CHAPTER 4: Donor
1134 Words
Kai Montclair sat behind his large desk, clad in his usual charcoal suit, the jacket discarded neatly on the back of his chair. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he reviewed one document after another, though his eyes often lingered on the same page far longer than necessary. Work had sometimes been his escape. But lately, even the numbers looked empty.
Suddenly, the thick silence of his office was broken by a soft knock.
“Come in.” He said, not bothering to look up.
The door opened smoothly, and his secretary, Jonah, stepped in, in his usual organized self with a tablet in hand, dressed neatly in navy blue slacks and a white shirt.
“Good morning, Mr. Montclair,” he greeted.
Kai gave a short nod without lifting his eyes. “What’s on the schedule?”
Jonah cleared his throat, used to his boss's clipped tone lately. “At ten, you have the quarterly financial review with the investment team. Then a lunch meeting at the Wilshire Club with the Van Houtens. They’ve requested to discuss the upcoming development project in Geneva.”
Kai merely nodded.
“At two,” Jonah continued, “you’re expected to review the final presentation slides for next week’s board meeting. And at four, a video conference with the European partners.”
Kai leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple.
“And...?” he prompted, sensing Jonah had more.
“There’s a call waiting on line two. From the Montview Reproductive Preservation Institute.”
His eyes lifted slowly. “Montview?”
“Yes, sir. They said it was... time-sensitive.” Jonah’s brows furrowed slightly. “Do you want me to take a message?”
Kai shook his head. “No. I’ll take it.”
“Understood,” Jonah said, offering a short nod before quietly stepping out, the door closing with a gentle click behind him.
Kai sat still for a moment, staring at the blinking light on line two.
Then he reached for the phone.
“Montclair,” he said flatly as he picked up.
“Good morning, Mr. Montclair,” came a polite voice on the other end. “This is Dr. Grace Henley, coordinator at the Montview Institute. I’m calling to inform you that the egg cell belonging to Celeste Aldrin-Montclair has been successfully delivered to our partner facility in accordance with the assisted fertility schedule submitted by your team.”
Kai straightened in his chair.
“What schedule?” he asked coldly.
There was a brief pause. “The one your office sent last week, sir. The order to transfer and prepare the preserved egg cell for potential surrogacy.”
His grip on the phone tightened.
“I never gave that order,” he said sharply. “I made it explicitly clear in my instructions that the egg cell was to remain in storage until I approved otherwise. Nothing was to be done until I personally reviewed and signed off on the next step.”
Another silence. Then papers shuffled faintly in the background on the other end.
“I... I’m afraid there must be a miscommunication,” the doctor said, her tone slightly uneasy now. “We did a full review of the paperwork. There was no delay note or hold instruction included in the final transfer request. Only authorization signatures from our side and the courier confirmation. The egg cell is already in the recipient lab.”
“Recipient lab?” Kai’s voice dropped to a dangerous low. “You mean it’s been released for implantation?”
“No, not yet,” she assured quickly. “But it is scheduled for initial compatibility screening. That’s the first step in the process of selecting a viable host.”
Kai stood from his chair now, pacing to the window, one hand pressed against the glass. His jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowed.
“And no one thought to confirm with me directly before pushing through with this?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Montclair. There was no indication in the file that further approval was required. Everything looked cleared and signed. We assumed it was intentional.”
His mind was spinning.
He had spent months delaying that decision. Preserving Celeste’s last wish, but not rushing into it. He couldn’t. Not when he hadn’t even come to terms with losing her.
That egg cell was the last tangible piece of her.
And now, it was out of his hands.
“Send me the full transfer documentation and timeline,” he said finally, coldly. “Every single signature, email trail, and authorization involved. I want it on my desk within the hour.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll forward it right away.”
He ended the call without another word and stood there for a moment longer while his eyes were fixed on the distant skyline.
Something wasn’t right.
And now, whether it was a clerical error or something far worse, the last trace of Celeste was in motion.
Kai Montclair stood stiffly in his office, his thoughts spiraling as he stared out through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The call from earlier still echoed in his mind. The preserved egg was never supposed to be moved. Yet somehow, it had been delivered. Transferred. Activated for use.
It wasn’t just a violation of protocol.
It was a violation of her.
The sharp trill of his desk phone interrupted his spiral.
He snatched it up immediately. “Montclair.”
“Mr. Montclair,” came Dr. Henley’s voice again, hurried and tense. “I apologize for the back-to-back calls, but this is urgent.”
He didn’t respond, only waited in silence.
“The egg has been scheduled for fertilization and transfer in exactly two days,” she said. “The recipient is a woman named Abigail Curtis. She’s passed all screenings and has formally agreed to proceed with the assisted fertility procedure.”
Kai’s pulse pounded in his ears.
“She’s informed the lab,” Dr. Henley continued cautiously, “that she intends to find a sperm donor independently. She’s hoping to make arrangements before the scheduled fertilization window.”
That was all he needed to hear.
A stranger. A nameless man. Injecting himself into what remained of Celeste’s legacy.
The muscles in Kai’s jaw flexed.
“No,” he snapped. “Cancel the fertilization. Put the procedure on hold. Effective immediately.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Mr. Montclair, with all due respect, the recipient has already signed—”
“I don’t care. That egg is not to be fertilized until I say so.”
“Understood.” Her tone shifted, more serious now. “Would you like us to cancel the procedure completely?”
“No,” he said as his voice lowered. “I’ll be the donor.”
- Writer
