Chapter 3 - THE LOCKED ROOM
By midnight, Lauren was no longer answering questions.
She had a lawyer.
Nicole Mercer had turned off her phone.
And Lakeview Fertility had discovered that someone had accessed its cryogenic storage wing at 2:13 a.m. eleven months earlier using a staff credential that supposedly belonged to an employee who had been vacationing in Florida.
The employee was Nicole.
Detective Alvarez returned to my hospital room shortly after one in the morning with another detective and a hospital attorney.
“You don’t need to decide anything tonight,” she told me. “But Lakeview has agreed to preserve every record connected to your treatment.”
“Preserve?”
“No deletion, destruction, or modification.”
Caleb stood by the window.
“What about surveillance footage?”
“Older footage may have been automatically overwritten.”
“Convenient.”
Alvarez gave him a measured look.
“Mr. Donovan, I understand your frustration. Right now, the best thing you can do is let us document the chain of evidence correctly.”
He nodded.
I watched him.
Only hours earlier, Caleb had been my brother-in-law.
A man I saw at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
A man who sent me boring birthday gift cards and always volunteered to carve the turkey because my father made a mess of it.
Now the child beneath my heart shared half his DNA.
I didn’t know what to do with that fact.
Dr. Patel released me the following morning with instructions for modified bed rest and immediate return if I experienced contractions, bleeding, reduced fetal movement, dizziness, or abdominal pain.
Mom drove me home.
Caleb followed separately.
When we pulled onto my street, two news vans were parked outside.
“Oh, no,” Mom whispered.
Someone had leaked the story.
Reporters rushed toward the car.
“Claire! Did your sister steal her husband’s sperm?”
“Was the pregnancy intentional?”
“Did you have an affair with Caleb Donovan?”
“Is your sister under arrest?”
My mother leaned on the horn.
Caleb jumped out of his car and pushed through the crowd.
“Back away!”
Cameras turned toward him.
“Mr. Donovan, are you the biological father?”
His jaw tightened.
“No comment.”
“Did you sleep with your sister-in-law?”
“No.”
That one word made the microphones surge forward.
I wanted to disappear.
Instead, Caleb helped me inside.
My house still contained Mark everywhere.
His running shoes remained in the mudroom because I had never found the courage to move them.
His coffee mug sat upside down in the cabinet.
His navy jacket hung behind the pantry door.
The framed photograph from our wedding remained on the fireplace.
I stared at it.
Mark laughing.
Me laughing.
Both of us believing we knew what our future looked like.
My mother touched my arm.
“Claire.”
“I need to be alone.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I’m not going upstairs. I’m going to sit.”
Caleb spoke quietly.
“I’ll stay outside.”
I looked at him.
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
There was no arrogance in it.
Only guilt.
Guilt for something he hadn’t chosen.
That made me trust him more.
For two hours I sat in Mark’s old recliner and reread the electronic copy of the DNA report.
Lakeview Genetics had emailed it after confirming my identity.
Probability of paternity: 99.9998 percent.
Caleb Michael Donovan.
I searched the report for some loophole.
Contamination.
Testing error.
Anything.
There was none.
At noon, Detective Alvarez called.
“We executed a warrant at Nicole Mercer’s apartment.”
My stomach tightened.
“And?”
“We found cash.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-eight thousand dollars.”
I said nothing.
“We also found printed treatment records bearing your name.”
My throat closed.
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
“Why would she have them at home?”
“She shouldn’t.”
“Was Lauren mentioned?”
A pause.
“Claire, I can’t share every detail of an active investigation.”
“That means yes.”
“It means we’re investigating.”
I closed my eyes.
“When can I talk to Nicole?”
“You can’t.”
“Is she under arrest?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“She hasn’t been located.”
That frightened me.
“You mean she ran?”
“We don’t know.”
Caleb appeared in the doorway from the kitchen.
He saw my expression.
“What happened?”
I put the phone on speaker.
Alvarez continued.
“We’re trying to locate Ms. Mercer. In the meantime, do not communicate with your sister.”
“She’s been texting me.”
“What is she saying?”
I looked at my notifications.
Twenty-three unread messages.
“You destroyed my marriage.”
“Tell Caleb this is a mistake.”
“Don’t believe the police.”
“You know what really happened.”
That last one made my skin crawl.
I read it aloud.
Alvarez’s tone sharpened.
“Do not delete anything.”
“I won’t.”
“Has she threatened you?”
“Not directly.”
Another message arrived while we spoke.
I opened it.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT MARK’S BABY IN THE FREEZER.
I stopped breathing.
Caleb took the phone from my hand.
His face hardened.
Detective Alvarez asked, “What happened?”
He read the message.
Silence.
Then Alvarez said, “Claire, I’m sending an officer to your home.”
The next text arrived before she finished.
YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO TEST THE BABY.
Caleb whispered, “Jesus.”
I stared at the screen.
This was no longer suspicion.
Lauren knew.
She knew exactly what had happened.
And she had known before the test.
I typed nothing.
Another message.
WHY COULDN’T YOU JUST BE GRATEFUL?
I felt something inside me change.
Fear remained.
Grief remained.
But beneath both, anger was forming.
Cold anger.
I called Detective Alvarez again.
“She did it.”
“We’re building the case.”
“She admitted it.”
“Not exactly.”
“She said I wasn’t supposed to test.”
“That is important evidence. Preserve it.”
Caleb paced the room.
“Why would Lauren do this?”
I looked at him.
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know.”
“Was she angry when I decided to use Mark’s sample?”
“She was angry about something.”
“What?”
He hesitated.
“Your father’s trust.”
I frowned.
“My father doesn’t have a trust.”
“Yes, he does.”
I stared at him.
Caleb sat down.
“Claire, your dad told Lauren last year that he was restructuring ownership of Bennett Home Supply.”
Our family business.
Started by my grandfather.
Now worth far more than most people knew.
“He told her the next generation would receive twenty percent in trust,” Caleb continued. “If either you or Lauren had a child.”
“I never knew that.”
“She did.”
My mouth went dry.
“Twenty percent?”
“Held for the grandchild until twenty-five. The parent would control the voting rights while the child was a minor.”
Everything shifted.
My father had always believed family businesses should pass through generations.
Lauren had worked for Bennett Home Supply for fifteen years.
I had become a public-school counselor and never wanted a corporate role.
“If Noah is Mark’s son,” I said slowly, “I control his voting rights.”
Caleb nodded.
“And if the baby isn’t Mark’s?”
“I don’t know.”
My phone vibrated.
This time the message was from my father.
CALL ME IMMEDIATELY.
I called.
He answered on the first ring.
“Claire, where are you?”
“Home.”
“Is Caleb there?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Lock the doors.”
“Dad, what is happening?”
His breathing was heavy.
“I went to my office this morning.”
“And?”
“My safe had been opened.”
I stood too quickly.
Caleb caught my elbow.
“What was inside?”
“Trust documents.”
My father’s voice shook.
“And a sealed letter Mark gave me before he died.”
My knees weakened.
“What letter?”
“He made me promise to give it to your child on his eighteenth birthday.”
My eyes filled.
“Is it gone?”
“Yes.”
I covered my mouth.
Dad continued.
“Claire, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Someone left a photocopy inside the safe.”
“Of what?”
“A fertility consent form.”
I felt sick.
“Whose?”
“It has your signature.”
“I didn’t—”
“I know.”
He swallowed.
“But it authorizes substitution of donor genetic material.”
My entire body went cold.
Caleb stared at me.
May you like
Dad said the words I had been terrified to hear.
“Claire, somebody planned this long before you became pregnant.”
