Identity (2 page)

“Renata. This is my daughter, Fina.” Fina stood and offered her hand. Renata’s grip was beyond firm, but short of crushing. It was clear this woman meant business.

Carl gestured to the empty seat next to Fina. “Please have a seat. Did Shari offer you something to drink?”

“Yes. She’s bringing me coffee.”

They sat, and Carl leaned back in his chair. “Fina is the firm’s private investigator. As I mentioned on the phone, I think she could play a role in your case.”

Renata placed a beat-up leather tote bag at her feet and turned in her chair to face Fina. “I assume your father has given you the details?” She wore a thick gold ring on her right index finger. Her hands were small and doughy, almost like a child’s.

Fina glanced at Carl. “Yes, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

Renata pursed her lips in annoyance.

“I know it may seem like a waste of time,” Fina said, “but there are things I’ll hear in the telling that a third party just can’t convey.”

Renata placed her hands on the arms of the chair and crossed her legs. “Fine. I want to sue Heritage Cryobank.”

“Okay.” Fina took a sip of her drink. “And why do you want to do that?”

“To learn the identity of the sperm donor I used to conceive my eldest child.”

“Why?” Fina asked after a moment.

Renata looked puzzled. “What do you mean,
why
?”

Shari tapped on the door and entered bearing a tray. She set a small French press coffeepot and the necessary accoutrements on the corner of Carl’s desk. She depressed the lever and then poured a cup for Renata before taking her leave. You’d think Carl was Queen Elizabeth II the way she backed out of the room.

“Why do you want to determine the donor’s identity?” Fina asked. “Presumably you went into the arrangement satisfied that he would remain anonymous.”

Renata stirred a spoonful of sugar into the hot liquid and added a liberal splash of cream. Fina waited as patiently as a Ludlow could and took comfort knowing that however eager she was to get things moving, her father was even more so.

“Things have changed.”

“What things? Unfortunately, changing your mind isn’t going to cut it in court.”

“I signed those papers seventeen years ago. There was no other way for me to start a family, and I was naïve. I didn’t think the identity of Rosie’s father mattered, but it does. It’s a fundamental human right to know where you come from.”

“Not everyone would agree,” Carl said.

Renata took a tentative sip and placed the china cup back onto its saucer. “Did you know that they recently outlawed anonymous sperm
donations in British Columbia? They ruled that keeping that information secret is unconstitutional.”

“So, what now?” Fina asked. “They’re opening all those files for the world to see, despite the promise of confidentiality?”

Renata sniffed. “No, but they’ve acknowledged it’s wrong.”

“That’s Canada.” Carl looked unimpressed. “This is the United States.”

“And there are lots of kids who don’t know their biological parents because of adoption or abandonment or being the product of an affair,” Fina noted. “Not knowing a parent’s identity doesn’t doom them for life.”

“You’ve done research on the matter?” Renata asked testily.

“Anecdotal research,” Fina said, and took a long drink, struggling to swallow her annoyance. “I interact with a diverse population in my line of work.”

“If you’re not interested in the case,” Renata said, rotating the coffee cup on the saucer, “I’m sure I can find someone who is.”

“That’s not what we’re saying,” Carl assured her, “but as Fina said, changing your mind isn’t the basis for setting a new precedent.”

Renata leaned forward in her chair. “Does a day go by that you two don’t consider your blood connection?” Her stare volleyed between father and daughter.

Fina and Carl both squirmed.

“Our connection is hard to ignore,” Fina said after an awkward pause.

“Exactly. Whatever the nature of your relationship, it’s a vital part of your identities. I’m only asking that my daughter be given the same basic information. Times have changed. A piece of paper shouldn’t stand in the way of progress.”

Fina raised an eyebrow in her father’s direction. Renata would have to be kept on a tight leash if they were going to take on her crusade.

“I’ve told Renata that the only legal precedent for breaking the contract is in the case of medical necessity,” Carl said.

“Which doesn’t exist in this case?” asked Fina.

“Correct,” Carl said.

“But what if something were to happen to me?” Renata asked. “My daughter would be left with virtually no blood relatives. And what if she has a medical condition that we don’t even know about? Medical testing has made leaps and bounds in the last two decades.”

