The moment my daughter sliced into her gender reveal cake, tears flooded her eyes — and right then, the baker beckoned me away.

The LED flashlight beam drifted from Mark’s face to mine, the glare blinding me for a second.

Behind the light, Cassidy Vance emerged from the shadows. She was dressed in an impeccable cream-colored trench coat, her dark hair pulled back into a severe, elegant chignon. But her face was hollowed out by sleeplessness, her eyes burning with an intense, manic clarity. In her right hand, she wasn't holding a phone or a folder.

She was holding a small, silver canister of pressurized industrial decontaminant—a caustic, chemical spray used to sterilize biohazard spills. One pull of that trigger inside this confined space would destroy the tissue samples in the open tank within seconds.

"Step away from Tank 408, Evelyn," Cassidy said softly, her voice echoing in the freezing chamber. "You have no idea the temperature fluctuations you're causing by keeping that lid unsealed. You're endangering the viable cellular lines of forty different families."

"The only family I care about is mine," I said, stepping deliberately in front of Mark, shielding the documents he had shoved into my open leather tote bag. "You're done, Cassidy. The baker gave me the security tapes. We have the altered envelope. We have the medical portal records. And now we have your illegal re-allocation contracts."

Cassidy stepped closer, her heels clicking sharply. The chemical canister in her hand remained raised, the nozzle pointed straight at the open frost of Tank 408.

"Contracts?" She let out a soft, pitying laugh that raised the hairs on my arms. "Evelyn, do you really think those papers mean anything in a family court? I am the laboratory director of an accredited biomedical institution. You are a retired cataloging librarian from a rural branch. Mark is a registered felon the moment I press this button on my phone."

She held up a sleek black smartphone with her left hand.

"On this phone is the pre-scheduled upload to the Delaware Family Court registry. At 6:00 AM—in exactly twenty-two minutes—Eleanor Riggs will be legally recognized as an independent gestational carrier under contract to the Vance Family Foundation. The boy will be my legal ward before your daughter’s morning vitals are taken by the floor nurse."

"He is my daughter's biological child!" I shouted, the fury tearing through my chest. "You stole him from her body!"

"He is an unhatched embryo grown in *my* culture medium, fertilized using *my* proprietary incubators, and transferred under *my* medical license!" Cassidy’s voice suddenly cracked, the polished veneer shattering to reveal the screaming, wounded monster beneath. "Your daughter couldn't keep a child alive in her womb for four years! Her body failed three times! She didn't deserve those embryos, Evelyn! I built this facility! I gave twenty years of my life to give other women babies, while my own body withered into an empty tomb! Why does she get two when she couldn't even manage one?!"

The sheer, raw madness in her voice bounced off the steel tanks, chilling me more than the liquid nitrogen ever could. She was not a rational woman protecting an asset. She was a woman drowning in grief and envy, clinging to stolen life like a life raft in a hurricane.

"Cassidy," Mark spoke up, his voice trembling as he stepped out from behind me.

Cassidy’s eyes locked onto him, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of grotesque, twisted hope flashed across her features.

"Mark," she whispered, her voice softening into a grotesque parody of tenderness. "Tell her. Tell her you chose me. Tell her that when you brought that envelope to the bakery, you did it because you wanted our boy to have a father. We can leave right now. We take the flight from Philadelphia to Zurich at noon. Eleanor will meet us in Bern. We can be a family, Mark. Just like you promised."

Mark looked at her, his hands hanging limp at his sides. The rain from outside was still dripping from his hair onto the frost-covered floor.

"I never loved you, Cassidy," Mark said, his voice flat, exhausted, and utterly broken. "I was terrified of going to prison. I was a weak, pathetic coward who used you because I didn't have the guts to tell my wife I had lost everything. But I don't love you. I never did. And I would rather spend the next twenty years in a federal penitentiary than spend five minutes playing house with a thief."

Cassidy froze.

The color drained from her face, leaving her as white as the cryogenic vapor swirling around her knees. Her lips twitched, her fingers tightening around the trigger of the chemical canister.

"Then none of us get anything," she whispered.

She lunged toward the open lid of Tank 408, raising the canister to hose down the delicate, frozen straws inside.

"No!" Mark screamed.

He didn't hesitate. With a violent, desperate burst of speed, Mark threw himself between Cassidy and the open tank. His broad shoulder slammed into her chest with a sickening thud, knocking her backward against the concrete floor.

The canister flew from her hand, skittering across the slick linoleum and discharging its white, foaming poison uselessly against the far wall.

Cassidy hit the ground hard, her head striking the corner of an empty steel cart. She groaned, stunned, her phone slipping from her fingers and sliding across the wet floor toward my boots.

I didn't think. I stomped my heavy heel down onto the phone's glass screen.

*Crack.*

The screen splintered into a web of dead black pixels. The scheduled upload died in the dark.

Mark fell to his knees beside the open tank, gasping for breath, clutching his ribs where Cassidy had clawed at him. He reached up, grabbed the heavy insulated lid of Tank 408, and slammed it down with a resounding, metallic crash.

The hydraulic locks clicked into place. The specimens were sealed.

From the hallway outside, the loud, wailing screech of an emergency alarm began to blare.

The security guard, Arthur, had finally noticed the vault’s tripped sensors. Heavy footsteps were pounding down the concrete stairs toward the basement.

"Take the papers, Evelyn," Mark choked out, coughing as the chemical fumes from the discharged canister began to drift through the air. "Get out through the service exit behind the incinerator. The badge works from the inside without a log."

"Mark—"

"Go!" he yelled, tears streaming down his face as he pushed me toward the emergency corridor. "Go to Lauren! Go protect my kids!"