Chapter 9: The Documents From Before My Marriage
My grandmother had died eleven years earlier.
I was twenty-six.
Eric and I had been married for only a few months.
The idea that someone had been using my medical records before my marriage was almost impossible to comprehend.
I sat across from my mother while the afternoon light faded through the kitchen windows.
“Mom, what medical records?””
She wiped her eyes.
“Your childhood hospital records. Your vaccination records. Some old genetic screening documents.””
“I never had genetic screening as a child.””
My mother looked down.
“You did.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
“When?””
“When you were twelve.””
I stared at her.
“What?””
She nodded.
“You had a series of tests after you fainted during a school trip. The doctors wanted to rule out a hereditary condition.””
I remembered fainting.
It had happened during a summer camp trip. I had been dehydrated, exhausted, and standing in the sun for too long.
The hospital had discharged me the same day.
There had been no discussion of hereditary disease.
“What condition?””
My mother hesitated.
“They suspected a rare blood disorder.””
I shook my head.
“I've never had a blood disorder.””
“The tests were inconclusive.””
“Then why did Grandma change her will?””
My mother looked toward the empty chair where my father had been sitting.
“Because she believed someone had used those records to make a false claim against the family trust.””
I stood.
“Who?””
“I don't know.””
“Mom, stop saying you don't know. You were there.””
She began crying again.
“Your grandmother accused your father of obtaining the records without permission. He said he was trying to help.””
“Help whom?””
“Someone who wanted access to the trust.””
I walked to the sink and gripped the edge.
Everything seemed connected.
The forged medical diagnosis.
The embryo transfer.
The offshore account.
The old family trust.
And now a medical record from when I was twelve.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because your grandmother made me promise.””
I turned.
“Promise what?””
“That I would never discuss the old investigation unless someone tried to change the trust again.””
I stared at her.
“And Eric did exactly that.””
She nodded.
I picked up my phone and called Richard.
He listened as I explained.
Then he said, “Claire, we need to find the original medical records.””
“Can you?””
“I can request them. But I want to ask you something first.””
“What?””
“Did you ever have a blood test or genetic screening before your first fertility treatment?””
“Yes. Several.””
“Do you remember whether the clinic asked about family medical history?””
I nodded.
“They asked about hereditary diseases.””
“And what did you tell them?””
“That nobody in my family had any known genetic condition.””
Richard paused.
“Claire, I want you to consider something. If someone had access to your childhood medical records, they could potentially have used them to create a false genetic risk assessment.””
I looked at my mother.
She was staring at the table.
“Richard, can someone use a false diagnosis to influence fertility treatment?””
“Unfortunately, misleading medical documentation can have serious consequences. We need to establish whether the clinic relied on any altered records.””
I ended the call.
Then I turned toward my mother.
“Did Grandma leave anything else?””
She hesitated.
“There was a box.””
“What box?””
“Your grandmother gave me a small wooden box before she died. She told me to keep it until you had your own family.””
I felt my heart race.
“Where is it?””
“At home.””
“Can we get it?””
My mother nodded.
We drove to her house.
The box was in the back of her bedroom closet, behind several old photo albums.
It was made of dark walnut wood, with a brass clasp.
My grandmother's initials were engraved on the lid.
M.B.
My mother placed it on the bed.
“I've never opened it.””
“Why?””
“She told me not to.””
I lifted the clasp.
Inside were several envelopes, a small notebook, and an old photograph.
The photograph showed my grandmother standing beside a young man outside a hospital.
I recognized my grandmother.
I didn't recognize the man.
On the back was a date.
*March 1998.*
I was fourteen.
My mother picked up the notebook.
“Margaret's handwriting.””
I opened it.
The first few pages contained ordinary notes about property investments and family expenses.
Then I reached an entry dated two days before my grandmother died.
Eric has been asking questions about the trust again. He believes Claire's medical history gives him a way to challenge the restrictions. I have warned him to stop.
I froze.
Eric had visited my grandmother before she died.
I kept reading.
I fear he has already obtained copies of the old records. If he has, he may try to use them to make Claire appear medically incapable of managing her own affairs.
My mother gasped.
I turned the page.
The next entry was even more disturbing.
David says he has no knowledge of the altered report. I no longer know whether I believe him.
I looked at my mother.
“Grandma suspected Dad.””
She nodded.
