Chapter 15 - The Secret Anna Found in My Medical RecordsRachel had not spoken about the miscarriages in years.
The first happened at nine weeks.
The second at eleven.
After two failed IVF cycles, she and Michael stopped trying.
Not officially forever.
Just “for now.”
Then months became years.
The nursery they once planned became a guest room.
The subject became a quiet wound neither of them touched.
Now Anna had somehow dug into it.
Rebecca subpoenaed records through an emergency civil action after demonstrating potential identity theft.
The fertility clinic responded quickly.
An employee had accessed Rachel’s archived file sixteen months earlier.
The employee had been fired six months later for unrelated misconduct.
Bank records showed a $9,000 payment from one of Anna’s shell accounts.
Rachel felt violated in a way she couldn’t describe.
“What did she download?”
Rebecca handed her a list.
Medical history.
Embryology reports.
Genetic screening.
Consent forms.
Michael sat beside Rachel.
His face went gray.
“She had all of this?”
“For more than a year.”
Rachel looked at Rebecca.
“Why?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“One document may matter.”
She opened an embryology report.
During Rachel and Michael’s second IVF cycle, four viable embryos had been created.
Rachel remembered.
Two were transferred.
Neither resulted in a successful pregnancy.
She had believed the remaining two stopped developing.
But the report showed something else.
Two embryos were cryopreserved.
Rachel stared.
“That’s wrong.”
Michael leaned forward.
“What?”
“We were told none remained.”
Rebecca pointed to the record.
“According to the lab, two were stored.”
Rachel’s skin went cold.
“Where are they?”
“That’s the problem.”
Storage records showed they were transferred five years ago.
Destination authorization attached.
Rachel Whitmore.
Signature present.
Rachel stared.
“I never signed that.”
Michael looked at the form.
Neither had he.
Recipient facility:
Hawthorne Reproductive Services, satellite storage.
Then the embryos vanished from the administrative trail.
Rachel struggled to breathe.
“Are you telling me someone stole our embryos?”
“We don’t know that.”
Rebecca remained careful.
“We know records were altered or transferred without your knowledge.”
Michael stood suddenly.
“Call the FBI.”
Rebecca already had.
Rachel barely heard them.
Anna’s obsession with Rachel.
Her research.
The fertility-clinic payments.
What could she possibly want with embryos?
Then Rachel remembered Anna’s age.
Twenty-seven.
No obvious children.
No pregnancy.
Nothing made sense.
Until Rebecca found another payment.
A private genetic-testing company.
Dated eight months earlier.
Client name withheld.
Rachel whispered:
“DNA.”
Michael looked at her.
Anna hadn’t been afraid of DNA testing because she questioned who her father was.
She may already have been using DNA for something else.
Rebecca contacted the laboratory.
The results were protected.
But investigators could request them if criminal activity was suspected.
Hours later, federal agents became involved.
By evening, an agent arrived with information he was permitted to share.
A genetic kinship test had been ordered using samples labeled:
A.B.
M.W.
R.W.
Rachel frowned.
“M.W. is Michael Whitmore.”
Michael looked equally confused.
“R.W. is Rachel Whitmore.”
The agent nodded.
“What was A.B.?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Rachel’s heart pounded.
“What kind of kinship test?”
The agent hesitated.
“Parentage.”
Michael stared.
“What?”
The agent spoke carefully.
“The test compared an unidentified minor or individual against both of your genetic profiles.”
Rachel felt the room tilt.
“That’s impossible.”
Michael’s voice was barely audible.
“We don’t have a child.”
Nobody answered.
Rachel’s hands began trembling.
Five years earlier, two embryos had disappeared from a clinic.
Eight months earlier, someone associated with Anna had compared a person’s DNA against Rachel and Michael.
Rachel stood.
“Where is Anna?”
Nobody knew.
Her apartment was empty.
Phone disconnected.
Bank accounts rapidly drained.
Then Michael received an email.
No subject.
One attachment.
A photograph.
Rachel opened it.
A little girl stood beside Anna in a park.
Approximately four years old.
Brown hair.
Blue eyes.
Rachel’s eyes.
Michael stopped breathing.
Below the photograph was one sentence.
You wanted to know what your family stole from mine.
May you like
Rachel’s knees nearly gave out.
Because the little girl in the photograph looked almost exactly like Rachel had at the same age.
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