“Hi, uh, my name is Scottie Easton,” I say. “My father, Arnold Easton, was just accepted into your nerve regeneration trial. I just had a couple of questions about his enrollment.”
“Of course,” she says. “One moment while I pull up his file.”
There’s a clack of keys, a silence broken only by my breathing and the rush of distant cars.
“Yes, I see here,” she says. “Mr. Arnold Easton. Enrolled under the Markov Protocol, Cohort Seven.”
“Right,” I say. “They mentioned it was a sponsored spot. That there was some kind of… I don’t know, special opening? I just wanted to understand what that meant. Sponsored by who?”
There’s a pause.
“I’m afraid there might have been some confusion,” she says politely. “Our clinic does not offer sponsored or pro bono positions. All patients in this program are privately funded.”
My scalp prickles. “But they told my mom—”
She’s continuing already. “In your father’s case, there is a note on file that his participation fees were paid via a single lump-sum transaction from a private benefactor.”
“Benefactor,” I repeat, my voice going flat.
“Yes, one-time payment,” she confirms. “We do not have permission to disclose their identity, I’m sorry. But I can assure you that the account is fully settled. Your father’s place is secure.”
One-time payment.
My grandmother’s voice echoes in my head:I am willing to offer you five times the value of your current five-year contract. Upfront. Wired to your account today.
She wanted to buy me off–I said no.
Now there’s a mysterious benefactor paying a one-time lump sum for my dad’s trial spot… right after Kat broke my heart and moved out under her grandmother’s control.
My free hand curls into a fist.
“Thank you,” I manage. “That… clears it up.”
I hang up and just stand there outside the building, everything clicking into place.
Not perfectly, there are still holes, but this is starting to make more sense than Katerina dumping me for a spot in New York, and ghosting everyone who loves her.
She must have told her grandmother that my father didn’t get in, and she knew she had the connection to make it happen.
Her grandmother used it as leverage. I don’t know what the entire agreement was, but I won’t know until I go to the source and ask myself.
Something tells me that she didn’t leave because she stopped loving me.
She left because someone told her that my father’s future depended on it.
It doesn’t make the things she said in that hallway hurt less, or how the sound of her saying I miss New York, we were always temporary, sting less. And it sure as hell doesn’t fix the fact that she lied to my face.
But it also changes everything, because she gave up something to save my father and give us a better life. What I don’t know is… what did she give up if she still gets New York?
My next call goes to Luka.
He answers on the second ring. “What’s up?”
“We’re going to the ballet tomorrow night,” I say, no preamble.
There’s a beat. “What?”
“Her last show,” I say. “We’re going.”
