Chapter 4 - Celeste Was Never Pregnant
Three weeks before the wedding, Detective Ortiz called me into her office.
Rebecca came with me.
The detective closed the door and placed three photographs on the table.
Celeste entering an obstetrics clinic.
Celeste leaving a private medical building.
Celeste at a charity gala with her hand resting dramatically over her stomach.
“What am I looking at?” I asked.
“Possibly nothing.”
“That’s not your possibly-nothing face.”
Ortiz sat.
“We subpoenaed corporate expense records because Brooks-Hartwell paid several medical invoices.”
“Celeste’s?”
“That’s what we assumed.”
She slid a document across the table.
The patient name was redacted.
The clinic specialized in reproductive endocrinology.
I stared.
“So?”
“The expenses predate Celeste’s claimed pregnancy by nine months.”
Rebecca frowned.
“IVF?”
“Possibly.”
“Why does that matter?”
Ortiz leaned back.
“Because Celeste told investigators she conceived naturally approximately twenty-two weeks ago.”
I looked at her photograph.
“What aren’t you saying?”
“We contacted the obstetrics practice she publicly claims to use.”
“And?”
“They have no patient by that name.”
My stomach tightened.
“Privacy laws?”
“We had legal authority.”
“Maybe she uses another name.”
“Possible.”
Rebecca tapped the table.
“Or she’s not pregnant.”
The room went silent.
I thought of Adrian’s phone call.
Celeste’s pregnant.
Unlike you.
The cruelty had been built around the one thing he believed proved I had failed.
“What about the photos?”
Ortiz shrugged.
“Loose dresses. Strategic poses. No medical confirmation.”
“She announced a due date.”
“People announce many things.”
My first reaction should have been satisfaction.
Instead, I felt uneasy.
“Why fake a pregnancy?”
Rebecca answered.
“Marriage.”
I looked at her.
“Adrian was already marrying her.”
“Was he?”
Ortiz slid another document toward me.
A copy of their prenuptial agreement.
Celeste received a minority equity position in Brooks-Hartwell only if the marriage occurred while she was carrying Adrian’s biological child or if they produced a child within twenty-four months.
“Who wrote this?” I asked.
“Grant’s attorney.”
The structure was bizarrely specific.
Then Ortiz added, “Adrian’s personal trust from his late father also contains a provision.”
“What provision?”
“A grandchild bonus.”
I almost laughed.
“What is that?”
“His father left Lorraine control of a family investment account. Once Adrian produces a biological child, a portion transfers directly to him.”
“How much?”
“Approximately $2.3 million.”
I stared.
“Celeste needed the pregnancy.”
“Or Adrian did.”
Rebecca’s face tightened.
“Has Adrian seen proof?”
“We don’t know.”
Something else bothered me.
“If Celeste isn’t pregnant, why would Grant believe she is?”
“Maybe he doesn’t.”
That answer opened another possibility.
The fake pregnancy was not only about Adrian.
It might be another layer of the fraud.
Ortiz showed us corporate insurance applications listing Celeste as pregnant.
One policy included a future dependent.
Another loan presentation cited “family continuity between Brooks and Hartwell leadership.”
It was theater.
A business built on stolen money.
A marriage promoted to investors.
A pregnancy used as proof of stability.
“Where does Hartwell fit personally?” I asked.
Ortiz studied me.
“We’re investigating.”
That meant she knew something she was not ready to share.
Two days later, I learned anyway.
Not from police.
From Lorraine.
She appeared at my apartment without warning.
I almost did not open the door.
Then I saw her through the camera.
She looked different.
No tailored coat.
No pearls.
No perfect posture.
Just a seventy-year-old woman holding a handbag with both hands.
Rebecca was inside, so I let her enter.
Lorraine’s eyes immediately moved to the bassinet.
Everything stopped.
She looked at Evelyn.
Then at me.
“What is that?”
I almost laughed.
“A baby.”
Her face went white.
“How old?”
“Three weeks.”
“Mia.”
“Yes.”
She stepped closer.
Evelyn opened her eyes.
Adrian’s eyes.
Lorraine recognized them.
Her hand covered her mouth.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That’s Adrian’s?”
I handed her the DNA report.
She read it standing.
Then sat without asking.
For nearly a minute, she said nothing.
Finally:
“He doesn’t know?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
Lorraine looked ashamed.
For perhaps the first time since I met her, she had no criticism ready.
Then she whispered, “Celeste isn’t pregnant.”
I stared.
“You know?”
Lorraine nodded.
“How?”
“She told me.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why?”
“She’s afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Grant.”
Rebecca stepped closer.
“What does Grant have on her?”
Lorraine looked toward the window.
“Celeste is his daughter.”
The room went silent.
I thought I had misheard.
“What?”
“Grant Hartwell is Celeste’s biological father.”
Publicly, Celeste Monroe’s father had supposedly died when she was a child.
Lorraine explained that Grant had an affair with Celeste’s mother decades earlier.
He financially supported Celeste privately.
He helped her through college.
Helped her get the job with Adrian.
My stomach turned.
“She wasn’t randomly hired.”
“No.”
“Grant placed her there.”
Lorraine nodded.
“Why?”
“To get close to Adrian?”
“And you.”
I stared.
Celeste entered Adrian’s office two years before our divorce.
