Chapter 3 - The Baby That Did Not Exist
Savannah’s performance became more elaborate as Friday approached.
She asked for ginger tea each morning.
She complained about swollen feet.
She demanded that the housekeeper move every scented candle because “the baby” disliked lavender.
Grant watched her with devotion.
He had never shown that much concern during my pregnancy.
When I was sick, he complained that my nausea made him feel unwelcome in his own home.
When Savannah sighed, he rearranged his schedule.
The difference no longer hurt the way it once would have.
Pain had given way to observation.
On Tuesday afternoon, Savannah pretended to feel the baby kick.
Grant placed his hand over her dress.
His face lit with pride.
I was carrying a tray of lemonade.
From where I stood, I saw Savannah press a small control hidden inside her sleeve.
The silicone belly moved.
Grant laughed.
“Strong like his father.”
Diane clapped.
I carried the tray into the kitchen before they saw my expression.
The fake pregnancy was not simply a lie to humiliate me.
It was part of the company takeover.
Grant planned to present himself as a stable family leader while claiming I was emotionally damaged and incapable of continuing.
Savannah’s imaginary son would become the symbolic heir to Meridian.
But why would Diane use fertility medication?
I needed more than photographs.
I needed medical records obtained legally.
Ethan introduced me to Dr. Maya Singh, a reproductive endocrinologist who served on a healthcare-compliance board.
She could not access private patient files.
But she could explain the medication labels.
“The prescription issued to Savannah suggests she underwent egg retrieval,” Maya said during a secure video call.
“Would that happen during pregnancy?”
“No.”
“What about Diane’s medication?”
“At her age, it would not be used to create a viable pregnancy. It may have been prescribed under her name to obtain drugs for someone else.”
“Insurance fraud?”
“Possibly.”
“What if Savannah used a fertility clinic?”
“Then she may have embryos stored.”
“Could she be using a surrogate?”
Maya paused.
“That would explain egg-retrieval medication and the absence of maternity-care claims.”
My thoughts accelerated.
Savannah might have created embryos.
Someone else might be carrying the child.
The fake belly allowed her to appear pregnant while the real pregnancy remained hidden.
“Why hide a surrogate?” I asked.
“Perhaps Grant does not know.”
That possibility changed everything.
I asked Ethan to investigate fertility-clinic payments linked to Northstar Material Consulting.
He called that evening.
“We found a recurring payment to New Horizons Reproductive Center.”
“From Meridian?”
“Indirectly. Northstar paid them.”
“For Savannah?”
“The records are protected, but the invoice number connects to a surrogacy agency.”
“Can we identify the surrogate?”
“Not without a court order.”
I thought of the label carrying Diane’s name.
“Check whether Diane paid anyone regularly.”
“Already did. She transfers nine thousand dollars each month to a woman named Lena Price.”
“Savannah’s relative?”
“Younger sister.”
“What does Lena do?”
“Former nursing student. Lives in Milwaukee.”
“Is she pregnant?”
Ethan remained silent.
Then he sent me a photograph from a public social-media account.
Lena Price stood at a family barbecue wearing an oversized sweatshirt.
The date was two weeks earlier.
Her stomach appeared unmistakably pregnant.
Another photograph showed Diane embracing her.
The caption read:
Supporting a dear family friend through a difficult season.
Savannah’s sister was carrying the baby.
The next question was paternity.
Grant believed it was his.
Savannah needed him to believe it was his.
But the transfer records suggested the scheme began before Savannah and Grant’s affair supposedly started.
I searched Meridian’s internal communications.
Savannah had joined accounting fourteen months earlier.
Her relationship with Grant appeared to begin eight months ago.
The fertility-clinic payments began eleven months ago.
Three months before Grant claimed he slept with her.
Someone else had provided the genetic material.
On Wednesday morning, Grant left for the office.
Savannah and Diane went to a prenatal spa.
I entered the guest suite.
Searching the room felt invasive.
Then I remembered Savannah wearing my robe while conspiring to steal my company.
I opened drawers.
Receipts.
Ultrasound photographs.
Prenatal vitamins with sealed caps.
The ultrasound images were printed on clinic paper but contained no patient-identification number.
One image had been downloaded from a pregnancy website.
I photographed everything.
Inside Savannah’s jewelry case, I found a small key.
It opened a locked compartment in her suitcase.
Inside were three items.
