Chapter 6: What Phoebe Found
Phoebe set her bag on the desk, unzipped it, and pulled out a notepad and her phone.
"I made some calls on the way over," she said.
"Hands-free, don't worry." She looked at Ruth.
"You're the nurse who contacted my mother?"
"I am."
"Thank you." Phoebe glanced at the folder in my lap.
"May I?"
I handed it to her.
She read it standing up, one hand on the desk, the way she always read — fast, eyes moving in straight lines, no expression.
When she finished, she set it down and looked at Claire.
"The Alderton Group," she said.
"I've heard that name."
Claire said nothing.
"One of the senior partners at my firm handled a case eighteen months ago.
A woman in Kent.
She carried a child under a private arrangement brokered by a company with a Channel Islands registration.
When the arrangement broke down, she was threatened.
Legally, financially." Phoebe paused.
"It took fourteen months to resolve."
"This is not the same situation," Claire said.
"How is it different?"
"Because Marianne is family.
We would never—"
"You were standing in her hospital room two hours after she gave birth asking her to hand over the baby and sign transfer documents." Phoebe's voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
"That's not family, Aunt Claire.
That's coercion."
Claire stood up.
"I want to speak to my sister alone."
"That's not going to happen right now," Phoebe said.
"She's my sister, not yours to—"
"She's my mother." Phoebe looked at her steadily.
"And that baby in her arms has no legal guardian right now except her.
So until we understand exactly what documents Evan is holding and what he intends to do with them, nobody is speaking to my mother alone."
Claire looked at me.
Her eyes were wet.
"Marianne.
Please."
I looked at my daughter.
Then at the baby.
Then at my sister.
"Sit down, Claire," I said quietly.
She sat.
Phoebe pulled up a chair across from her and opened her notepad.
"I need you to tell me everything about the Alderton Group," she said.
"Who approached you, when, what was agreed, and what Evan signed.
All of it."
Claire wrapped her arms around herself.
For a long moment she said nothing.
Then: "It started with a man named Hargreaves.
He came to Evan's office about eighteen months ago."
Phoebe wrote the name down.
"He said he represented a private family foundation.
That they had clients — couples, mostly — who wanted children but couldn't navigate the normal channels.
He said the arrangement was legal, discreet, and that the compensation would clear Evan's business debts entirely."
"How much?" Phoebe said.
Claire looked at her hands.
"Two hundred and forty thousand pounds."
The room was very quiet.
"For a boy," I said.
Claire nodded.
"And if the baby was a girl?"
"The arrangement was void.
No payment." She paused.
"Hargreaves said it wouldn't matter.
He said the odds were in our favor.
He said—" Her voice broke.
"He said we could always try again."
I looked at my sister.
At the woman who had pressed her hands to my belly and called this baby her miracle.
"Try again," I repeated.
Claire covered her mouth with her hand.
"Where is Hargreaves now?" Phoebe said.
"I don't know.
Evan handles all of it.
I only met him twice."
"And the documents Evan has — the transfer of parental rights.
Has he shown them to you?"
"No."
"Does he have a solicitor here?"
"He made a call when we arrived.
I don't know who to."
Phoebe looked at Ruth.
"Is there a hospital legal liaison on site today?"
"There is," Ruth said.
"I can have her here in ten minutes."
"Please do that." Phoebe looked at me.
"Mum, don't sign anything.
Not a single page.
Not even something that looks routine."
"I know."
"And I need you to do one more thing." She held out her hand.
"Give me your phone.
I want to see every message Evan and Claire sent you during the pregnancy.
Every one."
I unlocked it and handed it over.
Phoebe started reading from the beginning.
Her expression didn't change.
But after a few minutes, she set the phone face-down on the desk very carefully, the way you set something down when you don't trust your own hands.
"Mum," she said.
"There's a message here from eight months ago.
From Evan."
"I know."
"He asks you to confirm the due date and then says — and I'm reading this exactly — *our people will need to be ready to move quickly after the birth.*"
Claire's head came up.
"Our people," Phoebe said.
She looked at her aunt.
"Did you know he wrote that?"
Claire's face had gone the color of old paper.
Outside in the corridor, we heard Evan's voice.
He was talking to someone.
May you like
Getting closer.
Phoebe stood up and moved to the door.
