Chapter 8 - The missing embryo record
The incident had occurred five years earlier.
Two patient cases.
Similar surnames.
Overlapping laboratory schedules.
One undocumented thirty-seven-minute gap.
The clinic investigated internally but concluded no confirmed mix-up occurred.
Nobody told us.
Because Leo was born healthy.
Because no one questioned parentage.
Until Marco did.
We obtained counsel and requested every preserved record.
This was no longer a family scandal.
It was potentially a medical error.
I asked Marco:
“You knew about this?”
“Not the report.”
“But you suspected.”
“Yes.”
“And instead of telling me, you planned a fake public confession?”
His silence was disgusting.
Valerie crossed her arms.
“He wanted leverage.”
Marco snapped:
“You designed the party!”
My head turned.
“What?”
Valerie smiled faintly.
“Marco isn’t nearly as clever as you think.”
She had constructed the plan.
Humiliate me publicly.
Introduce a false biological mother.
Create witnesses who believed I had concealed Leo’s origins.
Pressure me to sign an agreement.
Then use the corporate authority provision to approve the attempted founder-share transfer.
“Why my company?”
Valerie’s expression changed.
“You fired me.”
“For stealing.”
“I took what I was owed.”
“You charged personal luxury purchases to corporate accounts.”
“I built your life while you took the credit.”
“You scheduled meetings.”
Marco almost laughed.
Wrong moment.
Valerie turned on him.
“You promised me ownership.”
I looked between them.
“Were you sleeping together before I fired her?”
Neither answered.
That meant yes.
But their affair suddenly felt almost trivial.
Then Megan received another message.
The fertility clinic had located identifiers for the second patient whose materials were processed that day.
Privacy laws prevented immediate disclosure.
A court process would be required.
Good.
We would follow it.
No shortcuts.
No invented accusations.
Then another fact emerged.
The chain-of-custody report contained initials belonging to someone who had entered the embryology area without proper authorization.
M.V.
Marco Vance?
My husband stared at the document.
“That isn’t me.”
Valerie laughed.
“Convenient.”
But Marco looked genuinely confused.
Then I remembered.
His mother.
Margaret Vance.
M.V.
My mother-in-law had been at the clinic that morning.
She had insisted on coming.
She had disappeared for almost an hour.
At the time, she claimed she had gone for coffee.
I called her.
“Margaret.”
“Andrea? What’s happening? Marco called me screaming.”
“Five years ago, at the fertility clinic.”
Silence.
“Why did you enter the laboratory wing?”
The silence became longer.
May you like
Then she whispered:
“Who told you?”
