Chapter 9 - WHO CHOSE ME
I confronted Julian again.
This time by video.
No banquet halls.
No shouting.
Just faces in separate squares.
“Did you ever tell Mercer my maiden name?”
Julian frowned.
“He knew you.”
“How?”
“He treated us.”
“No. The clinic where we did testing wasn’t Mercer’s office.”
Julian looked confused.
That was real.
“You never met Mercer?”
“No.”
“Then how did he have our test results?”
Silence.
Julian looked toward his attorney.
She started taking notes.
“He shouldn’t have.”
I stared.
“Who referred you to him?”
“My father.”
There it was.
Another connection.
Julian’s father, Martin Brooks, had been a hospital administrator for thirty years.
Retired.
Still alive.
Living outside Richmond.
“Why?”
“After the azoospermia result, Dad said he knew someone who could review the lab.”
“And you went to Mercer.”
“Yes.”
“Did Mercer ask about me?”
“He asked for family history.”
“My family history?”
“Both of ours.”
“Did you give him my maiden name?”
“Probably.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did your father know Garrison?”
Julian frowned.
“Why would he?”
I didn’t know.
But someone connected two men’s stored reproductive material to a profile labeled for me.
Garrison.
Julian.
What did they share?
Age difference.
Different professions.
Different neighborhoods originally.
Then Garrison called after reviewing his old billing records.
“I found a payment.”
“What payment?”
“Mercer refunded part of my storage fees after Helen died.”
“So?”
“The check came from Piedmont Women’s Research Foundation.”
I frowned.
“Who are they?”
“Defunct nonprofit.”
Claire searched corporate filings.
Board members included:
Dr. Adrian Mercer.
Dr. Susan Hale.
And Martin Brooks.
Julian’s father.
My pulse changed.
We called Julian back.
“Did you know your father served on Mercer’s foundation?”
His face emptied.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
For once, I believed him immediately.
Martin Brooks agreed to a meeting only after his own attorney joined.
He was seventy-one.
Tall.
White hair.
Same clipped tone Julian used when trying to sound reasonable.
He listened as Claire described the transfer.
Then said, “I had no knowledge of specific specimens.”
“Why were you on the foundation board?”
“It funded fertility access.”
“Did it operate donor programs?”
“Not officially.”
“Unofficially?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation changed everything.
“What did Mercer do?”
Martin rubbed his thumb across his wedding ring.
“Adrian believed anonymous donor systems were inefficient.”
“What does that mean?”
“He thought genetic compatibility could be optimized.”
I felt sick.
“Optimized how?”
“Medical history. Phenotype. Certain inherited-risk factors.”
Claire asked, “Did he use stored reproductive material without consent?”
“I never saw proof.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Martin looked toward the window.
“I suspected.”
Julian exploded.
“You suspected?”
Martin flinched.
“You sent me to him!”
“I sent you for consultation.”
“He moved my sperm!”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You sat on his board.”
“I did not know he used your material.”
The Brooks family finally looked like mine had felt for years.
Trust cracking in real time.
I asked, “What does Carter-compatible mean?”
Martin looked at me.
For the first time, fear crossed his face.
“Where did you see that phrase?”
“In Mercer’s email.”
He said nothing.
“Mr. Brooks.”
His attorney whispered something.
Martin ignored her.
“Your mother participated in a study.”
I froze.
“My mother?”
“When she was pregnant with you.”
“What study?”
“A hereditary-cardiac-risk project.”
My mouth went dry.
My mother had died at fifty-seven from a sudden cardiac event.
I had been twenty-nine.
Martin continued.
“Mercer later used old family medical datasets when building his compatibility models.”
I stared.
“So he had my genetic family information before Julian and I ever met him.”
“Yes.”
“And he selected sperm based on me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did you know he was doing this?”
Martin looked down.
“I knew he believed he could.”
That was enough.
Then Julian asked the question I hadn’t thought to ask.
“Why Garrison?”
Martin looked toward him.
“I don’t know.”
Garrison, who had been silent beside me, spoke.
“You do.”
Martin’s eyes lifted.
Garrison’s expression had gone cold.
“You reviewed Helen’s miscarriage records.”
Martin said nothing.
May you like
And I suddenly understood that Garrison and Julian were not random men connected by Mercer.
Martin Brooks had been involved in both families.