I continued reading.
The young doctor has confirmed that Claire's original test results were normal. Someone changed the report after the hospital discharged her.
My hands began trembling.
“Who was the doctor?””
My mother leaned closer.
At the bottom of the page was a name.
*Dr. Samuel Whitaker.*
She covered her mouth.
“I remember him.””
“Who is he?””
“He was your grandmother's personal physician.””
“Is he still alive?””
“I don't know.””
I searched the notebook.
Another entry contained an address and a telephone number.
Richard answered when I called him again.
“Can you find a doctor named Samuel Whitaker? He worked with my grandmother in 1998.””
“I'll look into it.””
“There's something else. My grandmother wrote that he confirmed my original test results were normal.””
Richard became very quiet.
“Can you send me a photograph of that page?””
I did.
A minute later, he called back.
“Claire, I know that name.””
“Who is he?””
“He was involved in an investigation into medical record fraud nearly fifteen years ago.””
I sat down.
“What?””
“The investigation was closed after the hospital settled several complaints. But the doctor's name appeared in a separate case involving falsified genetic reports.””
My mother looked horrified.
Richard continued.
“I'll contact him.””
I stared at the photograph on the bed.
There was something familiar about the young man standing beside my grandmother.
I turned it over again.
The name wasn't written there.
But beneath the date was a small handwritten note.
The person who knows what happened to Claire.
I looked at my mother.
“Who is this man?””
She took the photograph.
Her face changed.
Then she whispered:
“That's your biological father.””
For a moment, I couldn't hear anything.
“What?””
My mother began shaking.
“Claire, please let me explain.””
I stood.
“No. You're going to tell me exactly what you mean.””
She cried openly now.
“Your father, David, raised you. He has loved you since you were a baby.””
“That's not what I asked.””
She closed her eyes.
“Before I married David, I was engaged to another man.””
I looked at the photograph.
“Who?””
“Samuel Whitaker.””
My stomach dropped.
“The doctor?””
She nodded.
“He was studying medicine. We were young. We were going to get married.””
“Then what happened?””
“He died.””
I stared at her.
“Then how can he be my biological father?””
My mother shook her head.
“He didn't die, Claire. That's what I was told.””
I stepped backward.
“What?””
“David told me Samuel had died in an accident. He said he had spoken to the hospital. He said there was nothing we could do.””
I looked at the photograph again.
The man beside my grandmother had the same dark eyes I saw in the mirror every morning.
My mother continued.
“Your grandmother never believed Samuel was dead. She searched for him for years.””
I felt dizzy.
“Why didn't she tell me?””
“She wanted proof.””
I looked at the notebook.
Then at the old photograph.
And suddenly, one sentence from my grandmother's final entry seemed to jump off the page.
If Claire ever discovers the truth, she must understand that the inheritance was never the reason I protected her. It was the reason someone tried to take her away from me.
My phone vibrated.
Richard had sent a message.
I found Dr. Samuel Whitaker. He is alive. He has been living under a different surname for the past twenty years.
A second message arrived.
He has agreed to meet you.
Then a third.
Claire, there's something important. He says he has been trying to contact you for years. And he believes your husband knows where he is.
I stared at the screen.
My husband.
The man who had betrayed me, forged my signature, stolen from my inheritance, and secretly arranged for my embryo to be transferred to my sister.
Somehow, he had also been connected to a man I had been told was dead before I could even remember his face.
I looked at my mother.
“Did Eric know?””
She didn't answer.
But her silence told me enough.
Then my phone rang again.
This time, it was Natalie.
I answered.
Her voice was frantic.
“Claire, you need to listen to me. Eric just came to the house.””
“What house?””
“My apartment.””
“Why?””
“He knows I gave you the USB drive.””
I stood.
“Are you safe?””
“I locked the door.””
“Call the police.””
“I already did.””
I heard something crash in the background.
Then Natalie screamed.
“Claire, he's saying the baby belongs to him!””
The call went silent.
And a second later, a text arrived from Eric.
If you want your sister and the baby safe, meet me tonight. Come alone. Bring the red file.
I stared at the message.
For ten years, Eric had believed he could control every part of my life.
But he had made one mistake.
May you like
He had given me a reason to stop being afraid of him.
And tonight, I was going to find out what he had been hiding about my family, my embryos, and the man who was supposed to be my father.
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