Chapter 11 - MARTIN’S REASON
Martin denied authorizing the insemination.
That distinction became his entire defense.
“I never told Mercer to use anybody’s sperm.”
Julian stared at him.
“You told him to observe Emma.”
“After I learned what he had done.”
“When?”
Martin looked toward his lawyer.
“After her pregnancy was confirmed.”
I felt sick.
“Then why does the notation look older?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you pay Mercer?”
“No.”
“Did you communicate with him?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Several times.”
Claire asked for emails.
Martin’s attorney produced them two days later.
They were devastating in quiet ways.
Martin to Mercer:
If this has already occurred, do not interfere with the pregnancy.
Mercer:
Agreed.
Martin:
No contact with Emma.
Mercer:
Understood.
Martin:
I need to know which source took.
Mercer:
After birth.
There it was.
Martin had not necessarily caused the procedure.
But once he learned about it, he chose observation over disclosure.
For data.
For curiosity.
For fear.
Maybe all three.
When confronted, he finally stopped minimizing.
“I thought telling you while pregnant would create harm.”
I stared.
“You thought lying to me was medical care?”
“No.”
“You thought you could decide what truth my body could handle.”
His face crumpled slightly.
“I was wrong.”
Julian laughed bitterly.
“You’ve been saying that since I was twelve.”
Martin looked at his son.
Something old passed between them.
Not my problem.
Not anymore.
I asked one question.
“Why were you interested in the outcome?”
Martin looked at me.
“Because your mother died young.”
My breath caught.
“What does that have to do with this?”
“Mercer believed the Brooks and Blackwood profiles both reduced certain inherited cardiac-risk combinations identified in your maternal family.”
I almost stood.
“He was trying to design healthier children?”
Martin shook his head.
“Not design.”
“Don’t clean up the language.”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
The room went quiet.
I thought about my mother.
The night she died.
How fast it happened.
How many doctors afterward told me to get screening.
I had.
No obvious inherited syndrome had been found.
But Mercer had taken incomplete family-risk data and transformed it into justification.
Not to cure me.
To experiment through me.
Garrison’s hands were clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone pale.
“Helen lost five pregnancies.”
Martin looked at him.
“I know.”
“You used her records too.”
“The foundation used de-identified data.”
“Mercer knew exactly whose data it was.”
“Yes.”
Garrison’s voice dropped.
“And you kept working with him.”
Martin said nothing.
That silence broke whatever remained between them.
The next weeks became paperwork.
Regulatory complaints.
Medical-board referrals.
Civil claims.
Queen City disclosed the incident to insurers and initiated independent review.
Julian and Garrison each submitted DNA samples to preserve baseline testing for after birth.
I agreed to nothing more than necessary.
For once, my body was not going to become somebody else’s urgent project.
Chloe resigned from her new job after Queen City’s investigation documented improper record access.
Julian stopped defending her.
That did not make us allies.
It only made the affair less relevant than the medical violation around us.
Then Garrison called me one evening.
“I found Mercer.”
My chest tightened.
“Where?”
“Not physically.”
“What do you mean?”
“A storage unit account.”
I sat up.
“His?”
“Paid through the old foundation.”
“Where?”
“Matthews.”
Inside that unit, according to billing records, Mercer had stored archived paper files after closing his practice.
May you like
And one box was labeled:
CARTER / BROOKS / BLACKWOOD.