Fina touched her nose. “I don’t know. It still sounds like a reach to me. Dad?”

“Renata, the chances of winning this case are practically nonexistent.”

“That’s what they said about the low-income housing the Collaborative built in Dorchester. They said it couldn’t be done, that we would drown in red tape. One hundred and fifty families moved in last year.”

“Be that as it may, we’re not talking about politics,” Carl said. “We’re talking about the law. You could fight a long, public battle and still end up with nothing to show for it.”

She straightened up in her chair. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

Carl drummed his fingers on his leather blotter. “We can approach it from two angles,” he said after a moment of contemplation. “We can research the feasibility of filing a suit against the cryobank on the basis that maintaining the donor’s anonymity is a violation of Rosie’s human rights, and in the meantime, Fina can figure out the donor’s identity, which might give us leverage.”

Fina looked at Renata. “Why don’t I just try to find out his identity? It could be done under the radar with the same result as a messy lawsuit.”

Renata waved Fina’s suggestion away with a flick of her wrist. “It wouldn’t be the same result. As I’ve said, this isn’t just about my daughter’s father; it’s a human rights issue. All cryokids have a right to know.”

“How does your daughter feel about this?” Fina asked, draining her drink.

Renata licked her lips before speaking. “She understands that I think it’s important.”

Fina tilted her head. “Okay, but what does
she
think?”

Renata fiddled with the ring on her finger. “She’s fine with it.”

“Renata, anything you say is protected by privilege, but I can’t be effective if I’m operating in the dark.” Fina looked at Carl. He nodded ever so slightly. “What does your daughter really think?”

Renata met Fina’s gaze. “She’s reluctant, but Rosie’s always been very independent.”

Fina gaped at her. “We can’t take this on if Rosie isn’t on board.”

“Why not?” Renata said. “She’s seventeen. She’s a minor.”

“Because it’s unethical, and frankly, it’s creepy.”

“Excuse me?” Renata peered at her. “How is my fighting for her rights creepy?”

“Because you’re talking about digging around in
her
life, into
her
personal information. She may be a minor, but she’s old enough to decide if she wants to pursue this.”

Carl held up his hand to silence the women. “Fina and I will discuss this further, Renata. Did you bring the documents I requested?”

Fina opened her mouth to speak, but Carl shot her a warning look.

Renata reached into her tote bag and pulled out a dog-eared manila folder. “Here are copies of the relevant paperwork. I have more in deep storage.”

Fina took the file and mustered up a sour smile. “Great. Thanks.”

Carl walked Renata out of his office. When he returned a moment later, Fina was flipping through the file.

“You’re kidding, right? Even Mom wouldn’t do something this insane.” Fina and her mother, Elaine, had a contentious relationship that was fraught with resentments and grievances. Fina seemed to perpetually disappoint her mother, which tapped into her inner adolescent. Annoying Elaine had developed into a hobby of sorts.

“You heard her.” Carl settled back into his leather chair. “It’s a human rights issue.”

“That’s bullshit. There’s no way the cryobank is going to give up the name, and Rosie will be in the news regardless. The PR is going to be a nightmare.”

“That’s not our problem.”

Fina closed the file. “I don’t like this.”

Carl studied something on his computer screen. “I don’t pay you to like things. You find out who this guy is, and I’ll worry about the lawsuit.”

“I don’t know, Dad.”

His gaze fell on her. “What? You’re not interested in the work I’m giving you? You’re done with the firm, too, not just the family?”

Fina felt the blood creep up her neck. She’d broken ranks with Carl during her last case, and he wasn’t going to let her forget it. “I’m not done with the family or the firm. Stop being so dramatic.”

He glared at her. “Then get on with it.”

Fina slipped the folder into her bag and stood. “Why are you taking this on? There’s no money to be made.”

Carl shrugged. “I have a hunch. I think sperm banks are the next big thing. Just you wait.”

Of course.

Carl smelled blood in the water and just had to swim closer.

