“The main power grid just went down,” Marcus said, his voice tense.

“And someone is accessing our private server from inside the house.”

The sound of a door clicking open echoed from the hallway downstairs.

“Look at this signature,” I said, pointing to the bottom of the PDF.

“Dr. Harrison Vance,” Benjamin read aloud. “He was the chief of obstetrics at the Denver clinic.”

“And Vanessa’s first cousin,” I added, remembering the family tree I had researched during the early stages of the divorce filing.

“She used her own family to falsify the birth certificates,” Benjamin said, his voice trembling.

“It’s worse than that,” I said, scrolling down to the laboratory log. “According to these records, Claire’s frozen embryos were implanted into a surrogate mother named Maria Santos.”

“But Maria Santos died in a car accident two weeks before the twins were born,” Benjamin said, his eyes widening as the memory hit him. “Vanessa told me she had to take custody of the babies immediately because of the tragedy.”

“That is what Vanessa told you,” I said. “But look at the hospital admission records from Denver General on this screen.”