Chapter 8 - THE TWO CHILDREN
Nora stared at the photograph until she stopped hearing the room around her.
Two children.
Not embryos.
Not possibilities.
Children.
The boy held a red plastic truck.
The girl wore a yellow dress.
They stood beside a backyard playhouse.
Neither looked frightened.
The photograph appeared ordinary.
That made it worse.
Ordinary meant established.
Established meant someone had raised them.
For years.
Nora whispered.
“How old?”
Elaine enlarged the image.
“Three or four.”
Daniel looked at the landscaping.
“Could be Arizona.”
Nora could not move.
Three embryos.
One Ava.
Two older children.
Her mind calculated dates.
Three and a half years earlier, Nora and Edgar had undergone their second retrieval cycle.
Four embryos were created.
Two were declared genetically abnormal.
One transfer failed.
One was supposedly discarded after testing.
Had that been a lie too?
She looked at Daniel.
“Get every fertility record.”
“We’re already working on it.”
“Not summaries.”
“I know.”
“Original chain of custody.”
“I know.”
“Shipping logs.”
“Nora.”
“Cryogenic storage records.”
“We will.”
She finally looked at him.
“If those children came from my embryos, someone stole years of my life.”
Daniel had no answer.
Nora turned toward Elaine.
“Find the photograph.”
“What do you mean?”
“Background.”
“Property.”
“Playhouse brand.”
“Fence.”
“Plants.”
“Anything.”
Elaine nodded.
The photograph itself contained no metadata.
But images revealed habits.
Architecture.
Climate.
Sun angle.
Objects.
Vehicle reflections.
Experts began analysis.
Meanwhile police searched for Gregory Halden.
His known properties included a Carefree house, two storage units, a cabin near Payson, and an LLC-owned parcel outside Wickenburg.
Officers checked all four.
Nothing.
Nora’s emergency phone rang again.
No caller ID.
Daniel answered this time.
A distorted male voice spoke.
“Mrs. Preston has something we want.”
Daniel replied calmly.
“What?”
“The original insurance policy amendment.”
Nora frowned.
Daniel looked at her.
She shook her head.
The policy amendment was electronic.
No meaningful original existed.
Daniel said.
“You already know that document is digital.”
The caller paused.
Then laughed.
“Smart.”
Nora realized it was a test.
The caller wanted to know whether she followed instructions or corrected misinformation.
Daniel continued.
“What do you actually want?”
“Silence.”
“Define it.”
“No police.”
“Too late.”
“No federal investigators.”
Daniel looked at Elaine.
Elaine wrote a note.
Keep talking.
The caller said.
“Nora shuts down the financial audit.”
Daniel glanced at Nora.
Elaine had been right.
Someone knew about the forensic audit.
That narrowed access.
Only a tiny number of people knew.
Nora.
Daniel.
Elaine.
Marcus.
Possibly police if Daniel shared it.
Nora wrote on a pad.
Leak.
Daniel nodded.
The caller continued.
“And Nora signs a statement saying Kristina Finch was removing a snake she discovered.”
Nora almost laughed.
Daniel said.
“That is absurd.”
“Then the children disappear.”
Nora’s chest tightened.
Daniel asked.
“What children?”
The caller chuckled.
“You’ve seen the picture.”
Daniel said nothing.
The caller continued.
“Ask Nora how many embryos she made in 2022.”
Nora felt cold.
The person knew exact medical history.
Daniel replied.
“If you have children, prove they are biologically connected.”
“You’ll get proof.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
The line disconnected.
Ten minutes later, an email arrived.
Attached were two laboratory reports.
Child A.
Male.
Child B.
Female.
Comparative genetic markers showed a high probability of biological parentage.
Edgar Finch.
Nora Preston.
Nora read them without breathing.
Elaine cautioned.
“These could be fabricated.”
Daniel agreed.
Nora knew.
But the documents looked authentic.
They contained her correct date of birth.
Correct blood type.
Correct clinic patient number.
Correct genetic-screening details she had never shared outside medical care.
Someone had access to original clinic data.
The children’s names were blacked out.
Dates of birth remained visible.
Twins.
Three years and two months old.
Nora closed her eyes.
Twins.
A boy and a girl.
She remembered that year.
She and Edgar had spent Christmas in Aspen.
Kristina joined them.
Kristina had been unusually happy.
