Chapter 3 - The Secret Behind Maya's TransplantI didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the black garbage bag.
Then the insurance policy.
Then my father's face.
Then Maya whispering:
The donor was supposed to disappear.
At three in the morning, a nurse entered to check my vitals.
She noticed I was awake.
"Pain?"
"Not the worst thing keeping me awake."
She smiled sadly.
"I figured."
She adjusted my IV.
Then she hesitated.
"There is something else."
I looked at her.
"What?"
"The police asked us to preserve your preoperative records."
"Why?"
"Because they're investigating whether there was manipulation surrounding your donation."
I swallowed.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Was my surgery normal?"
She paused.
"Medically?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Was Maya's?"
The nurse's expression changed.
"That's not something I can discuss."
That was enough.
Something was wrong.
The next morning, Dr. Evans returned.
He closed the door behind him.
"How are you?"
"Better."
He pulled a chair beside my bed.
"I have an update."
I waited.
"The transplant itself was successful."
I nodded.
"But there is a problem with the records."
"What kind?"
"Several entries were altered."
My heart dropped.
"Altered how?"
"Medication timestamps. Consent verification. Donor counseling notes."
"Why?"
"We don't know yet."
I stared at him.
"Could someone have changed them after the surgery?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
He leaned forward.
"To make the donation appear more voluntary than it was."
My throat tightened.
"Who could access them?"
"Authorized personnel."
I looked at him.
"Does that include my father?"
"No."
"Evelyn?"
"No."
"Then who?"
He didn't answer immediately.
"That's what investigators are trying to determine."
He handed me a document.
"This was recovered from your father's office."
I looked down.
It was a contract.
A medical consulting agreement.
The name at the top made my stomach turn.
Dr. Samuel Cross.
I knew him.
He was the surgeon who had evaluated Maya months before.
"What does this mean?"
Dr. Evans pointed to the payment section.
"Your father paid him a substantial consulting fee."
"Why?"
"We don't know yet."
I turned the page.
There was another name.
Northbridge Medical Brokerage.
I had never heard of it.
"What is this?"
Dr. Evans looked uncomfortable.
"An organization that connects wealthy patients with potential donors."
"But isn't that illegal?"
"Direct organ sales are."
He paused.
"Which is why the distinction matters."
I looked at the contract again.
Then I remembered something.
My father had once told me that Maya's treatment was costing nearly a million dollars.
At the time, I thought the money went toward her care.
Now I wondered.
"Where did the money come from?"
Dr. Evans looked at me.
"That's what investigators are tracing."
My hands trembled.
Then my phone buzzed.
It had been returned to me that morning.
There was a message from an unknown number.
You need to know what happened before surgery.
Another message appeared.
Your sister was not the original recipient.
I stared at the screen.
A third message arrived.
Ask your father why he changed Maya's medical records.
I showed Dr. Evans.
His expression hardened.
"Don't respond."
"Who is it?"
"I don't know."
The number disappeared seconds later.
I felt a chill.
That afternoon, a detective named Laura Bennett arrived.
She sat beside my bed with a notebook.
"I want to ask you about your father."
I nodded.
"How long has he controlled your finances?"
"Since I was eighteen."
"Your housing?"
"Since my mother died."
"Your medical decisions?"
I hesitated.
"Mostly."
"Did he ever threaten you?"
I looked down.
"Not directly."
"Indirectly?"
I nodded.
"Did he ever tell you what would happen if you refused to donate?"
"He said I couldn't stay in the house."
"Anything else?"
"He said I would be responsible if Maya died."
Detective Bennett wrote that down.
"Did you ever meet anyone from Northbridge Medical Brokerage?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
I thought carefully.
Then I remembered a man at my father's office.
Gray hair.
Silver watch.
He had shaken my hand.
My father introduced him as a financial consultant.
I described him.
Detective Bennett's pen stopped.
"That's Thomas Reed."
"Who is he?"
"A former hospital administrator."
"Former?"
"He lost his medical license after an investigation into transplant irregularities."
My blood ran cold.
"Why would my father know him?"
"That's exactly what we're trying to find out."
She closed her notebook.
"There's one more thing."
She pulled out a photograph.
It showed my father entering a private clinic.
Beside him stood Thomas Reed.
The date was three months before my surgery.
I stared at the image.
"Why would they meet?"
Detective Bennett looked at me.
"Because we believe they may have been planning something involving your kidney long before anyone told you Maya needed a transplant."
I felt nauseated.
"Then why Maya?"
"That's what we don't know."
She stood.
"We're going to search your father's office."
"Will you find anything?"
"We already found something."
She handed me another photograph.
It showed a handwritten note.
Three names.
Two crossed out.
One circled.
Mine.
Beneath it were four words.
Perfect match. No resistance.
I couldn't breathe.
May you like
My father hadn't discovered I was a perfect match.
He had been waiting for it.
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