Chapter 5 - The Woman Carrying My Stolen Child
Her name was Hannah Price.
She was thirty-two years old.
A school librarian from Wisconsin.
And she had absolutely no idea the embryo she was carrying might have been stolen.
Federal investigators located her through the surrogacy agency.
I was not allowed to contact her immediately.
There were medical privacy issues, criminal-investigation concerns and the devastating fact that no one yet knew with certainty whose embryo she carried.
DNA testing during pregnancy was possible.
But Hannah had to consent.
She did.
According to Detective Ortiz, when agents explained there were questions regarding the embryo’s origin, Hannah cried for an hour.
She believed she was carrying Celeste and Adrian’s genetic child.
The agency told her the intended mother could not safely carry a pregnancy because of a uterine condition.
Celeste had even attended two appointments wearing padding beneath her dress, pretending the pregnancy was progressing simultaneously so public timelines would match.
It sounded insane.
Yet when millions of dollars were involved, insanity apparently acquired attorneys and contracts.
The DNA results arrived nine days before the wedding.
Rebecca came to my apartment carrying the sealed envelope.
I knew before she opened it.
Her face told me.
“Hannah’s baby is genetically yours.”
My legs went weak.
“And Adrian?”
“Yes.”
I sat.
For several seconds, there was no sound.
Evelyn was asleep in her swing.
Somewhere three hours away, another baby grew inside a stranger.
My baby.
A sibling to Evelyn.
A child I had been told never existed.
“What sex?”
“A boy.”
I covered my mouth.
A son.
Adrian and I had once sat on the kitchen floor choosing names after our first positive pregnancy test.
For a boy, I wanted Noah.
Adrian wanted James.
That pregnancy ended at eleven weeks.
Now another son existed because an embryo created during our marriage had survived.
And someone had stolen him.
“Does Hannah know?”
“Yes.”
“How is she?”
“Devastated.”
“What happens now?”
“That depends on a complicated combination of criminal law, reproductive law and the surrogacy contract.”
“She’s not trying to keep him?”
“No.”
The question felt awful as soon as I asked it.
Rebecca shook her head.
“Hannah says she wants whatever protects the child.”
“What about me?”
“You’re the genetic mother.”
“What about Celeste?”
“She has no genetic relationship.”
“Adrian?”
“Genetic father.”
My stomach tightened.
The battle I had avoided by hiding Evelyn had just doubled.
Adrian had parental rights.
So did I.
And he did not know either child existed as he believed.
Rebecca sat across from me.
“There’s another issue.”
“Of course.”
“Hannah’s contract contains a custody designation if Celeste dies or becomes medically unavailable before delivery.”
“Who gets the baby?”
“Grant Hartwell.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“Why?”
“He is listed as Celeste’s father and secondary intended guardian.”
There it was.
The financial motive connected directly to the child.
If the child was legally presented as Adrian and Celeste’s, Grant could potentially gain control through his daughter.
But biologically, the baby was mine.
And because the Carter trust passed through my biological descendants, the baby could qualify as an heir.
Rebecca had already filed emergency papers sealing the DNA results and asserting my parental rights.
“We cannot let Grant know yet.”
“Why?”
“He may run.”
The wedding remained scheduled.
Grant still believed Hannah’s baby belonged legally and secretly to the plan.
Celeste continued posting photographs of her fake pregnancy.
Adrian posted one caption:
Everything I ever wanted.
I stared at it for a long time.
Months earlier, that sentence would have crushed me.
Now it only revealed how little he understood about what he possessed.
Then Celeste called me.
Directly.
For the first time since the divorce.
I answered with Rebecca recording.
“Mia.”
“Celeste.”
She sounded like she had been crying.
“I need to see you.”
“Go to the police.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“My father will know.”
“Your father already knows people are investigating.”
“He doesn’t know what I told Lorraine.”
“Then talk to federal agents.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry.”
I closed my eyes.
“For which part?”
“Everything.”
“That’s a large category.”
“I never meant for this to become what it became.”
“You slept with my husband.”
“Yes.”
“You helped alter financial statements.”
She inhaled sharply.
“You know.”
“Yes.”
“You know about the embryo?”
“Yes.”
Celeste began sobbing.
I felt no satisfaction.
Only exhaustion.
“Why did you do it?”
“My father has controlled me my entire life.”
“You were thirty years old when you met Adrian.”
“I know.”
“Stop beginning every sentence by making yourself smaller.”
She became quiet.
Then she told me the truth.
Grant had planned the scheme years earlier.
