Chapter 229: Bad Feeling

Words : 1667 Updated : Oct 9th, 2025

Chapter 229: Bad Feeling Ryan sat in his private jet, on his way to Husla, since it had been confirmed that his son, Callan, was based there and running the branch of Quinn Enterprise there. He had seen all the calls from Genevieve and even a couple from Pete, but he wasn’t interested in talking to anyone. All he wanted was to read all the news about the son whose existence he had just learned. Tears gathered in his eyes as he looked at the pictures of Callan on the internet. He was so handsome and reminded him so much of his Nancy. He had been checking the internet for all the news about Callan Quinn, and had read about his recent massive donation to Dr Brent’s Residency Training Program. Watching the clip of Callan’s speech at the Welcome dinner, his face softened, wondering who the girl was, and what she was to him. Was she his girlfriend? He already had someone in Husla making inquiries for him before his arrival to make things easier. Soon, he’d arrive and be face to face with his son. What would he say when he stood in front of Callan? Would Callan accept him? Would Callan want him to be a part of his life? He hoped so. Still, he didn’t want to be selfish. Callan was his son, and he hoped appearing in his son’s life would be good and bring happiness to him. Callan seemed to be doing so well for himself, and he didn’t want to disrupt his life. Ryan sighed softly as he clicked the link that led to Callan’s instagram page. He smiled as he looked at the various pictures of Callan. Some were candid shots taken at company events— Callan dressed in designer suits, his posture composed, eyes sharp and full of arrogance. Others were more casual: Callan shaking hands with business partners, Callan smiling softly while holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a pen in the other, deep in some discussion. He smiled when he saw a picture of Callan on a hospital visit— he was crouched next to a little boy in a hospital gown, gently holding his hand while he beamed up at him. The caption underneath read: "Every life matters. Every visit matters. #CompassionInLeadership" Ryan’s throat tightened. That tenderness, that quiet sense of responsibility— that was all Nancy. His kindhearted and compassionate Nancy. His fingers hovered over the screen, gently brushing Callan’s face like he could feel him through the glass. "You’re doing so well, my boy," he whispered. "You turned out so well even though you never even knew me." He wiped his eyes quickly and reached for his drink. A part of him still couldn’t believe it was real. He had a son. And not just any son— a son he was proud of without ever having raised. A part of him wondered how things would have been had he raised Callan himself. How would his life and Callan’s had been, had his parents at least been there for Nancy in his absence? Or if Karen had brought the baby to his parents instead of abandoning him with someone else? Would he have become so destructive and killed so many people? Would he have raised Callan well enough to be the kind of man he now was? He had no anger left in him now. He didn’t want revenge. He had gotten his fair share of that. He didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore. He was tired. Now that he knew of Callan’s existence he was tired. Bone weary. It seemed like the exhaustion and heartache of the past thirty-one years had finally caught up with him. He was still sorrowful, but what he mostly gelt was longing. All he wanted now was his son, Ryan thought as he continued to scroll through the pictures. The captain’s voice came on through the speakers, announcing they would be landing in Husla in the next thirty minutes. Ryan took a deep breath and was just about to close his phone, when his gaze fell on a particular photo, and his breath hitched. It was a photo of Callan seated with a group of friends. Ryan’s frown deepened when he recognized two people in the photo. One of them was, Jamal Jonas. He recognized him since his men had sent him pictures of Jamal and Genevieve hanging out together during his visit. The second person was Pete. What was Pete and Jamal doing together? And why were they with Callan? He looked at the next photo, and his heart sunk. It was a photo of Callan, Jamal, and Pete, standing beside Hunter Quinn, Thomas Hank, and Harry Jonas, and the caption said Gentlemen Club. Had Pete been lying to him this whole time? Who was he and what was he doing in his house working as a driver? Did the private investigator lie to him? Was everyone making a fool of him? Had Pete been deceiving him this whole time? Did Abigail already regain her memory and was communicating with the Hanks through Pete but pretending