“Eight months after divorcing me because I “couldn’t give him a family,”

My stomach tightened.

Briarstone.

I opened the folder.

The name appeared repeatedly.

Briarstone Consulting.

Briarstone Women’s Health Ventures.

Briarstone Holdings.

Briarstone Family Foundation.

Same mailing address.

Same network.

Different corporations.

Naomi tapped the records.

“Elias traced almost four million dollars through companies connected to Briarstone.”

“Why would a foundation sponsor their wedding?”

“It isn’t technically sponsoring the wedding. Ryan’s company is announcing a healthcare redevelopment partnership tonight. The reception doubles as a donor event.”

“On his wedding day?”

“You married him. You know how much he loves an audience.”

I kept reading.

Then I saw something.

An invoice.

Consulting services.

Signed eighteen months earlier.

The company receiving payment was Lakeshore Reproductive Medicine.

My fertility clinic.

My breath slowed.

“Naomi.”

“I know.”

I flipped the page.

Another invoice.

Another payment.

Then another.

The amounts were too large to be ordinary medical bills.

$250,000.

$480,000.

$600,000.

“These weren’t my treatments.”

“No.”

“What were they?”

“That’s what Elias wanted us to see.”

She reached across me and turned three pages.

There was a consulting contract.

My fertility specialist’s name appeared at the bottom.

Dr. Evelyn Sloane.

I stared at the signature.

For almost two years, Dr. Sloane had been the person I trusted most with my body.

She held my hand when I lost my second pregnancy.

She told me my ovarian reserve was collapsing.

She recommended aggressive fertility treatment.

She was the one who told Ryan and me that creating and freezing embryos might be our best chance.

We created six.

Two transfers failed.

One embryo stopped developing.

Three remained frozen.

At least, that was what I had been told.

“What is this?” I whispered.

Naomi’s voice became careful.

“We don’t know everything yet.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Mia—”

“Do not protect me from my own life.”

She held my gaze.

Then she pointed to a transaction.

“This company paid Sloane almost nine hundred thousand dollars over two years.”