Dana did not ask why I wanted Jessica found before the Sterlings reached her.
She understood.
If Jessica had knowingly helped arrange the unauthorized transfer, she was part of what had happened to me.
But she was also pregnant.
And if the child she carried was the embryo Carter and I had created, then whatever happened next could not be reduced to revenge, property, or the Sterling family's obsession with bloodlines.
There was a baby at the center of all of it.
A baby who had not consented to any of this either.
“I'm contacting local counsel,” Dana said. “If Jessica reaches out to you directly, don't threaten her and don't make promises.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“Good. And don't meet her alone.”
That made me pause.
“You think I'm in danger?”
“I think we don't yet know what anyone involved is willing to do.”
I looked toward Rachel's staircase.
The house had gone quiet. Chloe and Emma were asleep upstairs, one room apart because Rachel had converted her office into a makeshift bedroom. Their shoes sat beside the front door, still damp from Seattle rain.
“What about Carter?”
“He's been reckless. That isn't the same thing as dangerous.”
“And Richard?”
“I know less about him.”
“So that's a yes.”
“That's me telling you not to assume limits for people who've already crossed several.”
After we ended the call, I checked Carter's message again.
Jessica is gone.
No explanation.
No accusation.
Just panic.
I typed a reply.
When did you last see her?
The dots appeared immediately.
At the clinic.
Then:
She said she needed air.
Another message followed before I could respond.
Her car is still here.
That changed things.
I called him.
He answered on the first ring.
“Where are you?”
“Outside the clinic.”
“Is Richard with you?”
“No. My parents left.”
“Why?”
“My father and I had an argument.”
“About the baby?”
“About everything.”
I paced toward Rachel's darkened living room.
“What happened after Jessica left the ultrasound room?”
“She wouldn't talk to me.”
“Because?”
“I don't know.”
“Try again.”
He exhaled sharply.
“The doctor told her they needed to verify records. Jessica got upset.”
“Upset because she was surprised or because she was caught?”
“Lauren.”
“It's a reasonable question.”
“She said the clinic had mixed something up.”
“The clinic where she used to work?”
Silence.
“You know now.”
“Yes.”
“When did you find out?”
“Tonight.”
“And that didn't concern you?”
“Of course it concerned me.”
“Did she ever tell you?”
“No.”
I leaned against the wall.
“Carter, you started sleeping with a woman who once worked at the fertility clinic storing our embryos, and you never knew?”
“No.”
“You told her about the embryo.”
“Later.”
“How much later?”
He didn't answer.
“Carter.”
“A few months.”
“Before you began talking about transferring it?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did Jessica suggest the idea?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
There it was.
Not entirely unexpected.
Still awful.
“She told you she could get access.”
“She said there might be a process.”
“Without my consent.”
“She said because we were married when the embryos were created, the legal ownership was complicated.”
“And you accepted that because it gave you what you wanted.”
“I made a mistake.”
“No. A mistake is signing the wrong line. You made a series of decisions.”
He was silent.
I continued.
“When did she leave the room?”
“About an hour ago.”
“And nobody saw where she went?”
“Security is checking.”
“Did she have her purse?”
“Yes.”
“Phone?”
“Yes.”
“Coat?”
“I think so.”
“Anything else?”
He hesitated.
“Her medical folder.”
“What medical folder?”
“She brought a folder from home. Records, I guess.”
I straightened.
“What color?”
“What?”
“The folder.”
“Blue.”
I thought about Oakfield.
“Was she expecting questions about fertility records?”
“I don't know.”
“She brought documents to a routine ultrasound.”
“Maybe pregnancy records.”
“Or maybe proof.”
“Proof of what?”
I did not answer because I wasn't sure yet.
Then Carter said something that shifted my attention.
“Her phone is off.”
“How do you know?”
“Straight to voicemail.”
“Where does she live?”
“I already checked. She isn't there.”
“You left the clinic?”
“I sent someone.”
I felt my shoulders tighten.
“Who?”
“One of my father's drivers.”
Of course.
The Sterlings had resources ordinary families did not.
Drivers.
Private investigators.
Lawyers on retainer.
People who could make a search look like concern when it was really control.
“Call him back.”
“What?”
“Tell him to stop.”
“Why?”
“Because Jessica is seven months pregnant and disappeared immediately after learning her medical records were being examined. Chasing her with your father's employees may make this worse.”
“She has my son.”
The phrase landed like a stone.
“Your son?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know exactly what you mean.”
He tried to correct himself.
“Our son. Biologically.”
“You don't get to rewrite your language now.”
“Lauren, please.”
“You told me to take our daughters because you had a son coming. Remember?”
He went quiet.