•   •   •

Ten minutes later, Fina sat in her car in the Prudential garage and mulled over her first move. She needed to talk with Rosie Sanchez at some point, but wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. Fina glanced at the folder Renata had provided. She’d do a much better job digesting it lying on the couch at home, with a snack.

As she pulled out of the garage, her phone rang.

“I don’t have anything to report yet, Dad. I’m leaving the parking garage.”

“Your mother wants you at the club for dinner.”

“You just gave me a case; I can’t make dinner plans.”

Fina jammed on the brakes to avoid hitting a car that was cutting her off. The driver gave her the finger. How did that work exactly? Someone cuts you off and flips
you
the bird?

“You can take an hour for dinner. I thought you wanted to do right by Haley. What’s one dinner?”

There was no question that her fifteen-year-old niece needed all the help she could get. Fina’s most recent case, the one that had brought the Ludlows to the brink, involved the murder of Haley’s mom, Melanie.

“Fine. What time?”

“Six thirty.”

Fina ended the call before Carl could.

Ludlow family gatherings had never been relaxing or carefree, but they’d taken on a new level of awkwardness given recent events. Fina was still struggling to digest the dirt she’d dug up about her brother Rand, Haley’s father. If that weren’t enough, the normal reactions people were supposed to have to death and depraved behavior seemed to be absent from the Ludlow emotional toolbox, at least on the parts of Carl and Elaine. Fina had hoped that her parents would rise to the occasion when faced with Melanie’s death and its fallout, but she was starting to believe that they were emotionally bankrupt. They couldn’t give what they didn’t have, and the flashes of anger she felt were interspersed with moments of sadness. No family was perfect, but some seemed more broken than others.

•   •   •

Walter Stiles stroked his goatee and studied the brochure. It was high quality—thick paper, bright colors, and appealing photographs. Still, something about it bothered him. The idea that you could choose your donor based on a resemblance to a celebrity wasn’t the problem; maybe the problem was that it had been Ellen’s idea. Ellen was his second in command, well liked by the staff and increasingly a driving force behind new initiatives at Heritage Cryobank. Walter knew that she had strong marketing acumen and her ideas would benefit the bank, but her
insistence on pushing her agenda irked him. Heritage had done just fine—better than fine—before Ellen came along. It would do just fine if she weren’t there now.

In the thirty-six years that Walter had been at the bank, he had watched it grow from a small, unassuming operation to one of the most respected cryobanks in the country. Walter liked to think that he was largely responsible for that growth. True, it was the nature of the industry, but without him at the helm, he found it hard to believe that the bank would have a national reputation. Ellen was obsessed with data and algorithms and marketing surveys, but at the end of the day, Walter knew, it was about a woman holding her newborn child, beaming down at him or her. There was no better marketing than that.

Walter put down the brochure and leaned back in his commodious leather chair. He tidied the small stacks of paper on his desk before swiveling around to the window, where he studied his reflection. Perhaps he wasn’t the most handsome man in the world, but Walter put time and effort into his appearance and felt he looked young for his sixty-three years. He’d recently upped his swimming schedule to four times a week. There was no doubt that his metabolism was slowing down, just one more tide he’d have to stem.

The management team was scheduled to meet tomorrow to discuss the new brochure, but Walter decided he had a conflict. He would call a meeting for this afternoon instead. Too bad Ellen would miss it; she had a prior engagement, away from the office.

•   •   •

Fina drove back home and took the folder up to her condo, which overlooked Boston Harbor and Logan Airport. Technically, it really wasn’t
her
condo. Her grandmother, Nanny, had lived there until her death nine months ago. Fina had become a de facto squatter, and the arrangement satisfied her nomadic approach to life. Privacy and comfort were her only requirements—not that she didn’t appreciate the view—and she achieved both of those at Nanny’s without changing a thing. The
blue velvet sofa, the glass-topped coffee table with wrought-iron legs, the wall of Ludlow family photos—they were all Nanny’s touch. A visitor might conclude that the condo was the home of a sentimental octogenarian who wasn’t big on housekeeping. Fina did spring for a better TV, but the rest of the decor remained the same—except that now it was buried under a layer of Fina’s belongings.