Chapter 9 - The Debt of Blood
Logan pulled his phone from his pocket with shaking hands.
He dialed Graham Sterling’s personal number, which had been left in the business proposal folder.
The phone rang only once before Graham answered, his voice breathless and frantic.
"Dr. Thorne? Logan? Is Julian okay?"
"Julian is fine," Logan said, his voice raw, stripped of all pride and detached clinical coldness.
"It’s Margaret."
There was a stunned pause on the other end of the line.
"The nurse who raised you?" Graham asked softly.
"She is in acute aortic failure in Connecticut," Logan said, swallowing the bitter bile rising in his throat.
"She needs the emergency Sterling-Aero heart valve system deployed immediately from your corporate hangar."
"The regional depot is empty."
"It requires your personal executive authorization to dispatch the medical helicopter."
"Please, Graham."
Logan used the man’s first name for the first time.
"Save my mother."
On the other end of the line, Graham let out a shuddering breath.
"The helicopter will be airborne in three minutes, Logan."
"I am boarding it myself with our chief medical technician."
"Hang on."
Fifty minutes later, the roar of twin helicopter blades shook the windows of the small community hospital.
The emergency roof access doors flew open, and Graham Sterling sprinted into the hallway holding the silver cryogenic transport case himself.
Rain soaked his thousand-dollar suit, his tie crooked and flapping in the wind.
He handed the case directly to Logan outside the operating room.
"Everything you need is inside," Graham gasped, leaning against the wall, out of breath and exhausted.
"Go save her."
Logan grabbed the case without a word and ran into the surgical suite.
For three straight hours, Logan led the local cardiac team through the intricate procedure.
Guided by fluoroscopy, he carefully threaded the prosthetic valve through the femoral artery, up into Margaret’s failing heart.
With a final, delicate deployment click, the artificial valve expanded, pushing aside the diseased calcium.
The monitors instantly chimed in harmony.
The arterial pressure soared back to healthy levels.
The fluid began clearing from Margaret’s lungs.
When Logan finally walked out of the surgical unit, the sun was rising over the Connecticut shore, casting pale gold light across the waiting room.
Graham and Celeste were sitting side-by-side in the corner of the small waiting area, looking exhausted and thoroughly humbled.
Logan walked over to them, his face weary but serene.
"She survived," Logan said quietly.
May you like
"She is going to live."
Celeste buried her face in Graham's chest, weeping silent tears of profound relief.
