Chapter 11: The Director

"What does that mean?" I said.

Warwick kept his eyes on the numbers.

"Ask her," he said. "Ask her what she did before you ever sat in that chair."

The doors opened on the lobby.

He stepped out first, smiling at the guard, and walked away.

I stood there with my pulse hammering.

When Nathan found me at the front desk, I told him in six sentences.

He listened with his jaw tight and said, "He lies for sport."

"I know."

"But?"

"But he wanted me to ask her. Why would he want that?"

Nathan didn't answer.

On Monday, July seventh, we went to the Halden clinic.

Ingrid Sayre met us in the glass-walled office, in the same white coat, with the same perfect hair.

She looked at me and, for just a second, her mouth wobbled.

"Letty," she said. "You're glowing. Twenty weeks?"

"Twenty on the dot. Don't change the subject."

"I wouldn't."

"Ingrid," Nathan said, low. "Two questions. Why did Warwick Corwin tell my wife to ask you who paid for her file?"

Ingrid's face went smooth.

"I don't know what he means."

"And second. How did my embryos end up in a transfer meant for a different couple?"

"It was an error," Ingrid said. "I've told you. A tray was mislabeled."

"By whom?"

"I can't discuss staff."

"You're the director."

"Which is why I can't."

I stepped forward.

"You offered me two hundred thousand dollars to kill them," I said. "You knew about my mother's house."

"I was wrong."

"You didn't look wrong. When I walked out, you looked like you'd won."

For a second she said nothing.

"Elise left Nathan a letter," Ingrid said slowly, to the window.

"I promised her he would read it first, on the day it says."

"I won't take that from either of you. I'm sorry."

"Ingrid," Nathan said, rough. "You were at our wedding."

"I was hers before I was yours. I'm sorry."

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