I stopped.
For years, hearing my name in her voice had made me straighten my shoulders.
Seek approval.
Today, I felt nothing.
She approached carefully.
"I'm sorry.""
"How long did you know about Claire?""
"Not long.""
"How long?""
"Three months.""
I laughed under my breath.
"Three months.""
"I wanted Daniel to tell you.""
"So you waited?""
Her eyes filled.
"I made the wrong choice.""
"Yes.""
She flinched.
I didn't soften it.
"Did you know about the embryos?""
"No.""
"Do you know what the transfer was?""
She hesitated.
That hesitation was enough.
"Evelyn.""
"I know Daniel moved something.""
"What?""
"I don't know.""
"Money?""
"Maybe.""
"Shares?""
"I don't think so.""
"Then what?""
She looked toward the conference room door.
"Records.""
My skin prickled.
"What records?""
"I heard him and Claire arguing at my house about two weeks ago. She said she wouldn't let him erase the last copy.""
I stared at her.
"Copy of what?""
"I don't know.""
"Did she say anything else?""
Evelyn nodded slowly.
"She said, 'Those children deserve to know where they came from.''"
I couldn't speak.
Behind us, the conference room door opened.
Daniel stepped into the hallway.
"Mom.""
Evelyn turned.
"Don't.""
"You need to come with me.""
"No.""
"Now.""
His tone was the same one he'd used with me for years when he wanted obedience disguised as urgency.
Evelyn didn't move.
Daniel looked at me.
"If Claire contacted you, don't meet her.""
"Why?""
"Because she's unstable.""
Of course.
The oldest trick.
A woman threatens to tell the truth, so suddenly she's unstable.
"You trusted her enough to have children with her.""
His jaw tightened.
"You don't understand what's happening.""
"Then explain it.""
"I can't.""
"Can't or won't?""
He stepped closer.
"Anna, listen to me. Whatever Claire tells you, she is doing it because she's angry.""
"About what?""
He stopped.
There it was again.
A door opening slightly.
Then slamming shut.
"Daniel?""
His phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
And went pale.
He rejected the call.
It rang again.
Rejected.
Again.
On the fourth call, he answered.
"What?""
I couldn't hear the person clearly.
Only a frantic voice.
Daniel turned away.
"When?""
Pause.
"Who authorized that?""
Another pause.
His shoulders stiffened.
"No. Lock everything down.""
Rebecca had stepped into the hallway behind him.
Daniel noticed her listening.
He lowered his voice.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes.""
He ended the call.
"What happened?"" Martin asked.
"Nothing.""
Rebecca almost smiled.
"Your definition of nothing seems unusually eventful.""
Daniel ignored her.
He headed toward the elevator.
I watched him go.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Claire.
*He's coming here.*
Another message.
*Please get here first.*
I looked at the address.
St. Catherine's Women's Center was seventeen minutes away.
I pressed the elevator button.
Rebecca caught my wrist.
"You're not going alone.""
"Claire specifically said alone.""
"Claire is not your attorney.""
"This might be my only chance.""
Rebecca studied me.
Then released my wrist.
"Call me the second anything feels wrong.""
The elevator arrived.
I stepped inside.
Evelyn remained in the hallway.
Before the doors closed, she said, "Anna.""
I looked at her.
"If those babies are connected to your treatment—"
The doors closed before she finished.
Seventeen minutes later, I walked through the glass entrance of St. Catherine's.
Claire was waiting in a private consultation room.
No babies.
No Daniel.
No triumphant smile.
She looked exhausted.
Her hair was tied back.
Her face was swollen from crying.
When I entered, she stood.
"Anna.""
"Don't hug me.""
She stopped immediately.
"Okay.""
I closed the door.
"You have five minutes before I call my lawyer.""
She nodded.
"That's enough.""
"Start with the embryos.""
Claire's face crumpled.
Not dramatically.
Just enough that I knew the answer would hurt.
"Daniel lied about your first cycle.""
"I know that much.""
"No.""
She shook her head.
"You don't.""
"Then tell me.""
Claire reached into her bag.
She removed a sealed laboratory envelope.
My name was printed across the front.
Below it was Daniel's.
And below both names was a specimen identification number.
Claire placed it on the table between us.
"Three embryos survived.""
My knees almost gave out.
I gripped the back of a chair.
"No.""
"They told you one.""
"Three?""
"Yes.""
"What happened to them?""
Claire started crying.
I didn't.
Not yet.
"What happened to my embryos?""
"One was transferred.""
My mouth went dry.
"To whom?""
She looked at me.
And suddenly I didn't want the answer.
Because I knew.
Somewhere deep inside me, I already knew.
"Claire.""
Her voice was barely audible.
"Me.""
The room went silent.
I stared at her.
At the woman who had held my hand through infertility.
At the woman who had listened while I mourned children I believed had never existed.
At the woman who had just given birth to twins.
My eyes dropped to the laboratory envelope.
"One embryo?""
Claire nodded.
"Then the twins—"
"Anna.""
She pushed the envelope toward me.
"Daniel thinks they're both his.""
My heartbeat became painfully loud.
Claire wiped her face.
"But he hasn't seen the genetic report.""
I looked at her.
"What genetic report?""
She opened the envelope.
And when she slid the first page across the table, I saw my name printed under a heading I never expected to see.
*GENETIC PARENTAGE ANALYSIS — MATERNAL SOURCE*
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Claire looked straight into my eyes.
"The baby girl isn't mine.""
