Chapter 8
It was the same clinic where Alistair and I had stored our embryos.
For several seconds, I couldn’t hear anything except the blood rushing through my ears.
Paige leaned forward.
“Jacqueline, what’s wrong?”
I struggled to steady my breathing.
“Did you use your own eggs?”
She looked confused.
“No. I had a medical condition that made that impossible. We used a donated embryo.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“An anonymous donation?”
“Yes. Alistair said he knew someone who could help us arrange it.”
I stared at her.
“Did you know who the donor was?”
“No.”
She studied my expression.
“Why are you asking me this?”
I couldn’t answer.
Not yet.
I needed to know.
And the possibility growing inside me was too enormous, too terrifying, to speak aloud without proof.
After Paige left, I called Rebecca.
We met that evening.
I told her everything.
When I finished, she remained silent for a long time.
Then she said, “We need the clinic’s transfer records.”
“I know.”
“And if you’re considering a genetic relationship, we need to approach that carefully. Paige is Matty’s mother. You cannot make assumptions about his parentage or involve him in testing without appropriate consent.”
“I understand.”
Rebecca looked at me gently.
“Jacqueline, whatever we find, remember that a child is not evidence to be passed around. Matty deserves protection.”
Her words brought me back to reality.
Until that moment, I had been thinking like a lawyer.
A suspicious signature.
An inconsistent record.
A possible fraudulent transfer.
But Matty was a little boy.
He had a mother who loved him.
He had no idea that the adults around him were hiding secrets that could change his entire life.
I rubbed my eyes.
“I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Then we proceed carefully.”
Meanwhile, Rebecca’s forensic accountant continued reviewing Alistair’s business arrangements.
The findings were disturbing.
Several transactions appeared designed to move company assets through Northbridge Holdings while leaving the original business responsible for major obligations.
The proposed guarantees would have exposed me to substantial personal liability.
Even more concerning, documents bearing my signature had apparently been submitted to a lender without my knowledge.
Rebecca referred the suspected forgery and associated financial irregularities to the appropriate authorities.
But the most shocking discovery was still ahead.
Alistair was discharged from the hospital four days later.
He called me from his parents’ house.
“Jacqueline, why haven’t you returned my calls?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“With what?”
“Work.”
He sighed impatiently.
“Did you get the guarantees?”
I stared out my office window.
“No.”
Silence.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I haven’t signed them.”
“Jacqueline, we discussed this.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
May you like
I took a slow breath.
“Alistair, who is Paige Bennett?”
