They had threatened to use my family’s political influence to ensure she received the maximum prison sentence.

I sat down heavily in my father’s leather chair.

The room felt suddenly very small.

My father had lied to me.

He had told me the surrogate had vanished of her own accord, wanting nothing to do with the babies after they were born.

Instead, he had hunted her down, paid her off, and threatened her with a prison cell.

I looked at the signature on the settlement.

Claire’s handwriting here was shaky, the lines uneven, as if she had been crying when she signed it.

She had been nineteen years old, alone, and terrified of my family’s wealth and power.

I folded the documents and placed them back inside the blue envelope.

I tucked the envelope under my arm and stood up.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out and saw Dr. Shah’s name on the screen.

I pressed the phone to my ear.

“Daniel Whitmore,” I said, my voice hoarse.

“Mr. Whitmore, you need to come back to the hospital,” Dr. Shah said.