“No trust fund, no townhouse, nothing.”

“You will be entirely on your own.”

The office door behind us suddenly clicked.

The handle turned slowly, and the heavy oak door began to swing open.

Everyone in the room froze, turning their eyes toward the hallway.

A young woman in a medical uniform stood in the doorway, her face pale.

She held a black tablet in her hand, the screen glowing bright blue in the dim room.

“Mr. Morris,” she said, her voice shaking as she looked at Julian.

“You need to see this.”

“It’s from the laboratory security feed.”

Julian reached out and took the black tablet from the nurse’s trembling hand.

I leaned closer, my heart hammering against my ribs.

On the screen, a grainy security feed showed the rear exit of the Westbridge Fertility Clinic.

A tall man in a dark overcoat was holding the heavy steel door open.

In the rain, a woman stood by the curb, clutching a thick bundle against her chest.

It was Olivia.

She was looking over her shoulder, her face pale and wet from the Denver drizzle.