Three months passed before California found its way back into my life.
By then, the dance company in Phoenix had become more than an audition opportunity. I had joined the rehearsal schedule, learned everyone's habits, and discovered that dancers could become friends without turning friendship into a competition.
The first weeks had been difficult. My body remembered movements my confidence had forgotten. I would finish rehearsals with shaking legs and sit against the studio wall while everyone else packed their bags.
Nobody mocked me.
Nobody kept score.
Nobody waited for me to fail.
That simple fact still surprised me.
On a Tuesday afternoon, I was stretching near the mirrored wall when my phone vibrated.
The number was unfamiliar.
I almost ignored it.
Then the message appeared.
I have something that belongs to you. It concerns Brendan.
My muscles went still.
I read it twice.
The sender identified himself as Daniel Reyes, an attorney in San Diego.
He said he represented a former employee of Brendan's father's company.
He wanted to meet me regarding documents connected to the revenge archive.
I immediately assumed it was another attempt to drag me back into something I had already left behind.
I replied that I wasn't interested.
His response came less than a minute later.
I understand. But there is information concerning the blood donation incident that was never included in the archive you saw.
I stared at the screen.
My first instinct was anger.
My second was fear.
My third was curiosity.
That last one bothered me most.
I had promised myself I wouldn't go searching for explanations after I had already learned enough to leave.
But the sentence kept returning.
Information concerning the blood donation incident.
I asked what he meant.
He answered with one line.
Your blood was not discarded because it was unusable.
I felt cold despite the Arizona heat.
That evening, I called my mother.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she asked, “Do you want to know?”
“I don't know.”
“That usually means yes.”
“I don't want Brendan back in my life.”
“Finding out the truth isn't the same as letting him back in.”
She was right.
The next morning, I agreed to meet Daniel.
We chose a coffee shop near the studio.
He arrived carrying a thin brown folder.
He was in his forties, dressed simply, with the restrained manner of someone accustomed to delivering unpleasant information without dramatizing it.
“Thank you for meeting me,” he said.
I sat across from him.
“You said something about my blood.”
“I did.”
He placed the folder on the table but didn't open it.
“Before I explain, I need you to understand that I represent someone who was employed by the clinic.”
“Why would a clinic employee contact you?”
“She became uncomfortable with what happened that night.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“A laboratory technician.”
I waited.
“She noticed that your donation was entered into the system differently from a normal emergency donation.”
“How?”
“Your blood was processed and transferred.”
“To Brendan?”
Daniel shook his head.
“To another facility.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“That is what we're trying to determine.”
He opened the folder.
Inside was a copy of a laboratory transfer record.
My name was printed at the top.
The date was the night I donated.
The destination was a private research facility affiliated with a medical company.
I looked at Daniel.
“What does this have to do with Brendan?”
“That is the question.”
I read the document again.
My blood had been collected under false pretenses.
That much was clear.
But the transfer suggested something larger than a cruel prank.
“Did Brendan arrange this?”
“We don't have proof.”
“Then why bring it to me?”
“Because someone used his name when arranging the emergency procedure.”
My fingers tightened around the paper.
“Someone?”
“Yes.”
Daniel turned another page.
There was an email.
The sender's address belonged to an administrative account at the clinic.
The message instructed staff to prepare for an emergency donation from me.
It contained a reference number.
That same reference number appeared in a separate corporate document.
I recognized the company name.
Brendan's father's medical investment group.
I sat back.
“His family.”
“Possibly.”
“Did Brendan know?”
“We don't know.”
I looked down at the documents.
For months, I had believed the hospital incident was simply another cruel game.
Now I wasn't sure.
Daniel closed the folder.
“There is more.”
Of course there was.
“There was a medical study being conducted through a company partially owned by Brendan's father.”
I felt my pulse quicken.
“Why would they need my blood?”
“That remains unclear.”
“Was I enrolled?”
“No.”
“Did I consent?”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Then why wasn't this reported?”
His expression became uncomfortable.
“That is why we're investigating.”
I sat in silence.
The room around us continued as normal.
Coffee machines hissed.
People laughed at nearby tables.
A delivery truck stopped outside.
My life had already changed once because of Brendan.
Now, somehow, his family had found a way to reach into it again.
Daniel slid a business card toward me.
“I don't expect you to do anything today.”
“What happens if I refuse?”
“Nothing.”
“And if I want to know?”
“Then we investigate.”
I took the card.
“I'm not doing this for Brendan.”
“I understand.”
“I'm doing it because someone took my blood without my informed consent.”
He nodded.
“That distinction matters.”
I left the café carrying copies of the documents.
For the rest of the day, I couldn't concentrate.
At rehearsal, I missed a turn twice.
My instructor stopped the music.
“You're somewhere else.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't apologize. Tell me whether you need ten minutes.”
I nodded.
Outside, I sat on the curb.
I looked at the transfer record again.
There was one detail I hadn't noticed before.
The receiving facility was in Phoenix.
Less than twenty miles from where I lived.
I called Daniel immediately.
“You said the facility was affiliated with the company.”
“Yes.”
“It's here.”
There was silence.
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“We wanted you to see the document yourself.”
I looked toward the skyline.
“Is it still operating?”
“No.”
“When did it close?”
“Two weeks after your donation.”
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
“According to public records, the company dissolved the research division.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
That night, I barely slept.
At three in the morning, I opened my laptop.
I searched the company's name.
Most of the results were old.
Press releases.
Business registrations.
A few articles about medical research partnerships.
Then I found something else.
A photograph.
A charity gala from two years earlier.
Brendan stood beside his father.
And behind them was a woman I recognized.
The laboratory technician.
I stared at her face.
Then I noticed who stood beside her.
Liam.
Brendan's cousin.
The same man who had kept the master revenge record.
I felt the old anger return.
Not because I was afraid.
Because I realized the archive might not have contained the whole story.
And if that was true, then revenge ninety-six hadn't been the ending.
It had only been the part Brendan wanted me to see.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: The Person Who Had Helped Expose Brendan Returned With Evidence That Turned a Cruel Prank Into Something Much More Serious
I Thought I Was Saving the Man I Loved Until a Quiet Hallway Revealed Why My Blood Had Been Needed
Part 5 of 12
