Identity (9 page)

Fina was beginning to feel like Jerry Springer, given her recent focus on paternity matters. After the Fund for Children’s dinner, she’d gotten the results back from the lab: Hank Reardon was the baby daddy. Identifying the donor was no longer theoretical.

A summit was arranged for Monday morning, which explained the motley crew gathering in the twenty-eighth-floor boardroom of Beekerton, Lindsley, Hobbes, and Lefowitz. Fina and Carl were representing Renata Sanchez and Marnie Frasier, and a lawyer named Jules Lindsley would protect Hank Reardon’s interests.

Like the one at Ludlow and Associates, this boardroom was used when clients needed to be convinced that their attorneys were as successful as they were, if not more so. The room was oversized, with a polished cherry table that could comfortably seat twenty. There were sweeping views of Boston Harbor from two sides of the space. Another wall was dominated by a cabinet hiding AV equipment, and the fourth had a built-in buffet over which hung an ugly yet undoubtedly expensive painting. The whir of the air-conditioning was the only sound, and its constancy made it seem like the room was hermetically sealed.

Fina, Renata, and Marnie sat at the table while Carl paced near the windows.

A woman in her fifties wheeled in a cart and unloaded coffee, tea, juice, bottled water, and a platter of sliced fresh fruit and various pastries. Renata rolled her eyes at the spread arrayed on the table.

“They’ll be right with you,” the woman murmured before leaving.

A few moments later, Fina heard laughter outside the door, and two men and a younger woman came into the room. The elder man shut the door behind them, and they made the not-insignificant trip down to the end of the table where Fina and the single mothers were sitting. Carl remained standing.

“Carl, you look well,” Jules Lindsley said, shaking Carl’s hand. Jules was one of the old lions of the Boston legal community. Respected and well liked, he always seemed to be on the right side of issues. He was extremely successful, and his wife and children were shining examples of good, clean fun. He was everything Carl Ludlow would never be.

“Jules. Good to see you. This is my daughter, Josefina. I think you’ve met before.”

“Please call me Fina,” she amended, and shook Jules’s hand. “We met a while back.”

Jules was handsome, with white hair and glasses. His suit was elegant, but not flashy. Fina imagined that he went home at the end of the day and changed into khakis, a button-down shirt, a sweater-vest, and boat shoes.

“And this is my client, Hank Reardon, and his wife, Danielle.” Handshakes were exchanged, drinks were offered, and they took their seats at the table. Fina studied Hank while the men prattled on about boats. He looked younger than his sixty-one years, or maybe Fina was looking at him through the forgiving lens afforded to aging men; they grew more distinguished, but women just grew old. Hank had sandy blond hair, straight white teeth, and a broad smile. His suit was expensive and, on the fashion spectrum, somewhere between Carl’s and Jules’s. He looked fashionable, but age appropriate.

Although the Ludlows were rich—extremely rich—they were
paupers compared to Hank Reardon. Hank had made his first million straight out of college, but when he founded a company that developed one of the first e-commerce platforms, his income soared into the stratosphere. Fina wondered how her father felt being the poorest man in the room.

“Thank you, everyone, for fitting this into your no doubt busy schedules,” Jules began. “Carl and I thought it was prudent to sit down and iron some things out.”

Renata exhaled loudly.

“Yes, Ms. Sanchez?” Jules asked.

“I don’t think there’s anything to iron out.”

“Well, don’t be hasty. I think we have some common interests.”

Fina watched Danielle Reardon across the table, her arm looped through her husband’s. She was thirty-five years old, blond, and shooting daggers at Renata. She was wearing skinny pants with a subtle animal print in a moss green color, paired with a snug V-neck jersey in a baroque pattern. The whole ensemble was topped by a cutaway leather jacket of olive green with gold hardware. Had it been from a mall store, the outfit would have been tacky, but the impeccable tailoring and luxe fabrics elevated the outfit to a work of art. By Fina’s rough estimate, Danielle was wearing close to five thousand dollars’ worth of designer duds, and wearing them perfectly. She was tall and thin, and the clothing skimmed over her body. The black pebbled leather handbag on the table in front of her boasted a logo plaque for Dolce & Gabbana.
Cha-ching
. The diamond on Danielle’s engagement ring was the size of a gumball, and Fina noticed Marnie gaping at it. Unlike her husband, who seemed calm, Danielle looked nervous and fidgeted in her seat.

