Chapter 2 - The Blood Test & The Father's Legacy
Two hours felt like two eternities inside the quiet lounge.
Lily had finally fallen asleep, wrapped in a warm blanket provided by the nursing staff, her hand still tightly holding the paw of her teddy bear. James stayed beside her on the couch, his eyes glued to the double doors of the surgical corridor.
The heavy door opened, and Dr. Whitaker walked in, pulling off his surgical cap. His face was lined with deep fatigue, but his eyes carried a spark of relief.
James stood up instantly, careful not to disturb the sleeping child. "How is she?"
"She made it through the surgery," Thomas said, wiping his brow. "There was severe laceration to her liver and localized internal bleeding, but we managed to repair the vessel and stabilize her pressure. However, she lost a significant amount of blood. The next twenty-four hours in the ICU are critical. She's in a medically induced coma to allow her body to recover."
James let out a long, ragged breath he felt like he had been holding for five years. "Thank you, Thomas."
"There's something else, James," Thomas added, his tone becoming cautious. "When we ran her emergency intake blood panel, we noted her blood type is O-negative. Little Lily's medical records on file here show she is AB-positive."
Thomas paused, looking closely at James. "I ran a quick comparison with your hospital donor profile on file from when you funded the new pediatric wing last year. You're AB-positive, James. It's a rare subtype."
James felt the room tilt slightly. "Are you saying...?"
"I don't need a formal lab test to tell you what I already know as a physician," Thomas said softly. "She has your genetic markers. She's your daughter, James."
James looked back at the small girl sleeping peacefully on the sofa. A wave of profound warmth, fierce protectiveness, and overwhelming rage washed over him simultaneously.
Why had Rebecca hidden this from him? Why had she fled five years ago without a word, choosing a life of hardship over everything he could have provided?
Before he could process the thought, the door to the waiting lounge burst open.
An older man walked in, flanked by two bodyguards. He wore a charcoal wool coat, carried a silver-topped walking cane, and projected an air of aristocratic dominance.
Richard Carter.
"James," Richard’s sharp voice cut through the room. "What is the meaning of this absurdity? You missed the most critical acquisition vote of the decade to hide out in a public trauma center?"
James's eyes narrowed. He stepped between his father and the sleeping child, his posture rigid. "Keep your voice down, Richard. You're in a hospital."
Richard sneered, looking past James at the couch. His eyes landed on Lily, then on the medical chart resting on the side table bearing the name Rebecca Morgan. Richard's face paled slightly before hardening into a mask of cold contempt.
"So," Richard spat softly. "The ghost returns. I thought I made it abundantly clear to that girl five years ago that she had no place in our family."
James froze. The air in the room grew deadly cold.
"What did you say?" James asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
Richard chuckled dismissively, adjusting his leather gloves. "Don't take that tone with me, son. Five years ago, when you were foolishly planning to propose to an impoverished art student with no pedigree, I took care of the problem. I offered her a choice: accept five million dollars to walk away, or watch her father's small restoration shop burn to the ground under legal lawsuits she couldn't afford. She was smart enough to take the lesson and leave."
James felt as if a bomb had exploded inside his mind.
The missing pieces fell into place with brutal clarity. The sudden disappearance. The disconnected phone. The letter she had left behind saying she didn't love him anymore. It had all been constructed by his father's ruthless hand. She hadn't abandoned him because she didn't care—she had fled to protect her family, carrying his unborn child alone into the dark.
"You ruined her life," James whispered, his voice trembling with a rage so intense his hands shook. "She's in the ICU right now fighting for her life because she was living in poverty, walking home from work in the rain!"
"She was a distraction!" Richard barked. "And that child is likely a bastard meant to extort—"
CLACK.
James closed the distance in a split second, grabbing Richard by the lapels of his expensive coat and slamming him back against the wall. The two bodyguards stepped forward, but Marcus immediately drew his firearm, pointing it squarely at them.
"Step back!" Marcus ordered sharply. "Nobody touches Mr. Carter!"
James leaned in close to his father's face, his green eyes burning with cold hatred. "Listen to me very carefully, Richard. If Rebecca dies, I will tear down Carter Meridian brick by brick. I will strip you of every title, every asset, and every penny you have ever possessed. You are no longer my father. You are nothing to me."
James shoved the old man back. "Get out of my sight before I forget who you are."
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Richard straightened his coat, his jaw tight, his eyes flashing with fury. "You're making a catastrophic mistake, James. You're choosing trash over an empire."
"I'm choosing my family," James said firmly. "Now get out."