A surrogacy contract.
A paternity-test report.
A handwritten agreement signed by Savannah, Lena, and Diane.
The surrogacy contract identified Savannah as the intended mother.
The intended-father line had been blacked out with permanent marker.
But the paternity report remained visible.
Probability of biological paternity:
0.00%.
Tested man:
Grant Whitmore.
I sat perfectly still.
Grant already knew he was not the father.
Or someone had tested him without telling him.
The handwritten agreement explained more.
Diane would receive two million dollars after the Halcyon sale.
Savannah would receive the Winnetka mansion, five million dollars, and a senior financial title.
Lena would surrender the child after birth and receive four hundred thousand dollars.
The baby would be presented publicly as Grant’s son.
Why would Grant knowingly claim another man’s child?
I read the agreement again.
Grant’s signature did not appear.
Only Savannah’s, Lena’s, and Diane’s.
Diane and Savannah were deceiving him too.
I turned to the final page.
A handwritten note had been clipped to it.
Once the sale closes, G signs the revised trust. If anything happens to him, the child inherits through S.
My breath caught.
They were not merely using a fake heir to control Grant.
They planned to use the child to inherit from him.
The intended father’s name had been blacked out, but the surrogacy contract listed an emergency contact.
Nolan Beckett.
Meridian’s chief financial officer.
Nolan had worked with Grant for four years.
He approved the suspicious vendor payments.
He also had access to my electronic credentials.
The child was likely Nolan’s.
I heard the front door downstairs.
They had returned early.
I replaced the papers exactly as I had found them.
Footsteps moved up the staircase.
Savannah called my name.
I locked the suitcase compartment, returned the key to the jewelry case, and entered the bathroom.
When she opened the bedroom door, I was holding fresh towels.
“What are you doing?”
“Preparing your room.”
Her eyes moved around the suite.
“Did you touch my suitcase?”
“No.”
She stared at me.
I held her gaze just long enough to appear confused.
Then Diane entered.
“The doctor says Savannah must avoid stress.”
“What doctor?” I asked.
Savannah answered quickly.
“Dr. Mercer.”
“The cosmetic surgeon?”
Silence.
Savannah’s face lost color.
Diane stepped forward.
“He has expanded his practice.”
“After losing his medical license?”
Diane’s eyes narrowed.
“You have been investigating us.”
I smiled.
“I searched his name because I wanted to send a thank-you gift.”
Savannah looked toward Diane.
Neither believed me completely.
But exposing them now would ruin everything.
I placed the towels on the bed.
“Grant wants Friday to be perfect. I would never interfere with that.”
I left before they could question me further.
That evening, Diane cornered me in the pantry.
“You think you are clever.”
“I know how to use a search engine.”
“You have always treated Grant like a child.”
“I protected him.”
“You controlled him.”
“I prevented him from destroying Meridian.”
Diane smiled.
“And yet he is selling it without you.”
“Is he?”
Her smile faded slightly.
I continued.
“Why does Northstar Material Consulting use your post-office box?”
She grabbed my wrist.
The pressure was hard enough to leave marks.
“You should sign whatever Grant gives you and leave with dignity.”
“Is that what you plan to do after taking your two million?”
Her fingers released me.
For the first time, fear entered her face.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course not.”
I stepped around her.
“But Friday should be interesting.”
Upstairs, I locked my bedroom door and sent Ethan copies of every document.
He called immediately.
“This is no longer only corporate fraud.”
“I know.”
“Diane and Savannah are planning inheritance fraud.”
“I know.”
“And if that note is accurate, they may intend harm to Grant after the sale.”
“I know.”
“You need to warn him.”
I looked through the window.
Grant was standing beside the pool, speaking to Nolan Beckett.
They shook hands.
Then Grant handed Nolan a folder.
“What if Grant already knows?” I asked.
“Then he is participating.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“He is still the man who hit you, forged your signature, stole millions, and planned to erase you.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Then why do you sound concerned?”
Because despite everything, I had once loved him.
Because a part of me remembered the young salesman who brought soup when I worked late and slept beside my hospital bed after the miscarriage.
But that man had made choices.
So had I.
“I don’t want him dead,” I said.
“That does not mean you must save his empire.”
“I won’t.”
I looked toward the pool as Nolan drove away.
May you like
“I’ll save his life.”
Then I would let him live long enough to watch everything else disappear.