“Ms. Sanchez, everyone wants what’s best for the children involved. Your daughter, the Frasier children, as well as Michael and Aubrey Reardon.”

“Oh, do they count more than my child?”

Hank’s lip curled slightly.

“Renata,” Carl warned.

“No, I just want to know, does Rosie count less than the heirs to the throne?”

“You don’t know anything about—” Danielle started to interject.

Jules held up a hand to stop her. “I know that everyone is very passionate about this issue, but we can’t let our emotions get the best of us.” He looked around the table. “Hank is prepared to make a very generous gift to all of his biological children.” He opened a folder and passed out a small packet to each person. “Our hope is to keep this private matter private.”

Fina watched and waited as Renata and Marnie scanned the paperwork.

“Five million dollars?” Renata asked. She glared at Hank. “In exchange for our silence?”

“
Your
children would receive five million each, Ms. Frasier,” Jules noted.

Marnie straightened the agreement on the table. “I don’t imagine that my children will suddenly develop an interest in publicity, but I’m not entirely comfortable with the idea of a gag order, especially in exchange for money.”

“And I’m not comfortable with five million dollars,” Carl added. “Hank, last time I checked you were worth over a billion.”

“Don’t believe everything you read, Carl,” Hank said.

Fina eyed Danielle. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek, though in anger or anxiety, Fina couldn’t tell.

“I won’t agree to any gag order,” Renata stated.

“What about the kids, Mr. Reardon?” Marnie asked. “Are you interested in having a relationship with them?”

Hank glanced at Danielle. “I can’t imagine that would be a good idea.”

“Why not?” Renata asked.

“I may be your children’s biological father, but I didn’t make the donation with any intention of raising them. I have my own children.”

“These
are
your children!” Renata exclaimed.

“Renata.” Carl glared at her.

Marnie nodded thoughtfully. “This is a lot to take in. I need to think about it.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Renata said, staring at Marnie.

“Renata, what is it exactly that you want?” Marnie asked.

“Good question,” Danielle mumbled.

“I want Hank to join my lawsuit.”

A host of audible reactions emerged around the table.

“Ms. Sanchez, I will strongly advise my client against that,” Jules said.

“I’m not interested in suing Heritage Cryobank,” said Hank, “and to be honest, this whole thing is starting to piss me off.”

“Hank, I don’t think—” his attorney started.

“Let me finish, Jules.” Color was creeping up Hank’s neck. “I made those donations when I was young and naïve, with the understanding that my identity would be secret. Not only has that agreement been violated, but I’m starting to feel as if I’m the victim of extortion. This isn’t just about you, Ms. Sanchez.”

“I never suggested it was.”

“Well, you’re acting like it is. I understand you are advocating on behalf of your child, but her rights don’t negate my own.”

“But you’re an adult and a parent. I thought you might be able to put her needs before your own,” Renata replied. “We have the opportunity to improve the lives of our children and every cryokid who yearns to know her father. Think of the lives we could change.”

Hank’s mouth was open, yet words were failing him. Fina and Carl exchanged a look, each urging the other to act.

“In terms of your identity being revealed, Mr. Reardon,” Fina said, stepping into the fray, “nobody could have anticipated the role the Internet would play in regards to anonymity. This is a scenario that’s going to happen across the country. You just have a higher profile than most donors.”

“She’s right,” Carl said. “Every anonymous donor is at risk.”

Hank looked at his watch and started to push back his chair. “My wife and I need to be somewhere.” He pulled Danielle’s chair out for her, then shook Carl’s hand. “Ladies.” Hank nodded in their direction. He rested his hand lightly on his wife’s back, and she put her purse over her shoulder and shook out her hair. They were almost to the door when Marnie spoke. “Mr. Reardon?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for my kids. They’re amazing.”

Hank looked uncomfortable. “You’re welcome.”

Jules escorted the Reardons out of the room.

“Renata, this has gone far enough,” Marnie stated. “I’m not going to be a party to your crusade.” She looked at Carl. “I don’t think I’ll require your representation, Mr. Ludlow. My interests are not the same as Renata’s.”

