Chapter 2 - The SignatureI didn't drive home.
I drove directly to the office.
It was after nine on Easter Sunday, and the building was almost completely dark.
I parked underground and used my access card.
The lobby lights came on automatically.
For several seconds, I stood alone in the silence.
My own reflection stared back at me from the glass doors.
I looked tired.
Older than I had that morning.
But more than anything else, I looked furious.
I had spent years believing my family saw me as the difficult daughter.
The cold one.
The overly suspicious one.
The woman who cared about work too much.
Maybe they were right about one thing.
I was suspicious.
That had probably saved me.
I entered my department.
The floor was empty.
Computers sat asleep beneath dark monitors.
I opened my office, shut the door, and spread the contract across my desk.
The witness signature stared at me.
Daniel Mercer.
My department director.
I knew his signature.
I had reviewed hundreds of documents he signed.
But I needed proof.
I scanned the page.
Then I opened the internal transaction system.
The fertility company was called EverBloom Reproductive Services.
EverBloom publicly presented itself as a patient-centered fertility network.
Clinics.
Coordinators.
Consultants.
Marketing.
Everything clean.
Everything polished.
But beneath that structure were several management entities.
My team had flagged one repeatedly.
Northstar Patient Services LLC.
That was the LLC.
I pulled up the corporate records our legal team had acquired.
My fingers moved quickly.
Registered agent.
Formation date.
Manager.
Member.
I reached the ownership page.
Then stopped breathing.
The controlling member was hidden behind another holding company.
I followed the chain.
Northstar was owned by Crescent Meridian Holdings.
Crescent Meridian was owned by another LLC.
That LLC was owned by a family trust.
And the trustee was not Grant.
It was a company.
I kept digging.
The registered address of the trust was a suite in downtown Chicago.
The exact same suite appeared in another document.
A consulting agreement between EverBloom and a company called GJ Medical Strategy.
GJ.
Grant Jameson.
I stared at the screen.
I had found the structure.
But I still didn't understand Daniel's signature.
I searched internal files.
Nothing.
Then I searched archived compliance emails.
Again.
Nothing.
Finally I checked vendor documents.
There it was.
An outside legal-services request.
Three weeks earlier.
Recipient:
Daniel Mercer.
Subject:
Third-Party Witness Authentication.
I clicked.
The document loaded.
It was a request from EverBloom.
They needed a witness for a private patient-related agreement.
The agreement number matched the number on Vanessa's contract.
My pulse quickened.
Daniel had been involved from the beginning.
I read the email.
The request contained one sentence that made my skin crawl.
“Client requests expedited execution to maintain treatment schedule.”
Treatment schedule.
Three weeks before Easter.
Three weeks before I had even been asked.
I saved the file.
Then my phone rang.
Vanessa.
I let it ring.
She called again.
Then again.
Then Grant.
Then Dad.
Finally, a text from Mom appeared.
You have taken this too far. Come home and talk to us.
I put the phone face down.
Then another email appeared.
This one was from Daniel.
Claire, please do not access any additional EverBloom files tonight.
I froze.
He knew I was there.
I slowly stood.
How?
I had not emailed him.
I hadn't opened his files.
The internal system showed my access automatically.
Someone was watching the account.
I walked to the hallway.
The lights were motion-sensitive.
One after another, they turned on.
At the far end of the corridor, a door was slightly open.
I knew it had been closed when I arrived.
I moved toward it.
My heartbeat climbed.
The room belonged to our forensic accounting team.
Inside, a monitor was awake.
A document was open.
Not one I had opened.
It was a spreadsheet of EverBloom payments.
I stepped closer.
Rows of names.
Amounts.
Dates.
And at the bottom, a section marked:
SURROGATE ACQUISITION COSTS
I stared.
The term was clinical.
Cold.
Dehumanizing.
Beside each entry was a payment amount.
Not to surrogates.
To coordinators.
To clinics.
To legal entities.
To consultants.
And then I saw something that made the entire room tilt.
One line was highlighted.
Projected Revenue: $186,000
Next to it:
Case: C.B.
My initials.
Claire Bennett.
I backed away from the screen.
This wasn't just about Vanessa wanting a baby.
Someone had been calculating the money attached to me before I ever agreed to anything.
Before anyone had asked me.
My phone vibrated again.
This time it was a voicemail from Grant.
I played it.
His voice was shaking.
“Claire, please listen to me. You have no idea what Vanessa has been told.”
I frowned.
Then he continued.
“She thinks the embryo is hers.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
His voice dropped.
“But it isn't.”
The voicemail ended.
I replayed it.
Again.
And again.
The embryo wasn't hers.
Then whose was it?
And why had my family needed me?
I looked back at the spreadsheet.
The number beside my initials remained on the screen.
$186,000.
Under it was another field.
Final Payout Trigger: Confirmed Pregnancy
I whispered to the empty room.
“What have they gotten me into?”
Behind me, the door clicked shut.
May you like
I turned.
Nobody was there.
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