I Went Bankrupt And My Husband Left Me.I Sold My Plasma For $40 Then Found Out It Was Worth Millions
«You didn’t have to accept, you know,» he remarked during our third meeting, a lunch in the clinic’s private garden. Despite his frail appearance, he insisted on being outdoors whenever possible. «You could have named your price, demanded ten million, twenty. In my position, I would have paid it.»
I considered this as I sipped my mineral water. «Perhaps that’s why you’re a banker, and I ran an event company. Different instincts.»
«Indeed.» His piercing gaze studied me. «Though I suspect it’s more than that. You accepted quickly, but you negotiated terms carefully: medical safety protocols, schedule limitations, clear boundaries. You wanted fair compensation, not exploitation. That speaks to character.»
I shrugged, uncomfortable with his analysis. «Or perhaps just business sense. My company may have failed, but I learned a few things in twenty years.»
«Tell me about it,» he said, surprising me. «Your company. What made it special before the incident?»
No one had asked me about Elegance by Harper since its collapse. People either avoided the topic entirely or spoke of it in hushed, pitying tones. But Alexander’s question held genuine curiosity, so I found myself describing the business I’d built from a one-woman operation in my apartment to a staff of forty-seven with corporate clients across the Midwest.
«Our signature was personalization. We never used templates. Every event was built from the ground up based on the client’s vision and needs.» Pride crept into my voice despite myself. «We were known for solving impossible problems. The mayor once called us the ‘Navy Seals of Event Planning.’ If something seemed logistically impossible, we were the ones they called.»
«Until the seafood incident,» he noted, not unkindly.
«Until then,» I agreed. «One equipment failure, one bad night, and twenty years of reputation vanished.»
Alexander shifted in his chair, a slight wince betraying his discomfort despite his attempts to hide it. «The business world can be merciless that way. One misstep erases a thousand successes.»
«Is that what happened to you?» I asked boldly. «A misstep?»
He raised an eyebrow, clearly unused to such direct questioning. «My condition is congenital, a birth defect, though it manifested serious symptoms only recently.»
«I meant with your family,» I clarified. «I’ve noticed no one has visited you. For someone preparing for life-threatening surgery, you seem remarkably alone.»
A shadow crossed his face. «My family’s situation is complicated. My ex-wife lives in Monaco with her third husband. My son manages our Asian operations from Singapore. They’ve been notified, of course. But they haven’t come.»
«They’ll attend my funeral, if necessary,» he said with surprising detachment, «or the press conference announcing my recovery should you and Dr. Weber succeed.»
The casual way he referenced his possible death struck me. «Doesn’t that bother you? Being alone at a time like this?»
He gestured around us at the private clinic. «I’m hardly alone. I have a full medical team, staff attending to my every need, and now you, my golden-blooded savior.»
«That’s not the same as family.»
«Perhaps not.» He examined me with renewed interest. «Yet you’re hardly surrounded by loved ones yourself, Mrs. Bennett. Your daughter remains in Chicago. And from what you’ve mentioned of your sister, your relationship seems strained at best.»
The observation stung because it was accurate. I changed the subject.
«Is there anything you want to do before the surgery? Anywhere you’d like to go while you still can?»
He seemed amused by the question. «You sound as though you’re offering to fulfill a dying man’s last wish.»
«I’m offering a distraction,» I corrected. «Sitting here counting down to surgery can’t be good for your stress levels.»
To my surprise, he considered the suggestion seriously. «There is a small art gallery in the old town. They’re exhibiting a collection I’ve been interested in seeing.»
«Then we should go,» I said impulsively. «If Dr. Weber approves, of course.»
That afternoon, after considerable negotiation with the medical team, we set out for the gallery in Alexander’s private limousine. A nurse accompanied us, discreetly monitoring his vitals via a small device he wore beneath his immaculate suit. The gallery had been closed to the public for our visit—another reminder of the power this man wielded even from his sickbed.
The exhibition featured contemporary European artists exploring themes of transience and permanence, a subject that struck me as almost too on the nose given our circumstances. Alexander moved slowly through the space, occasionally pausing to examine a piece more closely. I noticed he was particularly drawn to the more provocative works, those that challenged conventional aesthetics or presented uncomfortable juxtapositions.
«What do you see in this one?» he asked, stopping before a large canvas that appeared to my untrained eye as chaotic splashes of red against a dark background.
«Honestly? It looks like a bloodbath,» I said without thinking.
To my relief, he laughed, a genuine sound that momentarily transformed his austere features. «Precisely why I appreciate your company, Mrs. Bennett. No artificial analysis, no pretension.»
«Harper,» I said suddenly. «If we’re going to be bound by blood, literally, you might as well use my first name.»
«Harper,» he repeated, as if testing the sound. «And I am Alexander, though most call me Alex.»
«Not Mr. Richter?» I asked with mild sarcasm.
«Only those who want something from me,» he replied wryly.
