The missing embryo became the center of everything.
Daniel spent the next morning speaking with the clinic's attorneys while I sat in his office watching rain streak down the windows.
“One missing embryo,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Could the record simply be wrong?”
“It could.”
“But you don't think it is.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because someone changed the storage inventory.”
I looked at him.
“After the transfer?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“We don't know yet.”
That answer was becoming too familiar.
Every time we thought we had reached the center of the story, another locked door appeared.
By noon, the clinic provided a complete chain-of-custody report.
Daniel spread it across the conference table.
The embryos had originally been stored together.
Three.
One was transferred to Sophie.
One remained.
The third had been listed as transferred to another storage facility.
I stared at the line.
“Another facility?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
The name was unfamiliar.
A private reproductive center in another state.
“Why would my embryos be moved?”
“We're finding out.”
I pointed at the date.
“That was two months before the transfer to Sophie.”
Daniel nodded.
“Correct.”
“So someone moved one embryo before Sophie was pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“Who authorized it?”
He showed me the authorization.
My name was printed there.
But the signature wasn't mine.
Julian's was.
I felt sick.
“He moved it.”
“Apparently.”
“Where?”
“The facility has confirmed receiving it.”
I stared at the address.
It was in another state.
“How long has it been there?”
“Almost two years.”
I closed my eyes.
Julian had known about it.
The family had known.
And nobody had told me.
“Why would he move one embryo and leave two?”
“We don't know.”
Then Daniel's phone rang.
He listened.
“Send it to me.”
He hung up.
“What?”
“The receiving facility has records.”
“What kind?”
“Genetic screening.”
I looked at him.
“On my embryo?”
“Yes.”
“Why would anyone screen it?”
He hesitated.
“Because someone was considering using it.”
I stared at him.
“Who?”
“We're not sure.”
The receiving facility had stored the embryo under a coded patient profile.
Not my name.
Not Julian's.
A third name.
Daniel circled it.
I knew the surname.
“Klaus?”
“No.”
I looked closer.
The first name was unfamiliar.
The last name was Bennett.
But it wasn't Julian.
It belonged to Klaus's brother.
A man I had met only once.
Richard Bennett.
He lived overseas.
I remembered him from my wedding.
He had spoken to Julian privately for almost an hour.
At the time, I thought they were discussing business.
Now I wasn't so sure.
Daniel called the facility.
The attorney there refused to release further information without a court order.
We requested one.
The judge granted it the next morning.
The records arrived that afternoon.
There were fertility consultations.
Financial transfers.
A genetic screening report.
And a planned gestational arrangement.
The embryo had been intended for another woman.
I stared at the document.
“Who?”
Daniel read the name.
My blood ran cold.
Sophie.
I looked at him.
“This is the same woman?”
“Yes.”
“Then why?”
“We don't know.”
Daniel compared the dates.
The embryo had been moved first.
Then Sophie had been approached.
Then another transfer had been arranged.
Something didn't fit.
We called Sophie.
She arrived at Daniel's office the next morning.
When she saw the documents, she looked confused.
“I've never seen these.”
“Did anyone discuss another embryo with you?”
“No.”
“Did Richard Bennett contact you?”
She shook her head.
“Never.”
“Did Helga mention him?”
Sophie hesitated.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before I became pregnant.”
“What did she say?”
“That he had medical connections.”
Daniel and I exchanged a glance.
“Medical connections?”
“She said he could make certain things easier.”
“Did you meet him?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Sophie looked frightened.
“What is happening?”
I looked at her.
“We don't know yet.”
She placed a hand over her stomach.
“Is the baby safe?”
“Yes.”
“For now.”
She looked at me.
“I never wanted any of this.”
“I know.”
Then she whispered:
“There is something I never told you.”
I waited.
“Julian wasn't the first person who approached me.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who was?”
“Helga.”
“We know that.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“She approached me before Julian.”
I frowned.
