Adrian Mercer did not answer the first three calls.
He responded to Dana's email.
One sentence.
I have been expecting someone to contact me eventually.
Dana forwarded it to me without comment.
I read it twice.
Eventually.
That meant he knew there was something to be discovered.
Not necessarily what.
But something.
Dana arranged a video call for the following morning.
She strongly preferred that I not participate.
I strongly disagreed.
“This involves my children.”
“It also involves obtaining reliable testimony.”
“I can listen.”
“You may react.”
“I've been reacting quietly for eleven years.”
Dana sighed.
Eventually, we compromised.
I could join with my camera off and microphone muted unless Adrian agreed to speak with me directly.
At 9:00 a.m. Seattle time, I sat in Rachel's guest room with headphones on.
Dana appeared first.
Then another attorney from California.
Then Adrian.
The resemblance to Richard was immediate.
Not exact.
Adrian had lighter hair and a narrower face.
But the shape around the eyes was unmistakably Sterling.
I felt my stomach turn.
Carter looked like Margaret in photographs from his twenties.
Adrian looked like Richard.
“Mr. Mercer,” Dana began, “thank you for speaking with us.”
“I didn't think ignoring you would help.”
His voice was calm.
Guarded.
“You understand this concerns Oakfield Fertility Institute.”
“Yes.”
“And Richard Sterling.”
“Yes.”
“You are aware Richard Sterling is your biological father?”
Adrian smiled without warmth.
“I've been aware since I was twelve.”
“How?”
“My mother told me after I asked why a man I barely knew was paying for my school.”
“Did Richard acknowledge you privately?”
“Yes.”
“Publicly?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I wasn't useful to the family story.”
That sounded painfully familiar.
Dana asked, “What relationship did you have with him?”
“Periodic.”
“Financial?”
“Yes.”
“Personal?”
“Occasionally.”
“Did you meet Carter?”
“Not knowingly.”
I leaned closer to the screen.
“Did Richard discuss Carter with you?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That Carter was his legitimate son and would inherit the company.”
Adrian's mouth tightened.
“He wanted me to understand boundaries.”
“Did that bother you?”
“I had a mother who loved me. Richard was a check and a quarterly lunch.”
No self-pity.
Just fact.
Dana continued.
“Did Richard contact you around the time Carter and Lauren Sterling began fertility treatment?”
Adrian's expression changed slightly.
“Yes.”
My heart accelerated.
“What did he ask?”
“He asked me to provide a sperm sample.”
The words were simple.
Still, hearing them from Adrian felt different from reading a document.
“For what purpose?”
“He said there was a confidential family fertility matter.”
“Did he identify Carter?”
“Eventually.”
“And Lauren?”
“Not by name at first.”
My hands clenched.
“What did you understand would happen with the sample?”
Adrian looked directly into the camera.
“I was told Carter had a hereditary fertility issue and that he and his wife had agreed to use a family donor.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
Richard had lied to him too.
Dana remained steady.
“Did anyone tell you Lauren had consented?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Richard.”
“Anyone at Oakfield?”
“Dr. Vale.”
A chill moved through me.
“Did you speak to Lauren?”
“No.”
“Carter?”
“No.”
“Did that concern you?”
“At the time?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you proceed?”
Adrian rubbed his jaw.
“I was twenty-five. Richard had paid for my education. My mother had died the year before. I wanted…” He stopped.
Dana waited.
“I wanted him to treat me like his son.”
There it was.
The vulnerability Richard had used.
“What did he promise?”
“Nothing direct.”
“What did he imply?”
“That I could help the family.”
“By providing genetic material.”
“Yes.”
“Did you sign consent forms?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“Anonymous directed donor.”
Dana leaned forward.
“Directed to whom?”
“The recipient couple was identified by patient number.”
“Not names?”
“No.”
“Did you receive counseling?”
“Briefly.”
“With whom?”
“Vale.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That the couple understood the arrangement and preferred a genetically related donor.”
I swallowed hard.
Adrian continued.
“I was told I would have no parental rights or obligations.”
“That is what you intended?”
“Yes.”
“Did you understand that embryos might remain stored for future use?”
“Yes.”
“Did you consent to unlimited future use?”
He hesitated.
“No.”
My heartbeat sharpened.
“What did you consent to?”
“One treatment cycle.”
Dana's eyes narrowed.
“Only one?”
“That was my understanding.”
“Did the written consent state that?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a copy?”
“No.”
“Have you seen the document recently?”
“No.”
Dana made a note.
“Did Richard contact you after the cycle?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“About a year later.”
“For what?”
“He said the treatment had produced two daughters.”
Two.
Chloe and Emma.
Not embryos.
Daughters.
My throat tightened.
“What did he say about them?”
“Almost nothing.”
“Did he tell you you were their biological father?”
