Chapter 6 - The Seattle Trap
Grace blinked, startled by the sudden shift in my voice. “What? Your lawyer sent it to me. He said it was part of the final separation agreement—that you insisted I leave the state immediately so you could move on without seeing me.”
I closed my eyes as a cold rage washed over me. “I never bought that ticket, Grace. I was told you packed your bags and flew to Seattle on your own because you couldn't stand the sight of me anymore. My mother’s lawyer brought me the signed paperwork and said you had already boarded the flight.”
Grace pulled her hand back slightly, her expression torn between disbelief and horror. “No... no, Ryan. I received a text from your personal number that morning. It said: Take the flight to Seattle. Don't come back. I’ve already moved on with Amelia.”
“I didn't have my phone that morning,” I said, the pieces of the nightmare finally fitting together with terrifying clarity. “Evelyn’s assistant took my phone for 'software updates' while I was signing the final decrees in the firm’s conference room. She didn't just isolate us after the divorce, Grace. She staged the entire breakup.”
Grace sank back onto her stool, pressing her palms against her face as heavy, silent sob shook her shoulders. Three years of mutual hatred, three years of believing we had thrown each other away like garbage, had all been constructed by a woman who viewed our lives as nothing more than lines on a corporate balance sheet.
Before I could say another word, the ICU doors banged open.
The surgeon walked in holding the blood bag I had just filled. Her face was set in a deep, grim line.
“The blood is hooked up to the bypass machine,” she said quickly. “We’re ready to begin the procedure. But Mr. Nolan... there’s something else you need to see. We just ran a routine genetic marker screen on your donor blood against Noah’s baseline map to prevent rejection.”
“And?” I asked, leaning up on one elbow.
The surgeon hesitated, looking from me to Grace. “Noah’s Kell antigen profile doesn't just match yours, Mr. Nolan. It matches a very specific, isolated genetic strain found in a high-profile medical registry. A registry that belongs to the Nolan Family Trust's private donor bank.”
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She pulled a paper printout from her folder and handed it to me.
“Your father didn't die of heart disease twenty years ago, Ryan,” the surgeon said quietly. “According to these genetic cross-matches, your father’s medical profile was updated in this very hospital six months ago.”
