Alan Grant knew about Jurassic World's velociraptor project. As the world's leading expert on those monsters, he was the first one they'd tried to recruit. Alan had declined, quite forcefully. Forcefully enough that they only called him the one time about the job. He half expected whatever idiot they did get to head up the project would give him a call and try to pick his brain, but that call never came.
He never went to Jurassic World. Not for lack of trying from the park. Every year they offered him consultation jobs, free park tickets, and all expense paid trips amongst other things. He wasn't fooled by their illusion of control. Alan was well aware that the park was another disaster waiting to happen, and when it did, it would be even worse than anything they'd seen before. This wouldn't be dinosaurs running amok when there were less than a dozen people on an island before the park opened, or a solitary T-rex running down the street in the middle of the night when most of the city was asleep. This would be twenty thousand people trapped amongst uncontrollable carnivores and Alan wanted no part of it.
When the story broke, he wasn't the slightest bit surprised about anything, except maybe that it took so long to happen. His phone was suddenly flooded with calls from other Isla Nublar and Isla Sorna survivors, asking if he'd seen what happened, and reporters wanting his opinion. He watched the train wreck of a media circus on the TV, as the full story came out. And he saw some familiar faces in the news.
There was Malcom, who hadn't been at Jurassic World when it happened, or ever, smart man, but who was more than happy to talk about chaos and the inevitability of all that happening, and there were some familiar pompous idiots he knew worked for Ingen. Claire Dearing, who he recognized by voice, since she'd called him a number of times, trying to get him to their damned park. And then a surprise, one that he barely recognized. Owen Grady, Head Velociraptor Trainer was the label that flashed across the screen. Without it, there was no guarantee that Alan would have recognized him as the slightly awkward, but clearly intelligent and spirited young man who he'd met some years ago at one of his lectures. Alan couldn't begin to guess how he'd ended up at Jurassic World, in charge of one of the most dangerous predators the world had ever known.
It was then that Alan got the call that would change his life, rocking it right down to its very foundation.
He almost ignored it when he didn't recognize the number, thinking that it was just some reporter. But on the off chance that it was someone important, he did answer it.
"Alan Grant speaking."
"This is all your fault!"
Alan held the phone away from his ear, wincing from the unexpected shout. "I'm sorry, who is this?"
"What, you don't recognize my voice?" The words were slightly slurred, like the woman on the other end had been drinking. "I only wanted to marry you about thirty years ago. Then you walked out on me because you didn't want children!"
That gave Alan pause. Then it clicked. "Samantha? Samantha Grady?"
"Yes. It's me. And this is all your fault!"
"What exactly is all my fault?"
"It's your fault that our son is going back to that god forsaken dinosaur island and refuses to come home!"