We continued through the gallery, our conversation flowing more naturally now. By the time we returned to the clinic, I realized I’d spent the afternoon not thinking about Gavin’s texts, my financial situation, or even the strangeness of my current circumstances. For a few hours, I’d simply been Harper again: engaged, curious, present.
Back in my suite, I found three missed calls from Mia and a text message that sent ice through my veins.
Dad showed up at my apartment. He knows about the Richter situation. It’s in the financial press now. Some article about «rare blood donor saves banking mogul.» He’s talking about family interests and legal community property. Call me ASAP.
I called her immediately, my hands shaking slightly. «What exactly did he say?»
«He’s claiming that since you were still legally married when you made the agreement with Richter, he’s entitled to half of any compensation as ‘community property.'» Mia’s voice trembled with anger. «He’s consulted a lawyer, Mom.»
I closed my eyes, the brief normality of the afternoon shattering around me. Of course, Gavin would find a way to insert himself into this situation. Of course, he would try to claim what was mine.
«Did he threaten you?» I asked, sudden maternal protectiveness surging through me.
«Not exactly,» Mia said. «He was trying to be charming. You know how he gets when he wants something. But when I told him to leave, he said I should consider my future and how this money could benefit all of us ‘as a family.'»
The familiar manipulation tactics made my stomach turn. «I’ll handle it,» I promised her. «The divorce may not be finalized, but we have a signed separation agreement that clearly divides assets. He can’t touch this.»
But even as I reassured Mia, doubt crept in. The separation agreement had been signed before either of us knew about my golden blood or the compensation it would bring. Would that matter legally?
After we hung up, I sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with blood donation. The universe seemed determined to remind me that every silver lining came with a new cloud. I’d found an unexpected lifeline, only to have Gavin’s grasping hands reaching for it.
A soft knock at my door interrupted my thoughts. Andrea stood there, concern evident on her face.
«Bad news from home?» she asked. «You look like you’ve seen a ghost.»
«My ex,» I explained wearily. «He’s making noises about claiming half the Richter money.»
Andrea’s expression hardened. «Some people really show their true colors when money’s involved, don’t they?»
«Gavin showed his true colors months ago,» I replied. «This is just the encore performance.»
The morning of Alexander’s surgery dawned clear and crisp, the Alps razor sharp against a perfect blue sky. I’d made my final pre-surgery donation the previous day and felt surprisingly strong, thanks to the clinic’s aggressive nutritional support and rest protocols.
From my balcony, I watched the medical helicopter land on the clinic’s roof, bringing, I presumed, the specialized surgical team that would perform the procedure.
My phone buzzed with a text from Mia: Thinking of you today. Let me know how everything goes with Mr. R.’s surgery.
I smiled at my daughter’s thoughtfulness. Despite everything she’d been through—her education interrupted, her stable life upended, her father’s betrayal—Mia still maintained her innate empathy. I’d done something right in raising her, at least.
There had been no further contact from Gavin since I’d instructed my divorce attorney to send him a firmly worded cease and desist letter. Whether that would deter him remained to be seen. But for today, I pushed those concerns aside. Today was about Alexander and the strange twist of fate that had brought us together.
A knock announced Tim Blackwood, more formally dressed than usual in a dark suit and tie.
«Mrs. Bennett. Harper.» He corrected himself, adopting the more personal address Alexander had initiated. «Mr. Richter has asked to see you before the surgery.»
«Is that allowed?» I asked, surprised. «I thought they’d be preparing him already.»
«They are,» Blackwood confirmed. «This is unorthodox, but he was quite insistent.»
I followed him to the surgical wing, where I was given sterile garments to wear over my clothes before being allowed into a preoperative room. Alexander lay on a gurney, various monitors attached to his lean frame, an IV already in place. He looked smaller somehow, more vulnerable, the hospital gown replacing his usual bespoke suits.
«Harper,» he said when he saw me, his voice steady despite the circumstances. «Thank you for coming.»
«Of course,» I replied, moving closer. «How are you feeling?»
«Physically? About as one would expect before having one’s chest cracked open.» His attempt at humor couldn’t quite mask the tension in his voice. «Mentally? That’s why I asked to see you.»
He gestured for me to come closer, lowering his voice so the nurse across the room couldn’t hear. «There’s a possibility I won’t survive this.»
«The doctors seem very confident,» I began, but he cut me off with a small shake of his head.
«They’re excellent, and your blood has given me the best chance possible, but the reality remains I’m 62 with a congenitally defective heart. The odds are significant.» He paused, eyes locked on mine. «If things go poorly, Blackwood has instructions regarding your compensation. You’ll receive the full amount regardless.»
«I wasn’t worried about that,» I said truthfully.
«I know. That’s precisely why I felt the need to tell you.» His hand moved slightly toward mine on the rail of the gurney, not quite touching. «In our brief acquaintance, you’ve shown me more genuine human connection than most people in my life. You came to a donation center to help your daughter, not yourself. You negotiated firmly but fairly. You’ve treated me as a person, not a bank account. These things matter to me.»
