Chapter 12 - THE BOX IN MATTHEWS
We did not break into the storage unit.
Garrison could have afforded ten lawyers and still understood that.
Instead, counsel obtained an agreement through Mercer’s attorney to preserve and inventory the unit while regulators pursued formal access.
Mercer had lawyered up.
That told us he was still in North Carolina.
Alive.
Aware.
Afraid enough to protect records.
The inventory arrived first.
Thirty-two boxes.
Four old computers.
Cryogenic shipping manifests.
Patient files.
Research binders.
One box:
CARTER / BROOKS / BLACKWOOD.
When the parties were permitted to inspect copies, the box contained more than I expected.
My mother’s old research questionnaire.
Helen Blackwood’s miscarriage summaries.
Julian’s pre-cancer cryogenic records.
Garrison’s storage records.
My fertility tests.
Even my grandmother’s cardiac history.
A family tree with medical notes.
I felt violated in a way I could not fully describe.
My bloodline had been turned into a diagram.
At the bottom of the box was a sealed laboratory envelope.
Embryology outcome projection.
Recipient: E. Carter.
Julian stared.
“What outcome?”
It was not a prophecy.
It was a probability model.
Mercer had calculated theoretical genetic risk based on different donor pairings.
Brooks.
Blackwood.
Several anonymous donors.
The Brooks and Blackwood profiles were both marked “preferred.”
Then one line stood out.
Dual-source cycle proposed for comparative fraternal outcome if multifollicular response confirmed.
I read it twice.
“Dual-source.”
The reproductive attorney’s expression hardened.
“He may have intentionally intended two different sperm sources in one cycle.”
“Why?”
“For comparison.”
My stomach turned.
That was the darkest answer yet because it was so clinically simple.
Comparison.
Two babies.
Same mother.
Same pregnancy.
Different fathers.
A researcher’s dream.
A human nightmare.
Julian shoved his chair back.
“This was intentional.”
“Yes,” Claire said.
Garrison stood at the window.
He looked older than sixty-four.
I asked, “Could Mercer have known I’d release two eggs?”
“He could have monitored your cycle only if he had access to clinic data.”
Queen City’s audit found repeated unauthorized remote access into transferred legacy donor records.
Credentials linked to a former vendor.
Mercer had been inside the system.
Not constantly.
Enough.
But one question remained.
Who physically selected the two vials on insemination day?
The technician, Mara Ellis, still worked at Queen City.
She agreed to an interview.
“I pulled what the system told me.”
“Did you see two different accession numbers?”
“Yes.”
“Did that concern you?”
“I called the supervisor.”
“Who?”
She swallowed.
“Chloe Brooks.”
I froze.
“Chloe wasn’t a lab supervisor.”
“No.”
“Then why call her?”
“She had flagged Emma’s account as VIP coordination.”
I stared.
Chloe had inserted herself into my treatment.
Mara continued.
“She told me the two accession numbers were legacy duplicates and both were approved under donor 4187.”
“Did she know they came from different men?”
“I don’t know.”
We asked Chloe.
This time she cried before answering.
“I knew there were two source files.”
“When?”
“That morning.”
My hands went cold.
“Did you tell Mara to use both vials?”
“Yes.”
Julian stared at her.
“Why?”
“Because Mercer told me they were duplicates.”
“You trusted Mercer?”
“He said if I stopped the cycle, the clinic would discover I’d accessed your records.”
There it was again.
Not grand motive.
Fear of being exposed.
“So you protected yourself.”
“Yes.”
“And gambled with my pregnancy.”
Chloe covered her face.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at her.
“I believe you.”
She looked up, surprised.
“I also never want to see you again.”
She nodded.
That was the end of us.
Not forgiveness.
Boundary.
Then Claire opened the final item from Mercer’s box.
A consent form.
Recipient:
Emma Carter.
Procedure:
Dual-source donor insemination.
Signature:
Emma Carter.
My name.
My handwriting.
Almost.
But not mine.
Witness signature:
Julian Brooks.
I turned toward him.
He looked horrified.
“I never signed that.”
May you like
For the first time, the forged consent implicated someone beyond Mercer.
Because Julian’s signature looked real enough that even he could not immediately tell the difference.