“One of my sons can represent you,” Carl said, never happy to lose a client.

“So, this is okay with you?” Renata asked Marnie.

“What? That the donor doesn’t want to be a father? You may have harbored that fantasy, but I never did. Because of your crusade, now my kids will have to come to grips with that. I’m not okay with any of this.”

“You’re still entitled to the money,” Fina said.

“And I can get you more than five million a pop,” Carl added.

Renata sniffed. “It’s always about the money.”

Marnie picked up her belongings and walked out.

Fina, Carl, and Renata were silent. Fina looked at the plate of pastries that remained untouched in the center of the table. A cinnamon roll would really hit the spot right about now.

“So.” Renata straightened up in her seat.

“Renata,” Carl said, pacing at the end of the table, “let’s go back to my office and discuss this.”

“I’d rather discuss it now.”

Carl stopped and leaned his palms on the tabletop. “Fine. My job is to advise you. As I said during our first meeting, this lawsuit is a nonstarter. You need to walk away.”

“You told me it was a long shot, but you were willing to pursue it. What’s changed?”

“We have new information, including the identity of the donor, and my advice is based on that. You have an opportunity in front of you that is tremendous. Your daughter would never have to worry about money. College, veterinary school, med school—she could do all three with what Hank Reardon can provide.”

“That’s all well and good, but I told you from the beginning that this isn’t just about Rosie’s father. There are thousands of cryokids who are being denied the most basic information about their identities.”

“Information that their mothers or parents agreed to not have access to,” Fina pointed out.

“I know that, Fina. I’m saying that times have changed and we should make every effort to right those wrongs.”

“What would be the ideal outcome from your perspective?” Fina and Carl didn’t always agree, but they were good at reading each other’s signals, and Fina could tell that Carl’s patience was running out.

“The ideal outcome?”

“Yes, blue sky scenario. What would that be?”

Renata sat back in her seat. She looked at her hands for a moment. “Hank would publicly acknowledge that Rosie is his child, he would be a father to her, the identities of other anonymous donors would be revealed—”

“What about the rights of the donors?” Fina asked incredulously.

“You asked me for the blue sky scenario. That’s what I’m giving you. Please don’t interrupt.”

Fina rubbed her temples. It was best to keep her hands busy when she felt like smacking someone, especially a client.

“And,” Renata continued, “the cryobank would no longer offer anonymous donation.”

Fina and Carl exchanged a glance. “But wouldn’t getting rid of anonymous donation significantly lower the number of donors?” Fina asked. “Wouldn’t that mean that fewer women, fewer families, could have babies?”

“Perhaps, but that’s a small trade-off for ensuring that these children would know their fathers.”

Fina squirmed in her seat. She was irritated by Renata’s cavalier approach to changing the rules now that she had what she wanted. Maybe the policies should be changed, but not like this.

“Renata, I urge you to go home and think about this,” Carl said. “You don’t need to make any hasty decisions. And don’t do anything rash,” he warned her. “Don’t discuss this with anyone.”

Renata gathered her belongings and rose from her chair. “I thought you would understand why this is so important,” she said to Carl, and hustled out of the room.

“Why would she think you would understand? Has she met you?” Fina asked.

“Very funny. I think we’ve got a problem on our hands.”

“I think you’re right. We’ve created a monster.”

Carl stared into space. “And we aren’t even making real money on this.”

“I know. It’s outrageous,” Fina said.

Carl contemplated for a moment. “Maybe a big check will sway her. Sometimes, it isn’t real until people see all the zeros.”

“I hope you’re right.” Fina stood up. “But I doubt it.”

•   •   •

“So far, it looks like Marissa is dating the most boring man on earth.”

Fina and Cristian were sitting on a bench, watching his young son, Matteo, in a sandbox. Cristian had picked Matteo up from day care, and Fina agreed to give him the update in his neighborhood park in Cambridge. A soccer field with withered grass claimed most of the space, and two basketball courts bordered the play area where a group
of teens and tweens were shooting hoops. Some of them had their shirts off, and Fina marveled at what could happen in just a couple of years. Flat, undefined torsos became muscled, and voices dropped a register.