I swallowed, unexpectedly moved by his words. «You’re going to be fine, Alexander. And when you’re recovered, perhaps you can use some of those billions to find more of us ‘golden-blooded unicorns’ so the next person in your situation doesn’t have to scramble so desperately.»
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. «Already thinking like a philanthropist. Money changes people, Harper.»
«Be careful, says the billionaire banker,» I countered.
«Precisely.» His expression grew serious again. «I wasn’t always wealthy. I built Richter Banking Group from a small regional operation into an international powerhouse. I’ve seen what money does, to others and to myself.»
Before I could respond, Dr. Weber entered, his expression making it clear that our time was up. «We need to proceed, Mr. Richter.»
Alexander nodded. «One moment.» He turned back to me. «Whatever happens, thank you for your golden blood, Harper Bennett. It’s worth far more than three million dollars.»
«Then you overpaid,» I said lightly, trying to ease the sudden heaviness between us.
«I suspect, in the end, we’ll find I got quite a bargain.»
With that enigmatic statement, he nodded to Dr. Weber, indicating he was ready.
I was escorted back to my suite, where Andrea was waiting with a light breakfast and strict instructions for me to rest.
«The surgery will take at least eight hours,» she informed me. «There’s nothing to do but wait.»
Waiting had never been my strong suit. As an event planner, I was used to constant motion, solving problems, making decisions. Forced inactivity made me restless. After picking at my breakfast, I tried reading, then watching television, then scrolling through news sites on my tablet—anything to distract from the strange anxiety I felt about Alexander’s surgery.
«You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?» Andrea observed, bringing me tea mid-morning.
«Is that strange?» I asked. «A week ago, I’d never heard of him.»
«Now I’m pacing about like a concerned friend, she suggested. It’s not strange. You’ve literally given your blood to save his life. That creates a connection.»
«It’s more than that,» I admitted. «We’ve talked a lot these past days. He’s not what I expected.»
Andrea gave me a knowing look. «Richter’s reputation in financial circles is pretty cutthroat. ‘The Alpine Shark,’ some call him.»
«I can see that side of him,» I acknowledged. «But there’s more. Underneath all that power and control, he’s just human, facing his mortality alone.»
«Like you were when your husband left and your business collapsed,» she observed quietly.
The parallel hadn’t escaped me. Perhaps that explained the unexpected rapport between us: two people accustomed to control suddenly confronted with their own powerlessness.
Around noon, Blackwood appeared with lunch and a brief update. The surgery was proceeding as expected, with no complications thus far. He seemed surprised by my evident concern.
«You’ve developed quite an interest in Mr. Richter’s welfare,» he noted.
«Shouldn’t I be interested in the outcome of a surgery that requires my rare blood type?» I deflected.
Blackwood studied me thoughtfully. «In my 15 years working with Alexander Richter, I’ve rarely seen him connect with anyone the way he has with you. It’s unexpected.»
«We’re hardly friends,» I protested. «We’ve just had a few conversations while I’ve been donating blood.»
«Mr. Richter doesn’t just have conversations,» Blackwood replied. «Every interaction has a purpose.»
His words unsettled me, suggesting an agenda behind Alexander’s apparent openness. Was I being naive? Had our discussions been strategic rather than genuine?
My phone chimed with a notification, mercifully interrupting this uncomfortable line of thought. It was an email from my divorce attorney: Gavin’s lawyer has formally requested disclosure of the Richter agreement as part of divorce discovery. We need to discuss strategy ASAP.
A fresh wave of frustration washed over me. Even here, thousands of miles away, Gavin’s grasping influence reached me. I forwarded the email to the attorney Blackwood had arranged to handle the Richter agreement, asking for her opinion on the divorce implications.
The rest of the day passed in excruciating slowness. I fielded a call from Claire, who seemed torn between concern and resentment over my sudden change in fortune. I spoke with Mia again, reassuring her about my health while carefully avoiding details about Alexander that might find their way back to Gavin.
At seven that evening, Dr. Weber finally appeared at my door, still in his surgical scrubs, exhaustion evident in the lines of his face.
«The surgery is complete,» he announced. «Mr. Richter has survived the procedure.»
«And his prognosis?» I asked, my heart pounding unexpectedly hard.
«The next 48 hours are critical,» Dr. Weber said cautiously, «but we achieved everything we hoped to surgically. Your blood performed exactly as we needed it to.»
«Without it?»
He left the sentence unfinished, but his meaning was clear. I sank into a chair, surprising myself with the intensity of my relief.
«When can I see him?»
Dr. Weber raised an eyebrow. «He’ll be unconscious in intensive care for at least 24 hours. There’s no need for you to…»
«When can I see him?» I repeated firmly.
He studied me for a moment before relenting. «Perhaps tomorrow evening, if his condition stabilizes. Briefly.»
After he left, I stood at the window watching nightfall over Lake Geneva, the lights of the city glittering like earthbound stars. Alexander had survived the surgery. The first hurdle cleared. Why this mattered so much to me, beyond the practical implications of our agreement, was a question I wasn’t quite ready to examine.