“Yes.”
My eyes filled unexpectedly.
Not because Adrian had done something wrong.
Because a stranger had known something about my daughters before I did.
“How did you respond?”
“I asked whether the mother knew.”
I froze.
Dana did too.
“What did Richard say?”
“That everyone who needed to know knew.”
A phrase built to prevent questions.
“Did you believe him?”
“At first.”
“And later?”
“No.”
“When did you become suspicious?”
“After he asked me to come to Oakfield several years later.”
“After Emma's birth?”
“Yes.”
My pulse quickened.
“What happened?”
“He wanted another DNA sample.”
“For testing.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said there was a question about laboratory chain of custody.”
“Did he tell you embryos remained stored?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say Lauren knew?”
“He said she had decided not to use them.”
That part was true.
“Did he say what would happen to them?”
“No.”
“Did you consent to transfer?”
“No.”
The word was immediate.
“Ever?”
“No.”
“What about the female embryo transferred to Oregon?”
Adrian's face went blank.
“What female embryo?”
I closed my eyes.
He didn't know.
Dana explained carefully that an embryo genetically created from my egg and his sperm appeared to have been transferred to Marianne Ellis and resulted in the birth of Grace.
Adrian did not move for several seconds.
Then he leaned back.
“That's impossible.”
“It appears documented.”
“No.”
His voice changed.
“Richard told me the remaining embryos were destroyed.”
I almost laughed at the cruelty of symmetry.
He had told me exactly the same lie.
Dana said, “When?”
“About three years ago.”
Around the time Grace was conceived.
“Do you know Marianne Ellis?”
“Yes.”
That surprised everyone.
“How?”
“She worked for Richard.”
“Did you know her personally?”
“A little.”
“Romantically?”
“No.”
“Did you know she was pregnant?”
“No.”
“Did Richard ever mention her after she left Sterling?”
“No.”
Dana continued.
“Were you contacted about the male embryo recently transferred to Jessica Hale?”
Adrian's eyes widened.
“No.”
“Did you authorize its use?”
“No.”
“You understand Jessica is currently pregnant.”
He stared.
“With an embryo from that cycle?”
“Yes.”
Adrian stood abruptly and walked out of frame.
For several seconds, we heard nothing.
Then he returned.
His face had gone pale.
“How many children?”
Dana answered carefully.
“Potentially four.”
“Two daughters with Lauren.”
“Yes.”
“The child in Oregon.”
“Yes.”
“And this pregnancy.”
“Yes.”
Adrian covered his mouth with one hand.
I knew that gesture.
Not because I knew him.
Because I had made it myself.
Four embryos.
Four children or pregnancies.
All carrying DNA from two people who had never knowingly agreed to create a family together.
Dana said softly, “Mr. Mercer, Lauren is on this call.”
He looked toward the screen.
I unmuted myself.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
“Lauren,” he said.
Not Mrs. Sterling.
Not Ms. anything.
Just my name.
“You didn't know.”
It was not a question.
“No.”
He closed his eyes.
“I am so sorry.”
“You were lied to too.”
“I should have verified.”
“Yes.”
The agreement surprised him.
I continued.
“You should have.”
He nodded.
“But Richard deliberately told you I consented.”
“Yes.”
“And you gave consent for one treatment cycle.”
“Yes.”
“Not future transfers.”
“No.”
“Not Marianne.”
“No.”
“Not Jessica.”
“No.”
His voice grew harder with each answer.
“Did you know Carter had been told the embryos were his?”
“I assumed Carter knew about the donor.”
“He didn't.”
Adrian stared.
“Richard told me Carter agreed because he wanted children genetically connected to the family.”
“He told Carter nothing.”
Adrian looked away.
I understood something then.
Richard had not merely manipulated us individually.
He had constructed separate realities.
To me: Carter was the father.
To Carter: his sample had worked.
To Adrian: Carter and I had consented to a family donor.
To Oakfield staff: whatever paperwork Richard supplied was sufficient.
Each lie insulated the others.
“Do you have children?” I asked.
Adrian looked surprised.
“No.”
“Partner?”
“No.”
“Why does that matter?”
“It doesn't legally.”
I paused.
“It matters to me because you just learned you may have four biological children.”
His expression softened with something close to shock.
“I don't know what I'm supposed to feel.”
“Neither do I.”
That was the most truthful thing either of us could say.
After the call, Dana told me Adrian had agreed to provide DNA.
He had also consented to release his old donor agreement if Oakfield could produce it.
By afternoon, Oakfield found a scanned copy.
Dana called immediately.
“Adrian was right.”
“One treatment cycle?”
“Yes.”
“Future embryo transfers?”
“Required renewed written consent.”
“Which he never provided.”
“Correct.”
“So both later transfers violated his consent too.”
“Yes.”
I sat quietly.
