Chapter 9 - The Twins’ Real Mother
The twins were found two hours later.
Safe.
With Mom.
At Melissa Grant’s house.
That was when the biological truth came out.
Jenna had carried the twins.
But the embryos were created using donated eggs.
Jenna knew that.
What she did not know was who the donor was.
Melissa Grant.
My father’s former girlfriend.
Mom had secretly paid Melissa for repeated fertility treatment and egg retrieval through a private arrangement.
Why?
Because Jenna’s first two IVF cycles failed.
Mom became obsessed with giving her grandchildren.
She contacted Melissa because she knew Melissa’s medical history.
Healthy.
Intelligent.
And, according to Mom’s twisted logic, “already almost family.”
Jenna vomited when police told her.
“Why would she do that?”
I knew.
Control.
Mom never simply solved problems.
She inserted herself into their center so everyone would need her forever.
But the revelation became stranger.
Melissa was not merely Dad’s old girlfriend.
She had a daughter.
Thirty-eight years old.
Born shortly after Dad married Mom.
Jenna’s face changed.
“Whose daughter?”
Melissa refused to answer until her attorney arrived.
DNA did.
Dad was the biological father.
Her daughter:
Rachel Grant.
My half-sister.
Dad cried.
Mom laughed when confronted.
“You think Robert is innocent?”
Nobody did anymore.
Dad claimed he never knew Melissa was pregnant.
Possible.
But increasingly hard to care.
Then Rachel arrived.
She had known about Dad for years.
Melissa told her as an adult.
Rachel chose not to contact us.
“I didn’t need another family.”
Fair.
So why did Mom involve Melissa in Jenna’s fertility treatment?
Because she discovered Rachel’s existence first.
She used money to buy silence.
Melissa accepted some.
Refused other demands.
Then Mom offered to pay for medical treatment Melissa needed in exchange for anonymous egg donation.
The clinic arrangement crossed ethical lines everywhere.
Jenna’s twins were genetically related to us through our father.
They were her half-niece’s biological half-siblings.
A family tree designed by a woman who treated human lives like accounts.
Jenna sat beside me outside the police station.
For the first time since childhood, she looked small.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“I called your children not real family.”
I said nothing.
“My own children…”
She couldn’t finish.
I wanted to comfort her.
I remembered Eli’s broken boat.
Zoe’s backpack.
Her laughter.
I remained where I was.
“You don’t get forgiveness because you discovered you can also be hurt.”
She nodded.
That was the first mature thing she had done all week.
Then Rachel asked to speak to me privately.
She was a coastal engineer.
That mattered.
She knew Ocean Crown.
More importantly, she had reviewed the Malibu project.
“Don’t sell the easement.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor Hale isn’t telling you everything.”
I frowned.
“He disclosed the eight-million value.”
“That’s not the real value.”
“What is?”
Rachel opened a technical map.
California coastal regulations required public-access mitigation for Ocean Crown’s planned development.
My forgotten easement could satisfy a substantial portion.
If it remained privately controlled, Ocean Crown faced years of permitting problems.
Estimated economic value:
Between $18 million and $25 million.
I stared at her.
“Victor offered eight.”
“He’s a developer.”
Fair.
Then Rachel pointed toward another notation.
“But money isn’t the biggest issue.”
“What?”
“The bluff behind your cottage is unstable.”
I looked up.
“What do you mean?”
“Ocean Crown’s proposed access road would require excavation above your property.”
“And?”
“It could destabilize the slope.”
My children slept twenty yards below that bluff.
“Does Victor know?”
“Yes.”
“Has he disclosed it?”
Rachel’s expression answered.
Then my phone buzzed.
Victor Hale.
Meeting request.
Urgent.
I called him instead.
“What aren’t you telling me about the bluff?”
Silence.
Then:
“Who spoke to you?”
“Wrong question.”
He sighed.
“Dr. Mercer, don’t sign anything with your family.”
“Why?”
“Because Jenna’s rear parcel is not actually hers.”
I frowned.
“Then whose is it?”
May you like
Victor answered:
“Your son’s.”