He knew my grandmother’s trust would eventually pass entirely through me unless I died childless.
He could not directly inherit it.
But he controlled enough administrative mechanisms to siphon assets slowly.
When Adrian began managing finances during my fertility treatments, Grant saw an opportunity.
He placed Celeste in Adrian’s office.
Her job was to become indispensable.
Then intimate.
She sent Grant information about our marriage.
Our treatments.
Our fights.
My miscarriages.
The more emotionally vulnerable I became, the easier it was to persuade me to let Adrian handle money.
“Did Adrian know you were working for Grant?”
“Not at first.”
“When did he know?”
“About six months before the divorce.”
My heart tightened.
“So he knew before leaving me.”
“Yes.”
“He knew you were collecting financial information.”
“Yes.”
“And he stayed involved.”
“Yes.”
There went Lorraine’s final excuse.
Adrian had not been blindly manipulated.
He participated.
“Did he know about the forged amendment?”
“I don’t know.”
“The stolen embryo?”
“No.”
“The fake pregnancy?”
“No.”
“Why fake it?”
Celeste inhaled shakily.
“Because Adrian was going to leave me.”
I froze.
“What?”
“After the divorce, he changed.”
I nearly laughed at the absurdity.
“He became obsessed with proving he’d made the right choice. But he didn’t love me the way I thought he would.”
“So you told him you were pregnant.”
“My father suggested it.”
“And then stole an embryo to make the lie real.”
“Yes.”
“Why mine?”
“Because Grant knew if a child from your genetic line existed outside your custody, he might challenge the Carter succession structure.”
There it was.
The baby was never primarily about Adrian.
The baby was a financial instrument.
I felt physically ill.
“Does Adrian know the wedding is being used to announce a major investment?”
“Yes.”
“What investment?”
Celeste hesitated.
“That’s why I called.”
My pulse increased.
“Tell me.”
“At the reception, Grant plans to announce that Brooks-Hartwell has acquired controlling rights to three Carter commercial properties.”
“He can’t.”
“He thinks he can.”
“How?”
“Through documents Adrian signed during your marriage.”
“What documents?”
Celeste’s voice dropped.
“Your power of attorney.”
I stopped breathing.
“I never gave Adrian power of attorney.”
“You signed something.”
“No.”
“Grant says you did.”
Rebecca was already typing.
“When?”
“Two weeks after your second miscarriage.”
I remembered signing hospital insurance forms at home.
Adrian brought papers to me while I was medicated and exhausted.
He said one was authorization allowing him to speak to medical billing.
I signed where he pointed.
My stomach turned.
“They hid a power of attorney inside medical paperwork.”
“I think so.”
“And the wedding announcement transfers my property?”
“Yes.”
“Why announce it publicly?”
“Investors are coming. Grant wants the acquisition to look final before any challenge becomes public.”
He wanted momentum.
Press coverage.
Confidence.
Hundreds of witnesses accepting his version as legitimate before I could object.
He believed I would attend humiliated and silent.
Perhaps he expected seeing Celeste pregnant would break me enough that I would leave.
Instead, I would arrive carrying Evelyn.
And federal investigators would arrive carrying warrants.
“Celeste.”
“Yes?”
“Why are you helping me?”
She cried quietly.
“Because Hannah called me.”
I froze.
“How?”
“She got my number from the contract.”
“What did she say?”
“She asked why I stole her pregnancy.”
I closed my eyes.
Celeste continued.
“I heard how scared she was, and I realized I had become my father.”
That sentence was the first thing she said I believed emotionally.
“Then testify.”
“He’ll destroy me.”
“No.”
I looked at Evelyn.
“He’ll expose you. That isn’t the same thing.”
Celeste was silent.
“You did terrible things,” I said. “You don’t get innocence back by telling the truth. But you can stop doing more damage.”
A long pause.
Then:
“What do you need?”
I looked at Rebecca.
She wrote one word on a legal pad.
EVERYTHING.
So I told Celeste.
“Bring every document your father thinks he buried.”
The following morning, Celeste walked into the U.S. Attorney’s Office carrying two laptops, four flash drives and a handwritten ledger.
The wedding remained scheduled.
Adrian remained unaware.
Grant remained confident.
And three days before the ceremony, investigators found a document on Celeste’s laptop that made even Rebecca go pale.
It was titled:
CARTER SUCCESSION - FINAL CONTINGENCY.
The first line read:
If Mia Carter presents a surviving biological heir before asset conversion, initiate incapacity strategy.
May you like
The second line was worse.
If incapacity strategy fails, activate permanent resolution.