The violation did not become smaller because another person had also been harmed.
It became more deliberate.
“What about the substitution authorization?”
“Richard signed.”
“Vale?”
“Countersigned.”
“Who forged my counseling form?”
“Still unknown.”
“Carter's?”
“Also questionable.”
I rubbed my eyes.
“Could criminal charges result?”
“Potentially. I'm not going to predict outcomes.”
“Fine.”
“What matters now is preserving evidence.”
“Always.”
At 4:00, the DNA lab called Dana with preliminary expedited results from Adrian's sample compared against the archived embryo genetic profile.
Match.
Near certainty.
Adrian Mercer was the biological father of the tested embryos.
Not Carter.
The conclusion was no longer theory.
I asked the question I had been avoiding.
“Chloe and Emma?”
“Their samples are still processing.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
Soon could mean hours.
It felt like weeks.
At 5:31, Carter called.
“Dad knows.”
“What?”
“He knows someone contacted Adrian.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
“Where is Richard?”
“Gone.”
My stomach tightened.
“Gone where?”
“His driver says he left the office two hours ago.”
“With anyone?”
“No.”
“Phone?”
“Off.”
I stood.
“Did he take files?”
“Some are missing.”
“Which?”
“The Continuity Project box.”
Of course.
“Carter.”
“I copied most of it.”
“Most isn't all.”
“I know.”
“Where would he go?”
“I don't know.”
“Think.”
“My parents' house. Club. Airport.”
“Marianne.”
Silence.
“What?”
“If Richard thinks Adrian is talking, he may try to control the other witnesses.”
Carter inhaled sharply.
“Marianne.”
“Yes.”
“I'll call—”
“No. Do not send your people.”
“Then what?”
“Tell Dana.”
I called her myself.
She had already contacted Marianne's attorney.
There was a problem.
“What?”
“Marianne isn't answering.”
My heart sank.
“Grace?”
“Unknown.”
“Call police.”
“They're doing a welfare check.”
Rachel came into the room while I listened.
“What?”
I mouthed, Marianne.
She understood.
Twenty minutes later, Dana called again.
“Marianne and Grace are safe.”
I exhaled.
“Where?”
“They had left home earlier.”
“Why?”
“Marianne received a warning.”
“From whom?”
“Adrian.”
I blinked.
“When?”
“After our call, he contacted her.”
“He knew how?”
“He found an old number.”
“What did he say?”
“That Richard might be trying to contain the situation.”
“And she believed him.”
“Apparently.”
“Where did she go?”
“Her attorney asked that we not disclose it.”
“Fine.”
I understood.
Protect the child first.
Always.
Then Dana added, “Marianne agreed to speak tomorrow.”
My pulse quickened.
“About the embryo?”
“About everything.”
“Does she know I exist?”
“Yes.”
“Does Grace know about me?”
“She is three, Lauren.”
“I know.”
The answer still hurt.
I looked at a photograph Rachel had taken that morning.
Chloe and Emma on the couch.
Sisters.
Somewhere south of us was another little girl with the same biological parents.
Grace.
And in another state, Jessica carried their biological brother.
Richard had spent years trying to preserve a family line.
Instead, he had created a family structure so tangled that none of the children involved could understand it without first understanding his lies.
That night, the lab portal updated.
Chloe's result arrived first.
I opened it alone.
Maternal match: confirmed.
Paternal comparison to Adrian Mercer: consistent with biological paternity.
I stared at the screen until the words blurred.
Chloe.
Adrian's biological daughter.
Not Carter's.
Minutes later, Emma's result appeared.
The same conclusion.
I sat in the dark guest room and let myself cry.
Not because my daughters had changed.
They hadn't.
Not because Carter had suddenly ceased to be the man who had raised them.
Biology did not erase eight years or five.
I cried because once again, a truth about my own family had been known by other people before it was known by me.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from Carter.
I know.
I stared at those two words.
He must have received results through Dana or his own testing.
Another message followed.
Are they mine?
I closed my eyes.
Then typed:
They are your daughters. The DNA says Adrian is their biological father. What you choose to do with the first truth will matter more than what you do with the second.
I sent it.
For ten minutes, he did not reply.
Then:
I want to see them.
I looked toward the hallway.
Not now.
His answer came immediately.
I understand.
It was the first time in years that Carter accepted a boundary without trying to bend it.
I did not know whether that meant he was changing.
I only knew that for the first time, he had lost the biological legacy he valued and was being forced to decide whether fatherhood meant anything beyond it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 12: Marianne Revealed Why Richard Secretly Created Grace, and the Purpose Behind the Female Embryo Was Colder Than Anyone Had Imagined
Five Minutes After the Judge Ended Our Marriage, Carter Told Me Exactly What Our Daughters Were Worth to Him
Part 11 of 35