“When?”
“Almost two years before the pregnancy.”
I looked at Daniel.
“That was before the embryo transfer.”
“Yes.”
Sophie continued.
“She asked whether I would be willing to carry a child for the family.”
“Whose child?”
“She didn't say.”
“Did she mention me?”
Sophie shook her head.
“No.”
“Then why did she choose you?”
“She said I was healthy.”
I felt a chill.
“What else?”
“She asked for medical records.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“Did you provide them?”
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
“Her.”
“Did she ask for genetic testing?”
Sophie nodded.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Daniel wrote something down.
Then Sophie looked at me.
“I thought the pregnancy was spontaneous.”
“But it wasn't.”
“No.”
She looked ashamed.
“Julian told me later that the embryo had been selected.”
“Selected for what?”
She hesitated.
“I don't know.”
The room became silent.
Then Daniel said, “We need to know.”
That afternoon, the clinic sent another file.
The genetic screening results had been performed before the embryo was transferred.
The report listed several inherited traits.
But one line had been highlighted.
A genetic condition associated with my family.
I looked at Daniel.
“My father had it.”
“Yes.”
“So they were screening my embryos for my father's condition.”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
Daniel didn't answer.
I looked at the report again.
Then I understood something.
My father had known his family medical history.
He had established protections around my inheritance.
He had also been concerned about Julian's family.
Maybe this wasn't simply about money.
Maybe someone wanted a child connected to my family for another reason.
“What does this condition mean?” I asked.
“It may have implications for inheritance planning,” Daniel said carefully.
I stared at him.
“Explain.”
He opened another file.
My father's estate documents included a provision.
If I died without biological descendants, certain assets would pass to a charitable foundation.
But if I had a biological child, the inheritance would pass through my bloodline.
I read it twice.
Then I looked at Daniel.
“So if I had no child…”
“The money would go elsewhere.”
“But if I had a child…”
“The child would inherit under the trust.”
I felt sick.
“They needed my child.”
Daniel nodded.
“And they needed me alive long enough to transfer control.”
The room went silent.
Everything had been about the inheritance.
But not in the way I first thought.
They didn't merely want my money.
They wanted a blood heir connected to my father's estate.
And they had used my own embryos to create one.
Sophie looked at me.
“So that's why.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Then Daniel found something else.
A document dated one week before my father's death.
It was a draft amendment.
My father had prepared it but never signed it.
The amendment changed the inheritance terms.
If I had a child through assisted reproduction, that child would still qualify as a biological descendant.
I stared at the paper.
My father had anticipated the exact situation.
But why?
How could he have known?
Daniel turned the page.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
Ask Dr. Ellison about the embryo records.
I looked up.
“Who is Dr. Ellison?”
Daniel searched the clinic database.
Then he found the name.
A fertility specialist who had treated me during my first round of procedures.
“He retired.”
“Where is he now?”
“Unknown.”
I stood.
“We need to find him.”
Daniel nodded.
But before we could begin, my phone rang.
The number was unfamiliar.
I answered.
A man's voice said my name.
“Claire Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Richard.”
My blood went cold.
“Richard Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“How did you get my number?”
“I need to speak with you.”
“About what?”
A pause.
“The embryo.”
I gripped the phone.
“Which embryo?”
“The one your husband moved.”
“Where is it?”
Richard's voice dropped.
“That's the problem.”
“What problem?”
“It isn't there anymore.”
I looked at Daniel.
“What do you mean?”
Richard breathed out slowly.
“Someone collected it three months ago.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You must know.”
“I only know what the facility told me.”
“Then tell me.”
His answer came quietly.
“They said the person who collected it used your father's name.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: Someone Had Collected the Missing Embryo Using My Father’s Name, and Richard Finally Told Me Who Had Ordered the Retrieval
The Toast My Husband Made in German Exposed a Secret He Never Expected His Wife to Understand
Part 10 of 26
