Chapter 7 - VANESSA FINALLY TOLD ME WHY SHE NEEDED MY PREGNANCY
Vanessa didn’t speak to me for an hour after Dr. Moore left.
She sat outside the interview room staring at the floor.
Then she said, “There’s something I never told you.”
I almost laughed from exhaustion.
“Apparently that’s our family motto.”
She didn’t react.
“After my second failed IVF cycle, Grant said there was one person whose participation could improve my chances.”
I already knew the answer.
“Me.”
She nodded.
“He said the clinic had family compatibility data.”
“Which is nonsense in the way he presented it.”
“I know.”
“Did he tell you about my old research samples?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you I was specifically valuable to Arbor Crest?”
“No.”
“Then what did he say?”
“That your hormone-response profile could help them customize my treatment.”
I stared at her.
“You knew they had information about me.”
“I thought it came from family medical history.”
“You never asked me?”
“I was desperate.”
The word hung between us.
Desperation explained behavior.
It did not erase it.
“Why did you push surrogacy?”
Vanessa wiped tears from her cheeks.
“After the third cycle failed, Grant told me my chances of carrying were almost zero.”
“What did your doctor say?”
“Grant was always in the appointments.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She froze.
“I don’t know.”
My stomach turned.
“You don’t know whether a doctor actually told you that you couldn’t carry?”
“Grant explained everything afterward.”
I stood.
“We need your original medical records.”
Within two days, independent physicians reviewed Vanessa’s treatment.
The conclusion was stunning.
Her prognosis had never been hopeless.
Her cycles had been poorly managed.
Dosages changed inexplicably.
Embryo transfers scheduled under questionable conditions.
One specialist used the phrase “clinically difficult to justify.”
Vanessa read the report three times.
Then she vomited in the restroom.
When she returned, she looked like someone whose entire marriage had been erased.
“He sabotaged the cycles.”
“We don’t know intention yet.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I have to.”
“You know what he did.”
“I know what the records show.”
She slammed her hand onto the table.
“He made me believe my body was failing so I would pressure you.”
The truth was ugly enough without exaggeration.
I put my hand over hers.
“For once, we do this carefully.”
She cried for nearly twenty minutes.
Then she told me everything.
Grant had become obsessed with having a baby after joining Arbor Crest’s partner network.
He talked about family lineage.
Legacy.
But after each failed cycle, his language changed.
He began saying I was “the obvious answer.”
He encouraged Vanessa to criticize my single life.
He told her I would refuse unless the entire family pressured me.
He helped her rehearse arguments.
Even the sentence about me not having a husband.
“He told you to say that?”
She nodded.
I felt something inside me go very still.
Grant hadn’t simply predicted our family dynamics.
He had directed them.
He knew Mom would guilt me.
He knew Dad would frame it as duty.
He knew Vanessa could hurt me.
He had designed the dinner like he designed the contract.
Every person had a function.
I was supposed to be the final signature.
Vanessa whispered, “I’m sorry.”
I looked at her.
It wasn’t enough.
But it was real.
“I don’t know whether I’ll forgive you.”
“I understand.”
“I’ll help you anyway.”
Her face crumpled.
That was the first time my sister understood the difference between love and surrender.
I could care about her without giving her everything she demanded.
That evening, federal investigators became formally involved.
Arbor Crest’s relationships crossed state lines.
Data transfers.
Insurance claims.
Payments.
Potential medical privacy violations.
Possible fraud.
Thomas Larkin issued a public statement calling accusations “mischaracterizations by disgruntled former participants.”
Then he did something foolish.
He mentioned me.
Not by name.
A company spokesperson referred to “an attorney with a personal family grievance who may have improperly accessed privileged investment information.”
Daniel read the statement aloud.
I smiled.
“What?”
“He’s scared.”
“How can you tell?”
“He’s trying to discredit me before I’ve publicly said anything.”
Hours later, an investigative reporter named Maya Cole called.
I declined comment.
Then another outlet called.
Then another.
Someone had leaked the Easter contract.
Not the whole thing.
Just page nine.
Clause Fourteen.
The story exploded online.
SISTER ASKED TO CARRY BABY — BROTHER-IN-LAW WOULD GET PAID.
The headline spread everywhere.
Comment sections filled with outrage.
Some blamed Vanessa.
Some blamed me for supposedly exposing a private infertility struggle.
Some claimed the entire story was fake.
For the first time, my family drama belonged to strangers.
I hated it.
Grant apparently loved one part of it.
At 11:30 p.m., he posted his own statement.
My wife and I have endured heartbreaking infertility. Certain family members are exploiting our pain for professional gain.
Vanessa stared at the post.
Then her expression changed.
“What?”
She handed me the phone.
Grant had included a photograph.
Him and Vanessa outside the clinic.
But in the background was a sign.
I zoomed in.
Westbridge Reproductive Medicine.
Not Arbor Crest.
“What am I looking at?” Vanessa asked.
“The date.”
The photograph was timestamped three months before Vanessa claimed Grant first introduced her to Arbor Crest.
“He was working with them before I started treatment.”
“Yes.”
Her voice became hollow.
“He chose my clinic.”
“Yes.”
“He chose Dr. Vale.”
“Yes.”
“He already knew about your data.”
Probably.
Vanessa sat down slowly.
Then her phone buzzed.
A message from Grant.
YOU THINK CLAIRE IS SAVING YOU?
ASK HER WHY HER FIRM WANTED TO BUY ARBOR CREST.
Vanessa looked at me.
“What does he mean?”
I felt the first genuine fear of the entire week.
Because Grant had just pointed toward the one fact I hadn’t explained to my sister.
My employer hadn’t been investigating Arbor Crest solely because we suspected wrongdoing.
We were investigating it because one of our clients wanted to acquire the company.
May you like
And if the deal had closed before Easter, the company that profited from my data might have ended up inside a billion-dollar investment portfolio.
One I had personally helped review.
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