Chapter 2 - The Name on the Fertility File
Rachel did not move.
For several seconds, nobody did.
Owen looked down at the paper again.
Then at Rachel.
“Why is your name on Serena's fertility record?”
“I don't know.”
Judith immediately said, “This is obviously an administrative error.”
The man in the white coat closed the door.
“No, Mrs. Cole.”
Judith recognized him.
Rachel saw it immediately.
“Who are you?” Owen asked.
“Dr. Nathan Mercer. I was formerly a reproductive endocrinologist at Westbridge.”
“Formerly?”
“The clinic closed its original laboratory division two years ago.”
Owen lifted the document.
“Explain this.”
Mercer glanced at Rachel.
“I can't fully explain it without accessing archived records.”
“Then access them.”
“It isn't that simple.”
Owen stepped closer.
“My wife just gave birth to a child after telling me we conceived naturally. I have a fertility diagnosis saying that was nearly impossible. My ex-wife's name is on my wife's fertility record. And my mother looks like she already knows why.”
He looked at Judith.
“So make it simple.”
Mercer took a breath.
“Years ago, Westbridge stored reproductive samples under numerical identifiers.”
Rachel's stomach tightened.
“I never stored anything there.”
Mercer looked at her.
“You underwent fertility testing there.”
“Testing. Not treatment.”
“Correct.”
Owen frowned.
“What does that have to do with Serena?”
Mercer hesitated.
Judith spoke.
“Nothing.”
“Stop answering for everyone!” Owen snapped.
Silence.
Mercer continued.
“During comprehensive fertility testing, biological samples may be retained temporarily for diagnostic purposes.”
Rachel stared at him.
“Eggs?”
“No. Not from routine testing.”
She exhaled.
“Then what?”
“Blood. Tissue. Genetic screening material.”
Owen looked down at the document.
“What is this patient number?”
Mercer moved closer.
He examined it.
Then froze.
Rachel saw the reaction.
“You recognize it.”
Mercer handed the paper back.
“Yes.”
“Whose is it?”
“I need the archive.”
Owen laughed without humor.
“You people really love saying that.”
Mercer looked directly at him.
“Because guessing would be irresponsible.”
That answer stopped Owen.
Rachel respected it despite herself.
“Where are the archives?”
“Some records were transferred to Mercy Lake after Westbridge's laboratory closed.”
Rachel frowned.
“This hospital?”
Mercer nodded.
“Why?”
“Mercy Lake acquired part of Westbridge's cryogenic storage operation.”
Owen looked at Rachel.
She could see the question in his eyes.
She had no answer.
A neonatal nurse appeared at the door.
“Mr. Cole?”
Owen turned.
“Your son is in the NICU. He's stable, but we'd like you there.”
The word son changed him.
Whatever nightmare surrounded the child's conception, the baby was real.
Owen looked at Rachel.
She nodded once.
“Go.”
He left.
Judith tried to follow.
Rachel caught her arm.
Judith looked down at Rachel's hand.
“Take your hand off me.”
“Tell me what Westbridge means.”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
Judith pulled away.
“You always did enjoy believing the worst of me.”
“You asked me to accept blame for your son's infertility.”
“To protect him.”
“From what?”
Judith's composure cracked.
“His father.”
Rachel stared.
“Thomas?”
Judith's late husband had died five years earlier.
Thomas Cole had been charming in public and terrifying in private.
Rachel had never understood how much Owen feared disappointing him until their fertility problems began.
“What did Thomas have to do with Owen's diagnosis?”
Judith looked toward the hallway.
“Not here.”
Rachel almost laughed.
“That sentence seems to run in your family.”
Judith left.
Rachel should have gone home.
Instead she found herself outside the NICU twenty minutes later.
Through the glass, Owen stood beside an incubator.
His enormous tattooed hand rested against the clear plastic.
Inside lay a tiny baby wrapped in white.
Rachel's anger softened despite herself.
Owen looked destroyed.
Not because the baby might not be biologically his.
Because he loved him already.
Rachel remembered Owen building a crib four years ago.
They had not even been pregnant.
He had bought it after their first fertility appointment because he had been certain they would need it eventually.
Rachel had found him sitting beside the unfinished frame one night.
Someday, he'd said.
They never got someday.
Owen noticed her.
He came out several minutes later.
“He weighs four pounds, nine ounces.”
Rachel nodded.
“That's encouraging.”
“They said he's strong.”
“Good.”
Owen leaned against the wall.
“I don't care whose DNA he has.”
Rachel studied him.
“Then why are you digging?”
“Because Serena lied.”
He looked through the glass.
“And because someone used your name.”
Rachel had no answer.
Owen rubbed his face.
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“For believing you.”
She knew what he meant.
“You believed your mother.”
“I chose to.”
That distinction mattered.
Owen looked at her.
“I blamed you because it was easier than believing something was wrong with me.”
Rachel's expression tightened.
“I know.”
“I said terrible things.”
“You did.”
“I let my father say worse.”
“Yes.”
Owen nodded.
No defense.
No excuse.
“I can't undo that.”
“No.”
The honesty hurt more than an apology.
A phone vibrated.
Rachel checked hers.
Nothing.
Owen pulled his phone out.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He turned the screen toward her.
Unknown number.
One message.
DON'T TRUST THE WESTBRIDGE RECORDS.
A second message arrived.
ASK JUDITH WHAT THOMAS PAID FOR.
Rachel looked toward the elevators.
Judith was gone.
Owen called her.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then Rachel's phone rang.
Hospital administration.
She answered.
“Rachel Bennett.”
“Ms. Bennett, this is records security. Dr. Mercer requested access to an archived Westbridge file associated with your patient identifier.”
Rachel looked at Mercer, who was standing twenty feet away.
“Yes?”
“There is a problem.”
“What kind?”
“The file was accessed six minutes ago.”
“By Dr. Mercer?”
“No.”
Rachel's pulse quickened.
“Who accessed it?”
“We're investigating.”
“Can you tell me where?”
A pause.
“Sublevel archive room B.”
Rachel looked at Owen.
He understood from her expression.
They headed toward the elevators.
Mercer followed.
The basement archive corridor was nearly empty.
A security guard stood outside Room B.
The electronic lock had been damaged.
“Someone forced it?” Owen asked.
The guard shook his head.
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
“Someone used an authorized access card.”
Rachel stepped inside.
Metal shelves filled the room.
A terminal glowed at the far wall.
One drawer stood open.
Mercer walked toward it.
“No.”
Rachel followed.
“What?”
He touched the label.
The compartment was empty.
“What was stored there?”
Mercer stared at Owen.
“Original chain-of-custody documentation.”
“For what?”
Mercer swallowed.
“For reproductive specimens connected to your family.”
Owen's phone vibrated again.
A photograph appeared.
It showed Judith leaving Mercy Lake through a side entrance.
Timestamp: three minutes earlier.
Then another message.
SHE ISN'T RUNNING FROM YOU.
SHE IS RUNNING TO HIM.
Owen typed immediately.
WHO?
The reply came almost instantly.
A photograph loaded.
Rachel stared.
The picture was old.
Thomas Cole stood outside Westbridge Reproductive Center.
Beside him was Dr. Mercer.
And between them stood another man.
Owen leaned closer.
“Who is that?”
Mercer's face went white.
Before he could answer, footsteps sounded in the corridor.
Slow.
Approaching.
Mercer looked toward the open archive door.
Then whispered:
“He's the man who changed Owen's results.”
The footsteps stopped.
May you like
A shadow crossed the doorway.
And someone reached for the handle from the other side...
