Chapter 5 - THE DEPOSITION
Richard’s lawsuit lasted nineteen days.
Then Caroline turned it inside out.
If Richard claimed the bakery wrongfully disclosed private information connected to his family, then his own role in obtaining and changing that information became relevant.
Emails.
Phone records.
Payments.
Clinic communications.
The Ellison trust.
Everything.
His attorneys tried to withdraw.
Richard refused.
Control again.
He would rather win a terrible fight than step away from one.
At deposition, Caroline asked:
“Did you pay Northshore Reproductive Medicine more than one hundred thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“My son and his wife needed treatment.”
“Did Lauren know you were the source?”
“I assumed so.”
False.
“Did you request access to embryo genetic information?”
“My son discussed family planning with me.”
“Did Lauren?”
“No.”
“Why did you believe her participation was unnecessary?”
Richard became irritated.
“I didn't say unnecessary.”
“You wrote an email stating Lauren did not need technical detail while emotionally vulnerable.”
He stared.
Caroline waited.
Finally:
“I was trying to reduce stress.”
“By withholding information about her own embryos?”
“My son was her husband.”
“That was not my question.”
I watched from the observation room with Lauren.
She sat perfectly still.
Then Caroline asked the question that destroyed Richard’s public defense.
“Mr. Ellison, if Embryo A had been successfully used through the surrogate program without Lauren’s knowledge, when did you plan to tell her?”
Richard paused.
Too long.
“I had not decided.”
Lauren closed her eyes.
There it was.
Not misunderstanding.
Not confusion.
He had fully intended to create a pregnancy using her embryo without first telling her.
Richard’s own lawyer requested recess.
The lawsuit disappeared three days later.
But regulators did not.
Northshore Reproductive Medicine came under formal investigation.
Dr. Crane was placed on administrative leave.
Two staff members admitted concerns had been raised internally and ignored.
The clinic was not some criminal factory.
Most doctors and nurses had known nothing.
That distinction mattered.
But Richard’s money had bought access where it never should have.
Mark testified voluntarily.
He admitted signing the original XY selection form without Lauren’s informed participation.
His lawyer warned that statement could expose him to civil liability.
He made it anyway.
Lauren heard about it from Caroline.
Not Mark.
That mattered.
He did not use confession as courtship.
At thirty-two weeks, Lauren moved back into her own house.
Mark did not.
They remained separated.
But he came Saturdays to prepare the nursery.
Under supervision at first.
Then not.
He painted one wall yellow.
“No blue?” I asked.
Lauren smiled.
“We are done building this child's identity around a color.”
Fair.
They named him privately.
Benjamin.
Ben.
Lauren chose the first name.
Mark chose the middle.
James, after Lauren’s late father.
Compromise without control.
One Saturday, I found Mark assembling a crib.
Badly.
“You need help?”
“No.”
Five minutes later:
“Yes.”
I held one side.
He tightened bolts.
After a while, he said:
“You hate me.”
“No.”
He looked surprised.
“I hated what you did.”
“Difference?”
“Yes.”
“Lauren may leave me.”
“Yes.”
His hands stopped.
“You say things gently.”
“I’m her mother. Not yours.”
He nodded.
Fair.
“Do you think I deserve another chance?”
There it was.
The question everyone asks when they want certainty from somebody who cannot provide it.
“No idea.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Helpful.”
“You’re still doing it.”
“What?”
“Looking for somebody else to tell you what outcome your choices should earn.”
He stared.
I continued.
“Maybe you change and Lauren still leaves.”
His eyes filled.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He nodded slowly.
“I’m trying.”
“That’s all you control.”
Later Lauren came home.
She found Mark asleep on the nursery floor beside the half-built crib.
One instruction sheet lay over his face.
She took a photograph.
Did not wake him immediately.
That image was not forgiveness.
But it was softer than anger.
At thirty-four weeks, Richard suffered his first real loss of control.
The Ellison Manufacturing board removed him as chairman pending investigation into misuse of corporate resources.
Mark had provided records showing his father’s executive staff used company systems for the forged embryo authorization.
Renee provided evidence from her own old litigation showing a long pattern of Richard using corporate resources in family disputes.
Shareholders panicked.
The board acted.
Richard called Mark twelve times.
Mark did not answer.
Then Richard called Lauren.
She did.
Not because she owed him.
Because she wanted to hear what he said.
“You destroyed the company.”
Lauren nearly laughed.
“I have never worked there.”
“You pushed Mark into cooperating.”
“No.”
“You turned my children against me.”
“No.”
“What do you want?”
Lauren looked down at her stomach.
“Nothing from you.”
That was the one answer Richard could not understand.
Everybody wanted something.
Money.
Shares.
Approval.
Access.
Lauren wanted distance.
Richard lowered his voice.
“That boy will inherit my name.”
“No.”
Silence.
“Excuse me?”
“He will inherit Mark’s last name if that is what we choose.”
“He is an Ellison.”
“He is Benjamin.”
Richard laughed.
“You think love protects children from reality?”
Lauren's hand tightened around the phone.
“No.”
Then she said:
“I think adults have a responsibility not to make children pay for their own unfinished hunger.”
She disconnected.
A week later, Lauren woke at 2:13 a.m. with contractions.
Too early.
Thirty-five weeks.
I drove.
Mark met us at the hospital.
He stood outside the room because Lauren had not told him to enter.
Even while terrified, I noticed.
Old Mark would have assumed.
New Mark waited.
Lauren was frightened.
Doctors monitored.
Medication.
Fluids.
The contractions eventually slowed.
Benjamin remained safely inside.
At 6:40 a.m., Lauren looked toward the door.
“Where’s Mark?”
“Hallway.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
“Tell him to come in.”
Mark entered.
He did not rush to her.
He stopped beside the bed.
“Hi.”
Lauren started crying.
“So stupid.”
“What?”
“This.”
“No.”
“I thought we were losing him.”
Mark’s face broke.
“Me too.”
She reached out.
He took her hand.
For the first time in months, Lauren allowed him to hold it for longer than a few seconds.
Nothing was magically repaired.
But fear did not become another excuse for secrecy.
They were simply afraid together.
May you like
That was new.
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