Chapter 5 - THE MEDICAL PAYMENTS LED BACK TO MY PREGNANCY
Northstar Reproductive Advisory occupied a suite in Connecticut.
No real clinic.
No public patients.
No meaningful website.
Its director was Dr. Adrian Vale, a physician who had once consulted for Saint Aurelia.
Dr. Porter recognized the name immediately.
“He left three years ago.”
“Why?”
She hesitated.
“Confidential personnel matters.”
“Elaine.”
“I can't disclose another employee's protected information.”
“Was it misconduct?”
“I can tell you he no longer has privileges here.”
Gabriel obtained what he could legally.
Northstar had received $180,000 through a Caldwell subsidiary.
The authorization chain ended at Preston.
My hands went cold.
“Why?”
Nobody knew.
Then Saint Aurelia's privacy audit found something.
Someone had attempted to access my prenatal records three times.
The credentials belonged to a former contractor.
Access denied.
The IP address traced to Northstar's office network.
I stared at Dr. Porter.
“Someone tried to get my medical records?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We don't know.”
“Did they succeed?”
“Not through our system.”
Through our system.
The wording terrified me.
That evening, I confronted Preston through a video call with Gabriel present.
“Who is Adrian Vale?”
His expression changed.
Tiny.
Enough.
“You know him.”
“No.”
“Don't lie.”
“I've heard the name.”
“Caldwell paid him.”
“I don't personally approve every vendor.”
“This one carries your authorization.”
He looked toward Gabriel.
“This conversation is inappropriate.”
Gabriel replied calmly.
“You agreed to it.”
Preston stood.
“I’m done.”
“Sit down.”
I had never spoken to him that way.
He stopped.
“What did you want from my medical records?”
His face became blank.
“Nothing.”
“Then why did Northstar try to access them?”
“I don't know.”
“Why were you paying Vale?”
“Consulting.”
“For what?”
Silence.
“Preston.”
“I wanted independent confirmation.”
“Of what?”
His jaw tightened.
“The pregnancy.”
I stopped breathing.
“What about it?”
“Whether everything was normal.”
“You could've asked my doctor.”
“You wouldn't have liked the questions.”
“What questions?”
He looked away.
Gabriel leaned forward.
“Answer her.”
Preston finally said:
“Paternity.”
The word entered the room like poison.
I stared.
“You thought the baby wasn't yours?”
“I had questions.”
“Based on what?”
“You traveled to Boston.”
“For my mother's specialist appointment.”
“You stayed overnight.”
“With my mother.”
“I wasn't sure.”
I laughed.
It sounded broken.
“You were sleeping with Sloane while secretly investigating whether I cheated on you?”
“I needed certainty.”
“No. You needed control.”
He said nothing.
Then I asked:
“Did Vale obtain anything?”
“No.”
“Did you give him samples?”
His silence answered.
My blood turned cold.
“What samples?”
“Vivian—”
“What did you give him?”
“A hairbrush.”
I almost became sick.
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“A toothbrush.”
“Mine?”
He looked down.
“No.”
The room became silent.
Gabriel's voice hardened.
“Whose?”
Preston answered:
“Mine.”
He had commissioned an unauthorized prenatal paternity investigation without my knowledge.
Vale apparently intended to obtain fetal genetic material indirectly through records or discarded clinical samples.
Whether he succeeded remained under investigation.
I ended the call.
Then vomited in Gabriel's office.
May you like
Not from pregnancy.
From betrayal.
