Chapter 1 - The Blood Type Betrayal
The terminal at O'Hare buzzed with the white noise of rolling luggage and flight announcements.
I sat at Gate B12 with Sophie and Daniel, watching the Boeing 777 being fueled on the tarmac. My phone vibrated again, but it wasn't Patricia this time; it was a confidential notification from my private investigator, Marcus Vance.
Attached to the email was a medical delivery intake file from Northwestern Memorial Hospital.
Infant Male: Blake-Cole. Blood Group: B-Positive.
My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles turned white.
A sharp, humorless laugh almost escaped my lips right there in the passenger lounge. Nathan Cole was type O-negative, a rare biological profile he had bragged about during every corporate blood drive.
And Vanessa Blake was O-positive.
Two type-O parents cannot genetically produce a type-B child. It was elementary genetics, something any high school biology student understood, yet Nathan and his mother had been so blinded by their toxic triumph that they had never bothered to check the laboratory stamp.
"Mom, look at the big plane!" Daniel cheered, pointing a half-eaten pretzel at the window.
"It's huge, buddy," I smiled softly, smoothing his brown curls. "In four hours, we'll see the Puget Sound, and Grandpa will take you to the ferry."
My screen lit up with an incoming call from an unlisted Chicago number.
I answered, placing the phone against my ear without saying a word.
"Rebecca?" Nathan’s voice sounded tight, slightly out of breath, accompanied by the muffled sounds of a private hospital suite. "Where did you put the deed to the Michigan Avenue commercial suite? The notary is here to finalize the title transfer."
"The deed is in the escrow depository at Sterling & Vance, Nathan," I replied calmly. "Along with my fifty percent corporate operational audit."
He let out an irritated sneer. "You're still playing the bitter ex-wife with your useless audits. Have a nice flight to your rainy corner of the country. Vanessa and I are preparing our son's nursery in the master suite."
"Enjoy every second of fatherhood, Nathan," I said, my voice completely smooth and devoid of venom. "Make sure you read the pediatrician's chart very carefully."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he barked.
"Boarding has started, Nathan. Goodbye."
May you like
I ended the call, switched my phone to airplane mode, and took my children's hands.
As we walked down the jet bridge, I knew the firestorm in Chicago was already burning, and for the first time in eleven years, I wasn't the one who had to put it out.