otherwise? Was Genevieve aware of the connection between Jamal and Pete? Did she know that Abigail knew everything now and was working with him? Had Pete known who Karen was before giving him the number? Hadn’t it been too easy getting the number from Genevieve’s phone? Was Karen working for them? Did she deliberately send him on a wild goose chase by claiming Callan Quinn was his son when he wasn’t? Was Callan really his son? His heart raced with different thoughts and different possibilities, and the storm inside him began to swirl violently. Ryan’s grip tightened on the phone as confusion and panic began to flood his chest. The faces on the screen blurred. His vision dimmed at the edges. Every breath grew heavier and more strained. A sharp pain shot through the left side of his chest. He gasped. The phone slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor of the jet cabin. He reached for his chest, his fingers clawing weakly at his shirt. The pain grew worse. It was as though his entire ribcage had been set on fire. It was hot, stabbing, unbearable. His breath hitched, and he stumbled out of his seat, trying to call for help. "Help..." he croaked. "Help..." The world around him tilted. The floor of the jet seemed to rise toward him. He collapsed. One of the flight attendants rushed in, and when she saw him, she quickly called the cockpit. "Captain," her voice was urgent and tight with fear. "Mr. Harris is down. I think he’s having a heart attack." The captain stiffened, then immediately grabbed the radio. "We’re twenty minutes out. Diverting to the closest medical airstrip. Inform Husla General. Get the defibrillator and keep him breathing." As the Captain gave the instructions, spoke, one of the crew members knelt beside Ryan with trembling hands. The man’s face was pale as he opened the emergency medical kit. Ryan was gasping now, his hand still clutching his chest. Sweat poured from his face. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. His eyes were wide, glassy, filled with terror and disbelief. A whisper of a name left his lips— "Callan..." He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t even met him yet. He needed to confirm if truly he was his son. That was what mattered most at the moment. He’d worry about the Hanks and everything else later. The young flight medic worked quickly, applying the pads to Ryan’s chest and checking for a pulse. Another attendant pressed an oxygen mask over his mouth and tried to reassure him in a steady voice. "Stay with us, Mr. Harris. You’re going to be fine. Help is coming." Ryan could barely hear him. His ears rang as the pain pulsed deeper. Darkness began to press in from the corners of his eyes. Not like this. Not now. He didn’t come this far to go out this way, he thought, desperately trying to hold on to his consciousness. He had just found his son. He couldn’t leave now. He wanted to believe that Callan was his son, and Karen hadn’t lied to him. She couldn’t have lied about something like that. No matter how hard he tried to fight it, the world continued to slip. The voices were growing more distant. His last conscious thought was of Callan knowing about all the terrible things he had done. And then everything went black. Twenty minutes later, the private jet touched down at the emergency airstrip near Husla General. An ambulance was already waiting on the tarmac. Paramedics stormed up the steps as soon as the jet doors opened, wheeling a stretcher inside. They found Ryan unconscious but breathing faintly— his pulse barely there. "We’re losing him!" one of the medics barked as they worked quickly to stabilize him. Within seconds, they had him strapped onto the stretcher, IVs in place, and wheeled him into the ambulance. As the doors slammed shut, the siren wailed to life, and the ambulance sped off toward the hospital. Back in the hospital, Emily was making her way through the hallway, clipboard in hand, just stepping out of a patient’s room when she saw the emergency alert being passed through the internal staff channel. "Male patient. Private jet. Suspected cardiac arrest. Arriving in four minutes." She paused as she read the update. She barely had time to process it before Dan called her name from behind. "Emily," said Dan, jogging up to her, slightly breathless. "Did you see the alert?" "Yeah," she said, already walking toward the ER wing. "Who is it?" "Ryan Harris. Do you know who he is? I heard he’s someone really important." Emily’s brow furrowed. Ryan Harris? She felt a strange tightness in her chest. He was in Husla already? Possibly to see Callan. She didn’t know why, but she suddenly had a bad feeling. A very bad feeling.

Chapter 229: Bad Feeling

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