Around the same time Grant began discussing expanded access to the Carter trust.
“She was spying on me.”
“I think so.”
Rebecca’s face hardened.
“Lorraine, what exactly did you know?”
Lorraine began crying.
I did not comfort her.
She admitted Adrian had told her he was moving money into a business venture.
He claimed the money was part of his marital share.
Lorraine accepted $500,000 because Adrian promised it was legally his.
“When did you learn it came from Mia’s trust?”
“After the divorce.”
“And you said nothing.”
Lorraine looked at me.
“I was afraid.”
“Everyone is always afraid after they benefit.”
She flinched.
“Why are you here now?”
“Because Grant has gone too far.”
“Now?”
“He told Celeste she needs to continue the pregnancy through the wedding.”
I frowned.
“She can’t continue something that doesn’t exist.”
Lorraine’s voice dropped.
“He arranged a surrogate.”
Rebecca and I stared at her.
A surrogate had undergone embryo transfer months earlier.
The embryo was created using Adrian’s sperm.
And an egg donor.
Not Celeste.
If the surrogate pregnancy succeeded, Grant intended to present the baby publicly as Celeste and Adrian’s.
“Is the surrogate pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“How far?”
“Nineteen weeks.”
“So Celeste’s fake belly roughly matches the surrogate.”
Lorraine nodded.
The conspiracy had become grotesque.
“But why not simply admit they’re using a surrogate?”
“Because Adrian doesn’t know.”
That answer nearly took my breath away.
“He thinks Celeste is pregnant with his child?”
“Yes.”
“Does Celeste know the donor isn’t her?”
Lorraine hesitated.
“Yes.”
I looked at Rebecca.
“Then whose egg?”
Lorraine’s face changed.
That was when I knew we had reached the part she had been afraid to tell me.
“Lorraine.”
She began crying harder.
“Grant used an embryo created years ago.”
My body went cold.
“Created from whom?”
She looked at Evelyn.
Then at me.
“Your fertility clinic had frozen genetic material from your treatments.”
For a moment, my mind refused to process the words.
“No.”
“Mia—”
“No.”
Rebecca stepped forward.
“Be very precise.”
Lorraine’s voice trembled.
“Grant told Celeste the embryo was legally abandoned.”
I stood.
“We never abandoned embryos.”
During our second fertility cycle, doctors had collected eggs.
None of our embryos were considered viable for transfer at the time.
Or so we were told.
“You’re saying the surrogate may be carrying my embryo?”
Lorraine nodded.
“Yours and Adrian’s.”
The room tilted.
My knees nearly gave out.
Rebecca caught my arm.
“That’s impossible.”
But none of us believed that anymore.
The fertility clinic had been connected to Diana Hartwell.
Grant knew our reproductive history.
Adrian’s sperm sample and my eggs had been stored there.
Records could be falsified.
Embryos could be mislabeled.
Celeste could pretend to be pregnant while another woman carried a child genetically belonging to me and Adrian.
I looked at Evelyn.
Then imagined another baby growing somewhere in Chicago.
My baby.
Possibly.
Used as part of a financial scheme.
“Who is the surrogate?”
Lorraine wiped her face.
“I don’t know.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know this?”
“Celeste showed me a contract.”
“Do you have it?”
Lorraine reached into her handbag.
She removed a folded photocopy.
Rebecca took it.
The intended mother was listed as Celeste Monroe.
The intended father was Adrian Brooks.
The embryo description was coded.
EC-AB-7.
My initials.
Adrian’s initials.
Seven.
I suddenly remembered our fertility cycle.
Seven embryos had been observed.
The clinic told us all seven stopped developing.
My entire body began shaking.
Rebecca read the contract twice.
Then she looked at Lorraine.
“Where did you get this?”
“Celeste gave it to me because she wants out.”
“Then she can go to police.”
“She’s afraid Grant will destroy Adrian.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Adrian helped steal from me.”
“She says Grant manipulated him.”
“Adrian is forty years old.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t get to make him another victim.”
Lorraine lowered her head.
I took the contract.
“Does Adrian know any part of this?”
“No.”
“Not the surrogate?”
“No.”
“Not the embryo?”
“No.”
“Not Celeste being Grant’s daughter?”
“No.”
The perfect wedding suddenly looked different.
Adrian believed he was marrying the woman who had succeeded where I failed.
In reality, Celeste had never carried his child.
Her father had secretly arranged for another woman to carry an embryo that might have been stolen from me.
And the entire deception was tied to millions taken from my grandmother’s trust.
Rebecca called Detective Ortiz.
Before the day ended, federal investigators were involved.
Potential wire fraud.
Medical-record violations.
Possible reproductive material theft.
Financial conspiracy.
The wedding was three weeks away.
Ortiz told me not to cancel my attendance.
“Why?”
“Because Grant thinks the plan is intact.”
“You want me there?”
“We want everyone where we can see them.”
My heart pounded.
“So the wedding is part of the investigation now.”
Ortiz looked at me.
“It may be the safest place to let them believe they’ve won.”
For the first time, I understood.
Adrian had not just invited his ex-wife.
He had unknowingly invited evidence.
A living heir.
May you like
A stolen mother.
And federal investigators who were now very interested in seeing exactly what Grant Hartwell planned to announce after saying, “I do.”
