He had reverted to a number he could never forget.

I pressed the six keys corresponding to the date the twins were born.

The safe let out a soft, electronic beep.

A small green light flashed.

The heavy steel bolt retracted with a dull click.

I reached out my hand and grabbed the cold metal handle of the safe door.

I pulled the heavy steel door open.

Inside, the safe smelled of old paper and copper coins.

My flashlight beam cut through the dark interior, reflecting off a stack of bound documents.

I reached inside and pulled out the top folder.

It was a thick, blue expanding envelope tied with a black ribbon.

The label on the front read: *Whitmore Estate – Surrogacy Agreement – Confidential.*

My hand shook slightly as I untied the ribbon.

I pulled out the contents and laid them on the cold mahogany desk.

The first page was a standard medical contract from five years ago.

It bore the logo of a private fertility clinic in Chicago.

I flipped through the pages, my eyes scanning the legal jargon until I reached the signature page.