At the time Nora assumed she enjoyed the vacation.
Three years and two months ago, somewhere else, two children had been born.
Possibly Nora’s biological children.
And Kristina had known.
The fury was so deep Nora could not express it.
She did not cry.
She did not scream.
She simply sat.
Elaine watched her.
Then said.
“We find them.”
Nora looked up.
“That’s it?”
“That’s the next move.”
“What if they have parents?”
“They almost certainly do.”
Nora flinched.
Elaine continued.
“And until we know facts, we do not destroy those children’s lives by treating biology as ownership.”
Nora respected her for saying it.
The children might share Nora’s DNA.
That did not mean Nora could storm into a backyard and claim them.
Someone tucked them into bed.
Someone knew their favorite cereal.
Someone stayed awake when they had fevers.
Parenthood was larger than genetics.
But crime was still crime.
Whoever created those births through stolen embryos had violated multiple families.
Nora whispered.
“I want to know if they’re safe.”
“Then we find them.”
At 5:30 p.m., Marcus called from a secure line.
He sounded angry.
“I think someone inside Preston Materials is feeding information.”
Nora’s pulse increased.
“Why?”
“Audit activity.”
“What?”
“Someone accessed the archived Finch Consulting finance folder fifteen minutes after Elaine requested records.”
Elaine looked up sharply.
“Who?”
“Internal compliance credential.”
Nora frowned.
“Which user?”
“Generic administrator.”
Elaine cursed.
Someone with sophisticated access was hiding behind shared credentials.
Marcus continued.
“I locked the archive.”
“Good.”
“Then somebody tried your personal executive credential remotely.”
Nora looked at Daniel.
“The cloned badge?”
“Different system.”
Marcus answered.
“This requires password plus token.”
Nora went cold.
“My token is with me.”
“Then someone duplicated authentication.”
Elaine asked.
“Who manages identity systems?”
Marcus answered.
“IT director.”
“Name?”
“Thomas Keene.”
Nora knew him well.
Thomas had been with the company six years.
Quiet.
Competent.
Married.
Two sons.
Nora had promoted him personally.
Elaine asked.
“Any connection to Edgar?”
Nora thought.
“Golf.”
Daniel looked at her.
“What?”
“Edgar and Thomas played golf.”
“How often?”
“Maybe monthly.”
Marcus became silent.
Then said.
“I didn’t know that.”
Nora did.
She had never cared.
Spouses had friends.
Now every connection looked different.
Elaine ordered a quiet review of Thomas’s access.
Marcus resisted.
“He’ll know.”
“Then don’t make it obvious.”
Nora spoke.
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“Remove Thomas from any emergency admin path without telling him.”
“I can do that.”
“Also revoke Edgar’s visitor access to every facility.”
“Already done.”
Nora almost smiled.
“Thank you.”
At 6:02, police found Edgar.
Again.
This time at a hospital.
He had been admitted under a false surname.
Head injury.
Two cracked ribs.
Bruising.
He told staff he had been mugged.
When police asked whether Gregory Halden attacked him, Edgar stopped talking.
Nora stared at Alvarez.
“So Heather was telling the truth.”
“Possibly.”
“Can I talk to Edgar?”
“He has counsel.”
“I’m his wife.”
Alvarez looked at Daniel.
Daniel shook his head.
“No direct contact.”
Nora hated the logic.
Edgar might finally reveal where Heather had been taken.
But legal strategy mattered.
Evidence mattered.
Everyone wanted caution.
Meanwhile a baby and two unknown children existed somewhere inside the consequences of other people’s caution.
At 6:40, Elaine found a property connection.
Perkinson Family Services had paid monthly transfers to Desert Bloom Guardianship Trust.
The trust owned a home in Chandler.
Daniel pulled property photographs.
Nora froze.
The backyard matched.
Same stucco wall.
Same playhouse.
Same palo verde tree.
The twins were in Chandler.
Police moved quickly.
Nora was not allowed to go.
She waited in the hotel.
Twenty-seven minutes later, Alvarez called.
The house was occupied.
By a married couple.
Nathan and Elise Warren.
And two three-year-old twins.
Nora felt her chest tighten.
“Are they safe?”
“Yes.”
“Do the parents know?”
“Not yet.”
“Know what?”
“That there may be questions about the embryos used in their surrogacy process.”
