Chapter 7 - PATRICIA LANE
Patricia Lane lawyered up before speaking to us.
That told me caution.
Not guilt.
Daniel wanted to confront her.
I refused.
We had already learned what family confrontations did.
They produced emotion.
Evidence required patience.
Through counsel and the clinic investigation, Patricia eventually gave a statement.
She admitted knowing Margaret.
“Socially?”
“Through the foundation.”
“Did Margaret ask you about Claire’s treatment?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did she ask?”
“Whether the clinic could guarantee the donor was from what she called ‘good stock.’”
I nearly laughed.
Bloodlines.
Even in a fertility clinic.
Patricia said she told Margaret donor selection belonged to the patient and medical team.
Margaret became irritated.
“She said Claire shouldn't be allowed to choose a stranger to father a Whitmore child.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
There it was.
Not yet proof of interference.
But motive.
Then Patricia admitted accessing my chart.
“I was checking donor documentation.”
“Why?”
“Margaret called me.”
“When?”
“The week before transfer.”
“What did she say?”
“That there had been a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“She claimed Claire selected the wrong donor profile.”
I stared.
“I selected exactly the donor Daniel and I agreed on.”
Patricia nodded.
“I know that now.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I opened the file.”
“And changed the donor identifier?”
Patricia’s attorney interrupted.
Eventually the answer came.
Yes.
Patricia changed the electronic identifier after receiving what she believed was corrected laboratory paperwork.
“From whom?”
“Dr. Alan Price.”
Our reproductive endocrinologist.
I trusted him.
He had performed my transfer.
Daniel whispered:
“No.”
Patricia produced the email.
Alan Price wrote:
Please update donor identifier per corrected accession sheet attached.
The attached sheet listed HJ-87.
But Alan later denied sending it.
IT forensics supported him.
The email had been sent from his account while he was logged in remotely—but from a device not registered to him.
Someone had his credentials.
Then the clinic found the device.
A tablet used in the foundation donor lounge during an annual gala.
Margaret had attended.
So had Patricia.
So had dozens of guests.
Still not enough.
Then we found surveillance footage from the gala archive.
Margaret sat at the tablet for twelve minutes.
No screen details visible.
No proof of what she did.
But the timing matched the email.
My anger surged.
Daniel stopped me.
“We still don't know she sent it.”
He was right.
I hated him for being right.
Then another witness appeared.
A volunteer remembered Margaret asking whether the tablet could access “the clinic system.”
Again.
Suspicious.
Not conclusive.
Then Patricia disclosed something else.
After Lily was born, Margaret asked repeatedly whether the donor record could ever be tested genetically.
“When?”
“About three months after birth.”
“Why?”
“She said family medical history might matter.”
That could be legitimate.
But Margaret never told me.
Instead she spent months criticizing Lily’s hair, eyes, and “lack of Whitmore features.”
Then one comment I had ignored returned to me.
At Christmas, Margaret held Lily and whispered:
“You look more like him than Daniel ever did.”
I had assumed she meant Robert.
Now I wondered.
Henry?
May you like
Margaret may have known exactly whose genes my daughter carried.
📖 Patricia’s testimony placed Margaret inside the chain that altered my donor record, but one old Christmas remark suggested Margaret had recognized Henry in Lily long before the DNA test. 👇
