Chapter 9 - SIX WOMEN, SIX CONTRACTS, ONE TERRIFYING PATTERN
The fake sample changed the case.
Until then, Arbor Crest could claim sloppy consent, aggressive contracts, questionable business arrangements.
A sample logged under my identity before consent suggested something more deliberate.
Investigators subpoenaed records.
What emerged was worse.
Six women had nearly identical surrogacy contracts.
Each had a Clause Fourteen.
Each had been recruited through someone close to them.
Each had medical information accessed before formal enrollment.
And each generated an “exclusivity payment” before signing.
Erica Vaughn.
Natalie Brooks.
Samantha Reed.
Megan Torres.
Olivia Hart.
Jasmine Cole.
Six women.
I became number seven.
We met in a private conference room.
Nobody wanted cameras.
Nobody wanted headlines.
They wanted answers.
Natalie had been recruited by her childhood best friend.
Megan by a cousin.
Jasmine by her employer’s wife.
Olivia by her brother.
Each story began differently.
Each ended with the same feeling.
Someone they trusted had converted their compassion into leverage.
Samantha never underwent treatment.
She had walked away after seeing the penalties.
“They told everyone I was selfish,” she said.
I almost laughed.
“Apparently that’s part of the package.”
She smiled sadly.
Erica placed all seven contracts side by side.
The clauses were nearly identical.
Then Priya noticed something.
The payment amounts differed.
Why?
The answer came from the women’s profiles.
Age.
Prior pregnancies.
Family history.
Genetic markers.
Health data.
We were being priced.
Not openly.
Not legally as commodities.
But internally, Arbor Crest assigned values to candidates.
My profile had the highest number.
$310,000 projected data value.
I stared at it.
Vanessa stood behind me.
“Oh my God.”
The amount had nothing to do with carrying her child.
My treatment cycle itself was valuable.
Hormonal response.
Embryo-related data.
Longitudinal monitoring.
Genetic comparison with Vanessa.
Two sisters.
One fertile.
One experiencing infertility.
The research value was enormous.
That was why they wanted family-linked surrogacy.
Not because related surrogates made the pregnancy medically easier.
Because sisters created paired datasets.
The betrayal suddenly became mathematically elegant.
And I hated them for that too.
Maya Cole, the investigative reporter, published the first major article two days later.
She had independently confirmed the referral payments and patient-data partnerships.
She did not name me.
She did name Arbor Crest.
The story exploded.
Former patients began calling hotlines.
Employees came forward.
Investors froze funding.
Thomas Larkin appeared on television.
He called the accusations “a fundamental misunderstanding of modern reproductive research.”
Then Maya obtained internal emails.
One subject line went viral.
FAMILY PRESSURE CONVERTS BETTER THAN AGENCY OUTREACH.
Vanessa read it and started shaking.
The email described relatives as “high-trust recruitment channels.”
It recommended identifying candidates through infertility patients.
One line stated:
Emotional obligation lowers resistance to uncompensated participation.
I thought of Easter dinner.
Mom’s disappointed face.
Dad’s pen.
Vanessa’s insult.
Grant’s smirk.
We hadn’t simply behaved badly.
We had followed a business model.
The realization devastated Vanessa.
“They knew exactly how I would treat you.”
“They knew what Grant told them.”
“I did it anyway.”
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
“You could lie.”
“About what?”
“You could tell me I’m not responsible.”
“I won’t.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“You didn’t design the system. But you still chose what you said to me.”
She nodded.
That truth mattered.
Accountability did not require simplifying everyone into villains and victims.
Vanessa had been manipulated.
She had also hurt me.
Dad had believed in medical research.
He had also profited from unethical systems.
Mom had tried to withdraw me.
She had also spent years pressuring me to sacrifice for Vanessa.
And Grant?
Grant remained missing.
Until Saturday morning.
A bank alert revealed movement on an account investigators were monitoring.
He had purchased a train ticket under his own name.
Either careless or arrogant.
Destination: St. Louis.
Investigators found him at a downtown hotel.
But he wasn’t alone.
Dr. Stephen Vale was there.
So was Arbor Crest’s chief financial officer.
The three men had documents, encrypted drives, and nearly $200,000 in cash.
Grant was arrested on financial and privacy-related charges pending further investigation.
Vanessa watched footage of him being escorted from the hotel.
She didn’t cry.
Not until reporters shouted one question.
“Mr. Holloway, did your wife know?”
Grant stopped walking.
He turned toward the cameras.
Then he smiled.
That smile terrified me.
“Yes,” he said.
Vanessa went white.
Reporters erupted.
He continued.
“She knew everything.”
Vanessa whispered, “He’s lying.”
I looked at her.
“Then we prove it.”
But proof became harder that afternoon.
Investigators found emails from Vanessa’s personal account.
Messages approving candidate recruitment.
Messages discussing payments.
Messages that appeared to show her negotiating the terms of my surrogacy.
One email read:
Claire responds to family pressure. Dad should be the one to ask.
Vanessa stared at the screen.
“I never wrote that.”
The message had come from her account.
Her IP history.
Her laptop.
Her digital signature.
“This is impossible.”
Then Priya pointed toward the timestamp.
March 14 at 2:18 p.m.
Vanessa stopped breathing.
“What?”
“I was in surgery.”
“What surgery?”
“My egg retrieval.”
She looked at me.
“I was sedated at 2:18.”
For the first time all day, hope returned.
If we could prove she had been unconscious when the email was sent, then someone had used her account.
May you like
And whoever had done it had made one small mistake.
They had created evidence too perfect to be true.
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