Chapter 3: What the Glasses Already Knew
Jacqueline called me at six forty-five the next morning.
I was already dressed.
I had not slept.
"The preliminary chain-of-custody confirmation came through," she said.
"All four samples are logged.
The lab puts the full panel at seventy-two hours."
"Good."
"Stephanie." A pause.
"Are you all right?"
I looked out the window of the hotel room I had booked two weeks earlier, before the dinner, before the champagne glass, before any of it.
The Detroit skyline sat gray and still in the early light.
"I will be," I said.
"In seventy-two hours."
She almost laughed.
"I'll call you the moment it lands."
I set the phone down and opened my laptop.
There was work to do.
There had always been work to do.
For eight years, Meridian Healthcare Systems had been the one place where my value was never measured in pregnancies or fertility reports.
I had built the finance department from eleven people to thirty-four.
I had restructured two failing divisions.
I had recommended Christopher for his ownership stake in the first place.
That thought sat in my chest like a stone.
My phone buzzed.
A message from a number I didn't recognize.
*You should have cried last night.
It would have looked better for you.*
I stared at it.
Then I forwarded it to Jacqueline with a single line: *Add this to the file.*
By nine o'clock I was in a conference room on the fourteenth floor of Meridian's downtown offices, presenting quarterly projections to the board.
Christopher's chair at the far end of the table was empty.
His assistant had sent a brief note that morning — he would be working from home.
Working from home.
With my sister and two children who did not belong to him.
I finished the presentation without looking at his empty chair once.
Afterward, Marcus Webb, Meridian's general counsel, caught me in the corridor.
"Stephanie." He fell into step beside me.
"I heard about last night."
"Word travels fast."
"Christopher called three board members this morning." Marcus kept his voice low.
"He's telling people you had a breakdown at the dinner.
That you signed the divorce papers in a dissociative state and your attorney may have taken advantage of your emotional condition."
I stopped walking.
"He said that."
"To Raymond Holt, David Chu, and Patricia Ames." Marcus looked at me carefully.
"I thought you should know before it spreads further."
I held his gaze for a moment.
Marcus had been at Meridian for nineteen years.
He had watched me build the finance department.
He had also watched Christopher walk into his ownership stake on the back of my recommendation.
"Marcus," I said.
"Do you believe him?"
He didn't hesitate.
"No."
"Then I need one thing from you right now.
I need you to document exactly what he told those three board members, with timestamps, and I need it done before end of business today."
He nodded slowly.
"I can do that."
"Thank you."
I walked to the elevator.
Pressed the button.
Waited.
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was Penelope.
I let it ring.
She called a second time.
Then a third.
On the fourth call, I answered.
"Stephanie." Her voice was frayed at the edges.
"Please.
We need to talk before this goes any further."
"There's nothing to talk about, Penelope."
"There is.
There's — Christopher doesn't know everything.
He doesn't know what I told you.
If those results come back and he finds out that I knew, that I asked you to—"
"You did ask me," I said.
"And I agreed.
And for nine years I carried that agreement while he watched me apologize for something that was never my fault."
Silence.
"I'm not doing this to punish you," I said.
"I'm doing this because those children have a father somewhere who doesn't know they exist.
And Christopher is about to claim legal rights over two babies that share none of his DNA.
That is not something I can stay quiet about."
A sharp intake of breath.
"You don't know who—"
"Not yet," I said.
"But the lab will."
The line went very quiet.
"Penelope," I said.
"If you want to protect yourself, call your own attorney.
Today."
I ended the call.
The elevator doors opened.
I stepped inside.
Seventy-one hours remaining.
Somewhere across the city, Christopher Gilbert was telling board members I had broken down at my own anniversary dinner.
May you like
He had no idea the glasses were already in a laboratory.
He had no idea what the glasses were going to say.
