Chapter 4 - MY BROTHER-IN-LAW MADE ONE VERY EXPENSIVE MISTAKE
Erica’s story took two hours.
She had agreed to carry a child for her cousin.
The arrangement had sounded compassionate.
No agency fee.
Reduced clinic costs.
A family match.
Exactly the phrases used with me.
Then came the forms.
Hormone protocols.
Genetic screening.
Blood samples.
Research authorizations buried inside consent packages.
A clause allowing “de-identified biological and treatment data” to be shared with research partners.
Erica had assumed that meant ordinary medical research.
It didn’t.
Arbor Crest had partnered with private biotechnology companies building fertility-prediction models and embryo-selection tools.
Patient data was valuable.
Repeated-cycle data was even more valuable.
And women with specific age, health, family, and reproductive profiles generated premium datasets.
“I withdrew after the second hormone cycle,” Erica said.
“Why?”
“My liver enzymes became abnormal. I was sick constantly.”
“Did the clinic stop treatment?”
She laughed without humor.
“They threatened me with breach penalties.”
Like the contract placed beside my Easter dinner.
“What happened?”
“I got my own lawyer. Then Arbor Crest offered a settlement.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand.”
“For silence?”
She nodded.
“Why didn’t you take it?”
“I did.”
The room went still.
Erica looked ashamed.
“I needed the money. Medical bills. Lost work. I signed.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because six months later, I discovered they were still using my samples.”
Priya looked up sharply.
“After withdrawal of consent?”
“Yes.”
“That could be significant.”
Erica opened another folder.
“I started collecting everything.”
“How did you get Grant’s file?” I asked.
“One of Arbor Crest’s former administrators contacted me. She knew I was asking questions.”
“Who?”
“Melissa Crane.”
Daniel knew the name.
“Former operations director?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
Erica looked down.
“She died three weeks ago.”
Silence.
“How?” I asked.
“Car accident.”
There was no reason to assume anything suspicious.
Still, nobody in the room relaxed.
Erica continued.
“Before she died, she gave me a drive. Grant’s name was everywhere.”
My brother-in-law had recruited at least nine potential surrogate candidates.
Successful pregnancy bonuses.
Biological-data incentives.
Family referral premiums.
And one entry labeled C.B.
Me.
I felt strangely calm.
Shock sometimes does that.
Then Priya said, “Claire.”
She turned her monitor toward me.
“We found something.”
A transaction dated eleven days earlier.
Grant had received $75,000 from a Margrave subsidiary.
Memo:
C.B. candidate exclusivity.
My body had generated money before I had even agreed.
“What does exclusivity mean?” Daniel asked.
Erica answered.
“It means Arbor Crest paid to prevent a recruiter from sending the candidate somewhere else.”
Candidate.
Not woman.
Not sister.
Candidate.
I thought about Grant sitting across from me Sunday, smirking behind his wineglass.
He had already been paid.
Which meant Clause Fourteen wasn’t the beginning of the transaction.
It was the next installment.
My phone rang.
Grant.
Daniel shook his head.
“Don’t answer.”
I looked at the screen.
Then I did.
“Claire.”
His voice was calm now.
Too calm.
“We need to talk privately.”
“No.”
“This has gotten out of control.”
“You received seventy-five thousand dollars for candidate exclusivity.”
Silence.
That was the sound of Grant realizing we had financial records.
“Where did you get that?”
“Interesting question.”
“You’re accessing confidential records.”
“So are you admitting they exist?”
He swore.
Daniel pointed toward the recording system built into the conference room phone.
I placed Grant on speaker.
“Grant, what did you sell?”
“Nothing.”
“You were paid for my participation before I agreed.”
“It was a consulting advance.”
“For what service?”
“Recruitment.”
“You recruited your wife’s sister?”
“You’re making it sound disgusting.”
“You did that yourself.”
He breathed hard.
Then his tone changed.
“Claire, you think you’re smarter than everyone.”
“I think I read page nine.”
“You don’t understand the business.”
“Then explain it.”
Another pause.
“There are companies paying enormous money for reproductive data.”
There it was.
A partial admission.
“Did Vanessa know?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
Too quickly.
“Did Dad?”
“Your father knows investments. He doesn’t know operations.”
That actually sounded plausible.
“Why me?”
“Your profile.”
My skin crawled.
“What profile?”
“Age. Medical history. No pregnancies. No chronic conditions. Family reproductive history.”
“How did you get my medical history?”
Grant went silent.
Every person in the room looked at me.
I asked again.
“Grant. How did you get my medical history?”
“I didn’t.”
“You just described it.”
“Vanessa talks.”
“She doesn’t know half of it.”
A cold feeling spread through my chest.
“Who accessed my records?”
“I have to go.”
“Grant.”
The line went dead.
Daniel immediately called security.
Priya started searching access logs from healthcare systems connected to our due-diligence review.
I sat motionless.
Grant had just made one very expensive mistake.
He had revealed knowledge he should not possess.
By lunchtime, we knew how.
Three months earlier, someone at Westbridge Medical Group had opened my electronic health record.
I had visited Westbridge once, two years ago, for routine blood work.
The employee ID belonged to a nurse practitioner I had never met.
Her name was Laura Keene.
And payroll records showed Laura also worked part-time for one of Arbor Crest’s partner clinics.
I stared at the access log.
This was no longer just predatory contracting.
Someone had accessed my medical records without a legitimate treatment reason.
Daniel leaned beside me.
“Claire, you’re off the investigation.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
“You’re a potential victim.”
“I’m also the person who knows the file.”
“You’re conflicted.”
“I can still support counsel.”
“You can provide evidence. You cannot lead this.”
I hated that he was right.
At 2:40, Vanessa arrived with three boxes.
Her mascara was gone.
Her hair was pulled into a careless knot.
She looked nothing like the perfectly arranged sister from Easter dinner.
She placed the boxes on the table.
“This is everything I found.”
We started sorting.
Bills.
Treatment plans.
Loan documents.
Consent forms.
Invoices.
Then Vanessa pulled out a sealed envelope.
“I never opened this.”
“Why?”
“Grant said it was insurance paperwork.”
The envelope was addressed to him.
Inside was a private placement memorandum.
Margrave Holdings.
Arbor Crest expansion fund.
Investor distributions tied to enrollment growth.
My father’s signature appeared on page thirty-one.
Then Vanessa whispered, “Wait.”
She pointed to the date.
Dad had signed it eight months before her first IVF cycle.
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
Neither of us wanted to say it.
Dad hadn’t invested after Vanessa needed fertility treatment.
He had invested before.
Our father hadn’t accidentally become connected to Arbor Crest through Grant.
He had helped finance the company first.
Then his daughter became a patient.
Then his other daughter became a candidate.
Vanessa started crying.
“He knew.”
“We don’t know exactly what he knew.”
“He knew enough to invest.”
That evening, I drove to my parents’ house.
Dad was sitting alone at the same Easter table.
The ceramic rabbits were still there.
The silver pen was gone.
I placed the investment document in front of him.
He stared at his signature.
Then at me.
“You said Grant brought you into Margrave four years ago.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“To protect you.”
I almost laughed.
“From what?”
He looked toward the hallway, where family photographs lined the wall.
Then back at me.
“From knowing that Arbor Crest was originally my idea.”
I stopped breathing.
Dad’s next words changed everything.
“I didn’t just invest in the company, Claire.”
May you like
He swallowed.
“I helped create it.”
Related Stories
