Chapter 21: The Leo Factor

I didn't make it to Boca Raton. My phone rang just as I merged onto the interstate.

"Mrs. Sterling?" The voice was professional, clipped. "This is Dr. Patel from the oncology ward. I need you to come in."

"Is it Leo?" I gripped the steering wheel, swerving slightly into the shoulder. "Did something happen?"

"He had another nosebleed," she said. "A severe one. We've stabilized him, but his platelet count has crashed. We're moving him to the ICU."

"I'm on my way."

I spun the car around at the next exit, the tires screeching. My father would have to wait. My son was dying.

When I burst into the ICU waiting room, Edith was already there. She was sitting in a corner chair, her back ramrod straight, reading a magazine. She looked up as I approached, her expression one of mild annoyance.

"You're late," she said.

"I was working," I lied. "Like you told me to."

"Good." She closed the magazine. "The doctors are with him now. They say he needs a transfusion, but his blood type is... tricky."

"Tricky?" I asked. "He's O-Negative. Universal donor."

"Yes," Edith said smoothly. "But he has antibodies. From the previous transfusions. It makes matching harder."

She stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the parking lot where my rusty Honda was undoubtedly an eyesore.

"I spoke to the board," she said, her back to me. "They're willing to expedite the search for a donor. But it will require... significant resources."

"I know," I said. "The Trust."

"The Trust has rules, Sarah. Strict ones. About lineage. About family."

She turned around. The fluorescent lights reflected in her eyes, making them look like glass.

"If we find a donor," she said, "it has to be someone compatible. Someone close."

"Like a grandmother," I said.

Edith's smile didn't waver. "Clara isn't a match, Sarah. We checked her file. She has... genetic anomalies. From her condition."

"Really?" I asked. "Because I saw her file too. The one in the Hoard."

Edith took a step toward me. The air between us seemed to thicken.

"You spend too much time in that house," she said. "It's making you paranoid."

Before I could answer, the double doors to the unit swung open. Dr. Patel came out, looking exhausted.

"He's stable," she said. "For now. But we need to talk about his history. Specifically, the maternal side."

She looked at me, then at Edith.

"Mrs. Sterling," she said to Edith. "You mentioned that your sister—Leo's grandmother—had a clotting disorder? Von Willebrand disease?"

"Yes," Edith said. "My sister Clara. It runs in our family."

Dr. Patel frowned. She looked down at her clipboard.

"That's strange," she said. "Because I pulled Clara Sterling's medical records from the archives. The ones from before her... institutionalization."

"And?" Edith asked, her voice tight.

"She didn't have Von Willebrand's," Dr. Patel said. "She was perfectly healthy. In fact, her genetic screening was remarkably clean. No hereditary defects at all."

The silence in the waiting room was deafening.

"That's impossible," Edith snapped. "I remember the bruises. I remember the nosebleeds."

"Perhaps you're remembering someone else," Dr. Patel said. "Because according to these records, the clotting disorder didn't come from Clara."

She turned to me.

"Sarah, we need to test *your* blood again. Not just for a match, but for the markers. If this didn't come from Clara, it had to come from somewhere else."

I looked at Edith. Her face had gone pale, the perfect mask slipping for just a fraction of a second.

"It came from his grandfather," Edith said quickly. "My father. Archibald."

"Archibald died of a stroke," I said. "He didn't bleed out."

Dr. Patel looked between us, sensing the tension. "Regardless of where it came from, we need to know. Sarah, please come with me."

I followed her, leaving Edith standing alone in the waiting room. As the doors closed behind me, I looked back.

Edith wasn't looking at me. She was looking at her own hands.

And for the first time in my life, I saw her tremble.

She knew. She knew the clotting disorder didn't come from Clara.

It came from her side of the family. Or maybe...

Maybe it came from the doctor.

I walked into the exam room and sat on the table. Dr. Patel tied the tourniquet around my arm.

"Sarah," she said quietly as she swabbed my skin. "I didn't want to say this in front of your aunt. But there's something else in Clara's file."

"What?"

"A blood type," she said. "Clara is AB-Positive."

I stared at the needle.

"And?"

"And Leo is O-Negative," she said. "An AB parent cannot produce an O child. Genetically impossible."

She pushed the needle in. I didn't feel it.

"If Clara is really your mother," she said, "and you passed your genes to Leo... then Leo can't be O. Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless you're not Clara's daughter," she said.

The blood filled the vial, dark and red.

"Or," she added, "Leo isn't your son."