Found
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 4: The Case
The clinic was first.
I called the Miami Fertility Clinic in Coral Gables at 8am. I kept my voice level and professional — an architect on a call, presenting a problem that required a solution.
“My name is Maya Kent,” I said. “I had a consultation at your clinic in 2019. I believe my records were accessed and my consent forms were used fraudulently. I need to speak with your legal department.”
A pause. Then a different kind of attention on the other end of the line. They called me back within the hour.
I told them I had never returned after the initial consultation. I told them I had a DNA confirmation that a biological child had been produced using my genetic material without my knowledge. I used that language precisely — without my knowledge — because I needed them to understand what they were part of before they decided how cooperative to be.
The legal department was very cooperative.
The affidavit arrived by courier four days later. I read it twice at my desk while Amy napped.
The consultation in 2019 had included a standard consent package. All signed by Maya Kent. But the actual retrieval had been scheduled and authorized eight months later, in April 2020 — four months before Steven left. Under a second set of forms. Also signed by Maya Kent, with a spousal co-authorization signed by Steven Brooks, representing himself as her husband.
We had never been married.
The surrogate arrangement had been contracted through a third party agency in Tampa. The embryo transfer had taken place in July 2020. Amy had been born the following April.
He had been running this parallel life for over a year before he disappeared. He was sitting across from me at dinner, sleeping beside me, talking about our future — while a surrogate in Tampa was carrying my daughter.
I set the affidavit down. I pressed both hands flat on the desk and breathed. I put the affidavit in the folder labeled The Case.
Next I hired a private investigator. His name was Carls. Small dusty office downtown, ex-police, the careful eyes of a man who had stopped being surprised by people a long time ago.
“His name is Steven Brooks,” I said. “He abandoned his four-year-old daughter at a school. He listed me as guardian. I have her. I need to know where he is.”
Forty-eight hours, he said. He had it in twenty-four.
The call came while I was on the floor building blocks with Amy. She had decided we were constructing a city and was very specific about zoning.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.