Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN WHO CARRIED OUR SON
Rebecca Sloan lived in Providence.
Thirty-four.
Married.
Two children of her own.
Former gestational carrier.
When we contacted her attorney, she agreed to meet only after we promised there would be no Vale security inside the room.
That condition told me how the world saw my family.
Emma noticed too.
“Does that bother you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
We met Rebecca in a private attorney’s office three days after Caleb was discharged.
He had spent forty-eight hours hospitalized, responded beautifully to antibiotics, and was now furious about nearly everything.
Apparently surviving illness had made him opinionated.
Emma had been with him every day.
Not living with me.
Not forgiving me.
But there.
I discovered quickly that Caleb reacted to her voice.
Not because he remembered her.
Because she sang.
Badly.
She sang some ridiculous song about ducks every time he fussed.
He loved it.
I pretended not to.
Rebecca entered the attorney’s conference room holding a thick folder.
The first thing she did was look at Emma.
Then me.
Then she started crying.
“I’m sorry.”
Emma stood.
“No.”
Rebecca wiped her face.
“I didn’t know.”
“I believe you.”
That mattered.
Rebecca had been told the intended father was a widower using an embryo created with an anonymous egg donor.
Widower.
My jaw tightened.
I had never been married.
My mother had rewritten me too.
Rebecca continued.
“Mrs. Vale handled everything.”
“Vivian?”
“Yes.”
“Did Adrian ever attend appointments?”
Emma asked.
Rebecca nodded.
“Two.”
I remembered.
My mother told me the carrier wanted privacy.
Most appointments were handled through the agency.
I had attended the anatomy scan.
Then the delivery.
“How did you not meet the donor?” Rebecca asked Emma.
“I wasn’t a donor.”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
“I know that now.”
She handed us copies.
Consent forms.
Embryology reports.
Agency communications.
My signature appeared repeatedly.
Some real.
Some not.
Emma’s appeared too.
All forged.
The largest lie sat on page seventeen.
INTENDED GENETIC MOTHER: EMMA CARTER
STATUS: DECEASED.
Emma stopped breathing.
I stood so quickly my chair fell.
My mother had told them Emma was dead.
Rebecca whispered, “That is what I believed.”
Emma stared at the word.
Deceased.
Three years ago, I had thrown Emma out of my life.
My mother had apparently erased her completely.
“What proof did they give?”
“Death certificate.”
My blood turned colder.
“Fake?”
Rebecca nodded.
“My attorney checked yesterday. It was fabricated.”
Emma sat.
I wanted to touch her.
Again, I didn’t.
She looked at me.
“Your mother killed me on paper.”
No sentence had ever sounded more accurate.
Rebecca continued.
“Dr. Crane told me the embryo had been created before the intended mother died and that Adrian wanted to proceed.”
“I never said that.”
“I know.”
“Who paid you?”
“Vale Family Foundation.”
Of course.
“Any other names?”
Rebecca thought.
“A lawyer.”
“Who?”
“Daniel Frost.”
I knew him.
My mother’s private attorney.
Not Vale corporate counsel.
Her own.
That gave us the structure.
Vivian.
Dr. Crane.
Daniel Frost.
Potentially others.
“What happened after birth?” Emma asked.
Rebecca looked at me.
“Adrian was there.”
I remembered every second.
Caleb screaming.
Me holding him.
My mother standing behind the glass telling everyone the Vale line was secure.
At the time, I had thought she was being traditional.
Now the phrase made me sick.
Rebecca asked quietly, “Did you choose his middle name?”
“Yes.”
“Thomas?”
I nodded.
My dead brother.
Emma looked at me.
Something painful crossed her face.
“You named our son after the man you thought I betrayed.”
There was no defense.
“I did.”
She looked away.
I whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Her voice was quiet.
“He can keep it.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“Thomas.”
She wiped one tear.
“Your brother was innocent too.”
That generosity almost broke me.
Rebecca eventually left.
Emma stayed.
She walked toward the window.
“Caleb needs legal stability.”
“Yes.”
“My attorney says this situation is unprecedented enough to become ugly.”
“I won’t fight you.”
“You say that now.”
“I mean it.”
She turned.
“You threatened me once because your mother showed you fabricated messages.”
“I know.”
“Stop.”
Right.
I shut up.
Emma continued.
“If Vivian petitions for guardianship, she will use your criminal history.”
My body went still.
“She wouldn’t.”
Emma gave me a look.
I almost laughed at myself.
Of course she would.
“She already filed,” my attorney said twenty minutes later.
The petition arrived electronically.
Vivian Vale sought emergency temporary guardianship of Caleb.
Her argument?
I was an active organized-crime figure whose lifestyle posed unacceptable danger to an infant.
Emma had no established parental rights because she had “relinquished” the embryo.
Vivian presented herself as Caleb’s stable paternal grandmother and longtime overseer of his care.
I read the filing twice.
Then laughed.
Emma looked at me.
“What?”
“She spent thirty-eight years defending everything I did.”
“Yes.”
“Now she’s putting it into a court filing.”
“That’s useful.”
I looked at her.
There it was.
The doctor.
The woman who always found the practical point inside disaster.
“What do you mean?”
“She can’t admit you’re dangerous only when it gives her control of Caleb.”
My attorney nodded.
“Dr. Carter is right.”
Emma folded her arms.
“Also, if she claims she managed his reproductive arrangements from beginning to end, she ties herself to the embryo fraud.”
My lawyer stared at her.
“You should have gone to law school.”
“She says that when she’s angry,” I said.
Emma looked at me.
“You remember.”
“I remember everything.”
Wrong thing to say.
The room changed.
Then my phone buzzed.
Julian.
URGENT.
I called.
“We found Dr. Crane.”
“Where?”
“Canada.”
“Bring him back.”
“Adrian.”
His voice was careful.
“He already contacted federal investigators.”
“What?”
“He claims Vivian Vale and Daniel Frost paid him to falsify records.”
Emma went still.
“How much?”
“Two million.”
“Why is he talking now?”
“Because Daniel Frost tried to have him killed last month.”
Silence.
Then Julian added:
“And Crane says your mother did not order the attempt.”
I felt the floor shift.
“Then who did?”
“Frost.”
Emma looked at me.
My mother may have started the conspiracy.
May you like
But apparently the lawyer who helped her had built something of his own.
And if he was willing to kill a doctor to protect it, Caleb’s trust might be worth far more than any of us realized.
