Chapter 3: The First Discrepancy

Natasha did not leave the hospital.

Hours passed.

Dawn slowly crept over Atlanta, painting the sky in shades of pale orange and gray, but she remained seated beside Malia's bed.

Her sister still hadn't regained consciousness.

Every beep from the monitor felt like a countdown.

To what, Natasha didn't know.

The door opened quietly.

A young nurse stepped inside carrying a folder.

"Dr. Harris asked me to bring these."

Natasha accepted the file.

"What is it?"

"Malia's preliminary laboratory results."

The nurse offered a sympathetic smile before leaving.

For several moments, Natasha simply stared at the folder.

Part of her didn't want to open it.

As a nurse, she knew enough to understand how devastating a few pages of medical data could be.

Eventually, she opened it.

Blood chemistry.

Genetic markers.

Organ function reports.

She flipped through the pages automatically.

Then stopped.

Her eyes narrowed.

A particular section had caught her attention.

Blood type.

Natasha blinked.

Looked again.

Then again.

Her pulse quickened.

"No..."

She checked the report a fourth time.

The result remained unchanged.

Malia's blood type was listed as AB-negative.

Natasha immediately pulled out her wallet.

Tucked behind an old photograph was a faded donor card.

Her own blood type.

O-negative.

That wasn't unusual.

What troubled her was something else.

Their late mother's records.

She remembered them clearly.

A-negative.

Their father had been O-positive.

The combination bothered her.

Enough that she grabbed her phone and searched quickly.

The answer appeared almost instantly.

Her stomach tightened.

The odds were extremely rare.

Not impossible.

But rare enough to raise questions.

Questions she didn't like.

Questions she wasn't ready to ask.

The room suddenly felt colder.

A soft groan interrupted her thoughts.

Natasha's head snapped upward.

"Malia?"

Her sister's eyelids fluttered.

Weakly.

Slowly.

Then opened.

Relief crashed over Natasha so hard that she nearly cried.

"Malia!"

A faint smile appeared.

"You look terrible."

Natasha laughed despite herself.

"You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry."

Her voice sounded weak.

Like sandpaper.

"What happened?"

Malia frowned.

"I don't remember."

The monitor continued its steady rhythm.

Natasha squeezed her hand.

"Don't worry about anything right now."

But worry was already spreading through her mind.

The blood test.

The hereditary disease.

The strange inconsistency.

Something wasn't right.

And she could feel it.

Across town, in a glass skyscraper overlooking the city, another person was studying the same report.

A man sat alone in a luxurious office.

The morning sun reflected against the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him.

His expensive suit was immaculate.

His expression wasn't.

The paper trembled slightly in his hand.

He read the laboratory results once.

Then again.

Then a third time.

A muscle tightened in his jaw.

"Impossible."

The man stood abruptly.

The name at the top of the report stared back at him.

Malia Rowett.

A name he had not expected to encounter.

Not after all these years.

Not after everything that had been buried.

His phone rang.

He answered immediately.

"Did you verify it?"

"Twice."

The voice on the other end sounded nervous.

Silence filled the office.

The man slowly looked toward a framed photograph sitting on his desk.

An old photograph.

A family photograph.

His eyes lingered on one face.

Then returned to the report.

Finally, he spoke.

"Tell no one."

"Sir?"

"No one."

The line went dead.

For several moments, he stood motionless.

Then he picked up another phone.

A secure phone.

One almost nobody knew existed.

The call connected after a single ring.

"I need everything you can find on Natasha Nielson."

The voice replied immediately.

"How urgent?"

The man's expression darkened.

"Before she starts asking questions."

Back at Saint Agnes Medical Center, Natasha stared through the window of Malia's room.

She had no idea that somewhere in Atlanta, powerful people already knew her name.

And they were afraid.

Because a secret protected for twenty-six years was beginning to crack.

And once the first crack appeared—

The entire foundation could collapse.