“I remember.”
“Then remember this too: being genetically related to that baby doesn't make you entitled to control the woman carrying him.”
“I just want to know he's safe.”
“For once, that is the correct concern.”
He breathed out slowly.
“Will you help me find her?”
I almost said no.
Then I thought of Jessica alone somewhere, frightened enough to abandon her car.
“Yes.”
Carter sounded startled.
“But I am not helping you secure your heir.”
“I didn't ask that.”
“You didn't have to.”
After the call, Rachel appeared in the doorway wearing socks and an old university sweatshirt.
“You're still awake.”
“So are you.”
“I heard you pacing.”
She opened the refrigerator.
“Tea?”
“Coffee.”
“At midnight?”
“I don't plan on sleeping.”
She studied me.
“Then coffee.”
While she prepared it, my phone rang from an unfamiliar Seattle-area number.
I stared at it.
Rachel saw my expression.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
I answered.
“Hello?”
At first, there was only static.
Then a woman whispered, “Lauren?”
My entire body went still.
“Jessica?”
Rachel stopped moving.
The voice trembled.
“I need you to listen before you hang up.”
“I wasn't going to hang up.”
“You should.”
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Are you safe?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“The baby?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
I pulled out a chair.
“Why did you leave?”
“Because Carter knows.”
“Knows what?”
“Not everything.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What does he know?”
“That I worked at Oakfield.”
“He knows that now.”
“No. I mean he knows I was connected to your file before I met him.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“Connected how?”
Jessica began crying quietly.
Not loudly.
Not theatrically.
The kind of crying someone tries to prevent another person from hearing.
“Lauren, there's something Carter never told you.”
That statement almost made me laugh because the list was becoming endless.
“What?”
“Your remaining embryos were never scheduled for destruction.”
I looked at the documents spread across Rachel's table.
“Then what was the letter?”
“Something Carter asked someone to create.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I wasn't working there then.”
“When did you start?”
“Later.”
“How much later?”
“About eighteen months.”
I wrote the timeline on the back of an envelope.
“What was your job?”
“Patient records and billing compliance.”
“So you could see storage accounts.”
“Yes.”
“Including mine?”
“Yes.”
Rachel slowly sat across from me.
“Did you access my file?”
Jessica swallowed audibly.
“Yes.”
“Without authorization?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“At first because of a billing discrepancy.”
“At first?”
“There were storage payments coming from a corporate account, but the patient file showed the account holders believed the embryos had been disposed of.”
My skin prickled.
“You knew something was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“I asked my supervisor.”
“And?”
“She told me not to touch the account.”
“Why?”
“She said it was a special client arrangement.”
“Richard Sterling.”
“I didn't know who he was then.”
“But you found out.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Months later.”
She inhaled shakily.
“Lauren, I need you to understand something. I didn't meet Carter because I was trying to get pregnant.”
“Then why did you meet him?”
“I saw his name in the billing trail.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“So you approached him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to know why the embryos were being stored secretly.”
“You could have reported it.”
“I should have.”
“But you didn't.”
“No.”
“Instead, you started a relationship with my husband.”
Another long silence.
“Yes.”
Rachel's expression hardened.
I continued.
“When did you learn there was a male embryo?”
“Before I met him.”
The truth was getting uglier.
“And the trust?”
“After.”
“From Carter?”
“Yes.”
“And that changed things.”
Jessica did not answer.
I let the silence become uncomfortable.
Finally she said, “Yes.”
There it was.
Not innocence.
Not quite calculation from the beginning.
Something worse in its own way: a person who discovered wrongdoing, stepped into it, and then decided she could benefit from it.
“Why are you calling me?”
“Because the story Carter told me about the embryos was false.”
“Which story?”
“He told me you had agreed privately that he could use the male embryo someday.”
I stood so abruptly the chair scraped the floor.
“He said what?”
“He told me the paperwork issue was because you were angry about the divorce and would deny it later.”
“I never agreed.”
“I know that now.”
“How?”
“Because I saw your signature on the authorization.”
“And?”
“It wasn't yours.”
My voice lowered.
“You knew it was forged.”
“Not before the transfer.”
“When?”
“After.”
I pressed two fingers against my temple.
“You saw a forged signature and continued the pregnancy without contacting me.”
“I was already pregnant.”
“That does not erase what you knew.”
“I know.”
“No, Jessica. I don't think you do.”
She started crying again.
I did not comfort her.
“Where did the forged signature come from?”
“I don't know.”
“Who submitted it?”
“Carter brought the documents.”
My stomach twisted.
“He told me tonight he didn't forge anything.”
“He may not have physically forged it.”
“What does that mean?”