Nora stopped.
“They used a surrogate?”
“According to preliminary information, yes.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Nora closed her eyes.
Another layer.
Nathan and Elise Warren believed the twins were theirs through assisted reproduction.
Perhaps they had been deceived too.
Alvarez continued.
“They have paperwork stating the embryos came from anonymous donors.”
Nora’s stomach turned.
Anonymous donors.
Her children.
Her embryos.
Her name erased.
“Who arranged the donation?”
“A private fertility coordinator.”
Nora already knew.
“Kristina?”
“No.”
That surprised her.
“Who?”
“Dr. Samuel Voss.”
Nora sat down.
Dr. Voss had apparently taken Nora’s embryos and distributed them.
One to Heather.
Two to another family.
Why?
Money?
Control?
Experiment?
Blackmail?
Daniel whispered.
“Human trafficking through reproductive medicine.”
Elaine cautioned.
“Don’t label it yet.”
But everyone understood the scale had changed.
This was no longer only a family murder plot.
Potentially, there were other patients.
Other embryos.
Other children.
Nora’s phone buzzed.
A news alert.
Local reporter.
Paradise Valley Executive Accuses Mother-in-Law After Snake Found in Bedroom.
Nora’s stomach dropped.
Someone had leaked the story.
Within minutes, headlines multiplied.
Millionaire CEO in Bizarre Family Feud.
Rattlesnake Drama at Luxury Home.
Infertility Dispute Alleged.
The coverage was ugly.
Speculative.
Sensational.
Then Edgar’s attorney released a statement.
Nora read it twice.
Mr. Finch is cooperating with authorities and is deeply concerned about his wife’s recent emotional distress.
Nora felt rage.
Daniel swore.
The statement continued.
The family asks for privacy while medical and domestic circumstances are clarified.
Medical.
Domestic.
Emotional distress.
They were building the unstable-wife narrative publicly.
Elaine looked at Nora.
“Do not respond emotionally.”
Nora stood.
“I’m not going to.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Respond factually.”
Daniel cautioned.
“No interviews.”
“I don’t need one.”
Nora called her corporate communications director.
She issued a four-sentence statement.
Nora Preston is safe and cooperating fully with law enforcement regarding an ongoing criminal investigation.
Her company operations remain unaffected.
She will not comment on private medical matters involving minors.
Any suggestion that she is receiving psychiatric treatment or experiencing impaired judgment is false.
Nothing more.
No accusation.
No performance.
No spectacle.
Within twenty minutes, the tone of coverage shifted.
Then a larger story broke.
A reporter had discovered Kristina Finch’s arrest.
Attempted assault.
Evidence tampering.
Possible arson investigation.
The unstable-wife narrative weakened.
But someone was not finished.
At 8:11 p.m., an anonymous account posted a video.
Nora opened it.
Security footage.
Her.
Sedona.
Eighteen months earlier.
Nora stumbled through a hotel hallway.
Disoriented.
Edgar followed.
The caption read:
CEO Nora Preston’s Secret Breakdown.
Nora stared.
She had been poisoned.
The video made her look intoxicated.
Comments exploded.
Drunk.
Unstable.
Addict.
Liar.
Attention seeker.
Nora felt humiliation burn through her.
Elaine looked furious.
“Who had this footage?”
“The hotel.”
Daniel answered.
“And whoever planned Sedona.”
Nora stared at the video again.
Then she noticed something.
A reflection in a hallway mirror.
Kristina.
Holding a small bottle.
Nora paused the frame.
Zoomed.
The image pixelated.
But the bottle was visible.
Daniel leaned closer.
“Can we enhance that?”
Elaine called a forensic video specialist.
The internet saw a drunk woman.
Nora saw evidence.
Then her phone rang.
Rachel.
Heather’s sister.
Nora answered immediately.
“Did you find her?”
“No.”
Rachel sounded terrified.
“But I found something in Heather’s storage locker.”
“What?”
“A box of clinic files.”
Nora went still.
“How many?”
Rachel whispered.
“Dozens.”
Elaine stopped typing.
Nora asked.
“Patient files?”
“Yes.”
“Names?”
“Mostly women.”
Rachel began crying.
“Nora, there are baby pictures attached.”
Nora closed her eyes.
“How many?”
Rachel whispered.
May you like
“Twenty-seven.”
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