Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57099 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57099 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“Gentlemen,” she said, her voice cool as steel as she strode in. “I believe we should discuss the real reason you’re attempting to prevent this transplant.”
Dr. Phillips paled slightly. “Lana? What are you doing here? Mr. Leahy has no need of a lawyer. This is a private meeting --”
“Is it?” Lana settled into the chair beside me, placing her briefcase on the table with a decisive click. “Or is it an attempt to pressure my very close friend into giving up his kidney so it can be redirected to someone you deem more… worthy?” The atmosphere in the room shifted like a sudden drop in pressure before a storm.
“I don’t know what you’re implying,” Dr. Winters began, but Lana cut him off.
“Let me be direct, then. Dr. Phillips, your thirty-three-year-old son was diagnosed with kidney failure four months ago after years of using untested fitness supplements and steroids that destroyed his kidneys. He’s on dialysis now, isn’t he?” She leaned forward. “And he happens to have the same blood type as Mr. Leahy’s. Now, I know all this because your wife told me when I met her for coffee a few months ago. I have a very good memory, but while I waited for Knight’s call, I texted your wife.” She turned her phone around to show Dr. Phillips the screen. “I asked her if she’d heard anything about her son’s transplant and she said…” She trailed off and stared at the man, silently demanding he read the text. Kind of like a teacher catching a student passing notes. When Dr Phillips refused to answer, Lana turned the phone around and read. “Gerry told me yesterday they’d found a match. He said a man had wanted to donate to his daughter, but the committee decided he wasn’t a good match for a pediatric patient. I’m so grateful the man decided to donate his kidney to Donnie.” She looked back up at Dr. Phillips before reciting the last sentence like a mic drop. “I’m so excited.”
Dr. Phillips’s face went from pale to crimson in seconds. “Different donor. That conversation is completely irrelevant --”
“Is it?” I demanded, my voice dangerously low. “You’re trying to take my kidney from my daughter to give to your grown-ass son? When doing so will almost certainly guarantee she’ll be on dialysis the rest of her life?”
“That is not what’s happening here,” Dr. Phillips stammered. “The committee’s concerns are legitimate. Your background --”
“My background has nothing to do with it,” I snapped. “This is about you wanting to move your son up the list.”
“Brynn could have an amazing life, even on dialysis,” Dr. Winters interjected, his tone maddeningly reasonable. “Many people do. And the financial burden of anti-rejection medications and hospital stays and surgeries can be crippling. Even with the best insurance. We’re thinking of your family’s best interests.”
Lana sat in controlled silence, letting them dig their own graves. Then, with methodical precision, she began dismantling their argument.
“Let’s clarify what’s happening so I don’t misunderstand what you’re saying here,” she said, her voice dangerously soft. “You’re attempting to redirect a father’s kidney from his critically ill eleven-year-old daughter to benefit a thirty-three-year-old man who willfully destroyed his own organs through the abuse of unregulated supplements and steroids.” She opened her briefcase, extracting a slim file. “A man who happens to be your son, Dr. Phillips. A man who, unlike Brynn, has had the privilege of living a full, healthy life until his own choices caught up with him. A man who has been on dialysis for months and has no expectation his condition will be anything but stable for months, years, or even decades to come.”
Dr. Phillips’s face had gone ashen. “You don’t understand --”
“I understand perfectly,” Lana replied, her voice like ice. “I understand that you’re abusing your position to benefit your family at the expense of a child. I understand that you’re willing to sentence an eleven-year-old girl to a lifetime of dialysis because you think your son deserves a second chance more than she deserves her first.”
I leaned forward, my tattooed hands flat on the table. “My daughter didn’t do anything to deserve this. She got sick through no fault of her own. And you want to punish her for my past? For the fact that I spent time in prison? I paid my debt to society. I even saved the fuckin’ taxpayers -- like yourself -- the expense of a trial and pled guilty because I was dead fuckin’ guilty. She shouldn’t have to pay for it too.”
The room fell silent. The two doctors exchanged desperate glances, their carefully constructed plan crumbling around them.
“This is a gross mischaracterization of the situation,” Dr. Phillips sputtered, his professional composure cracking like thin ice. His colleague nodded vigorously, both men suddenly scrambling to reframe their “compromise” as something other than the naked self-interest it clearly was. I watched them squirm, my rage giving way to something colder and more focused. These men in their pressed white coats thought they were better than me. Than my family. These were the gatekeepers standing between my daughter and her chance at a normal life.