“I never saw him sign your name.”
“Who else could have?”
“I don't know.”
Then she said something I had not expected.
“But Richard knew the transfer was happening.”
I stopped pacing.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He met with me before the procedure.”
Rachel mouthed, What?
I lifted a hand.
“Where?”
“At his office.”
“Why?”
“He wanted confirmation.”
“Of what?”
“That the embryo was male.”
A cold pressure settled behind my ribs.
“What else?”
“That if the transfer worked, the baby would be genetically Carter's.”
“And mine.”
Jessica's silence answered.
“Did he mention me?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He said you had chosen to walk away from the Sterling family and no longer had any interest in the embryos.”
I laughed once.
“That was before I even filed for divorce.”
“I know.”
The timeline sharpened again.
This hadn't grown out of a messy breakup.
The planning had started before the divorce became final.
Possibly before I even knew my marriage was ending.
“Jessica, did Richard offer you money?”
“No.”
“Property?”
“No.”
“Anything?”
“He talked about the trust.”
There it was.
“He told you your son would inherit.”
“He said the trust would make sure the child was protected.”
“Protected with millions.”
She did not deny it.
I looked toward Rachel.
“Why did you leave the clinic tonight?”
“Because Dr. Jenkins called Oakfield while I was there.”
“And?”
“She asked me if I knew a woman named Lauren Sterling.”
I felt a chill.
“What did you say?”
“I said yes.”
“What happened next?”
“She told me there appeared to be an ownership dispute concerning the embryo.”
“Ownership dispute.”
“I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds like my body became paperwork.”
“I know.”
“No. Stop saying that.”
Jessica became quiet.
“What happened after that?” I asked.
“The doctor said she needed to speak with Oakfield's compliance department before continuing any discussion.”
“And you ran.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought Carter would call his father.”
“He did.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Richard called me.”
“When?”
“Before I called you.”
“What did he say?”
Her voice became smaller.
“He told me not to speak to anyone.”
My skin prickled.
“Exactly?”
“He said the family attorneys would handle it, that I should go somewhere private, and that nothing needed to become public.”
“That sounds like Richard.”
“He also told me to give him the folder.”
“The blue folder.”
“Yes.”
“What is in it?”
She hesitated.
“Jessica.”
“Copies of messages.”
“Between whom?”
“Carter and me.”
I closed my eyes.
“About the transfer?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“Emails from Richard.”
Rachel stood.
“Do not give that folder to anyone,” I said.
“I know.”
“Photograph every page.”
“I already did.”
“Send copies to Dana.”
“Your lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“I don't have her number.”
“I'll text it.”
Jessica inhaled.
“There's one more thing.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“I don't think Richard only paid for storage.”
“What do you mean?”
“I found something in the old billing archive.”
“When?”
“Months ago.”
“What?”
“A second set of charges.”
“For what?”
“I couldn't see the full description.”
“Then what did you see?”
“A code.”
“What code?”
Jessica read it.
I wrote it down.
Rachel looked over my shoulder.
Neither of us recognized it.
“What does it mean?”
“I don't know,” Jessica said. “But the charges began shortly after Emma was born.”
My youngest daughter.
Five years earlier.
“Why does that matter?”
“Because they weren't storage fees.”
“What were they?”
“I told you, I don't know.”
“But you have a guess.”
Another pause.
“I think someone was testing the embryos.”
My stomach dropped.
“Testing for what?”
“I don't know.”
“Genetic disease?”
“Maybe.”
“Sex?”
“They already knew the sex.”
I stared at the code on the envelope.
Then a darker possibility formed.
“What if they were testing something else?”
Jessica whispered, “That's what I'm afraid of.”
Before I could ask what she meant, there was a sharp sound on her end of the call.
A car door.
Jessica stopped breathing.
“Where are you?”
“I told you, I can't—”
“Is someone there?”
Another sound.
Footsteps.
“Jessica?”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“I have to go.”
“No. Stay on the line.”
“I can't.”
“Jessica.”
“If anything happens, Dana gets the folder.”
The call ended.
I immediately dialed back.
Straight to voicemail.
Rachel and I stared at each other.
Then my phone buzzed with an incoming message from Jessica's number.
Not words.
A photograph.
A grainy image taken through a windshield.
A black sedan parked beneath a streetlamp.
Someone stood beside it.
Even blurred by rain, I recognized him.
Richard Sterling.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: Richard Found Jessica Before Anyone Else, and the Conversation She Secretly Recorded Changed the Meaning of the Entire Pregnancy
Five Minutes After the Judge Ended Our Marriage, Carter Told Me Exactly What Our Daughters Were Worth to Him
Part 5 of 35
