Chapter 8 - THE HOSPITAL WING
The waiting room of the Hawthorne Biotech Memorial Hospital was a sterile, hushed expanse of white leather and polished chrome. It was designed for comfort, but to Grant, it felt like a pressurized airlock.
Four hours had passed since the medevac helicopter touched down on the roof. Four hours of pacing, of drinking bitter coffee brought by silent assistants, of watching the clock on the wall tick with agonizing slowness.
Grant sat on a low sofa, his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands.
Across the room, curled together in a massive armchair, were Nova and Sky. Nova had insisted on leaving her wheelchair to sit close to her new friend. They were huddled under a thick, heated blanket Juny had procured from the nurses' station.
Sky had cried until she had no tears left. Now, she was staring blankly at the wall, her small hand tightly gripping the cherry wood star her mother had carved. Nova had her arm wrapped protectively around Sky’s shoulders, whispering softly to her about constellations, trying to anchor the terrified girl to something larger than the sterile room.
Grant watched them. The contrast broke his heart. Sky, wearing frayed denim and cheap sneakers, and Nova, in her silver star shirt. But in this room, wealth meant absolutely nothing. They were just two little girls terrified of losing a mother.
The heavy glass doors of the surgical wing finally hissed open.
Dr. Aris, the chief of cardiology, walked out. He was still wearing his blue scrubs, a surgical mask pulled down around his neck. He looked exhausted, rubbing the back of his neck as he approached Grant.
Grant stood up instantly, his heart hammering against his ribs.
“Grant,” Dr. Aris said, his voice low and steady.
“Tell me,” Grant demanded, bracing himself for the worst.
“It was incredibly close,” Dr. Aris exhaled deeply. “Clara’s heart was operating at less than fifteen percent capacity. The stress of the confrontation today triggered massive ventricular failure. If you had waited for a ground ambulance, she would have died in transit.”
Sky let out a small, terrified gasp from the armchair.
Dr. Aris looked over at the little girl, his professional demeanor softening into profound gentleness. He offered a warm, reassuring smile.
“But she didn't die,” Dr. Aris said clearly, ensuring Sky heard every word. “We put her on an ECMO machine to bypass her failing heart, stabilizing her vitals. She is currently resting in the intensive care unit. She is stable, Grant.”
Grant felt a massive, crushing weight lift from his chest. He let out a breath he felt like he had been holding for four years.
“Thank God,” Grant whispered.
“However,” Dr. Aris cautioned, pulling Grant slightly aside to speak quietly. “The ECMO is a temporary measure. Her heart is completely ruined by a long-term, untreated viral cardiomyopathy, likely exacerbated by severe stress and malnutrition. She needs a transplant, Grant. And she’s too weak to survive on the national waiting list.”
Grant’s jaw tightened. He was a billionaire. He owned the hospital. But he couldn't manufacture a human heart.
“What are our options?” Grant asked, his voice absolute steel. “I don't care what it costs. Experimental treatments, artificial valves, anything.”
Dr. Aris hesitated, looking at Grant carefully.
“There is one option,” Dr. Aris said slowly. “Your biotech division has been developing the synthetic cardiac matrix—the Titan Project. It’s an artificial heart pump designed to support severe failure patients until a transplant becomes available. It’s revolutionary.”
“Then use it,” Grant ordered immediately.
“Grant, it’s still in Phase II clinical trials,” Dr. Aris warned. “It hasn't been approved for emergency compassionate use yet. The FDA paperwork alone takes weeks. We don't have weeks. Clara has days.”
Grant stared at the doctor. The bitter irony of it all was suffocating. He owned the technology that could save the woman who saved his daughter, but bureaucratic red tape was going to let her die.
“Where is the data for the Titan Project?” Grant asked.
“It’s tied up in the board of directors’ approval queue,” Dr. Aris said helplessly. “Evelyn Sterling blocked the emergency trial authorization last month. She claimed it was too risky for the company’s stock price.”
Evelyn. Even from a jail cell, she was still trying to kill Clara.
Grant turned around. He looked at Sky, holding the wooden star. He looked at Nova, who had already lost her mother to Evelyn’s greed.
“Dr. Aris,” Grant said, his voice vibrating with the terrifying, unstoppable force of a man who had nothing left to lose. “Prep Clara for the Titan implant surgery tomorrow morning.”
Dr. Aris’s eyes widened. “Grant, I can’t do that without board approval and an FDA emergency waiver. It’s illegal. The hospital could lose its license.”
“I am the CEO,” Grant said coldly. “I am invoking executive privilege. I will sign the authorization myself. If the FDA wants to arrest someone, they can arrest me. I will buy an army of lawyers to fight them for the next ten years. But Clara Hayes is not dying in this hospital.”
Dr. Aris looked at the fierce determination in Grant’s eyes. The doctor nodded slowly, a small smile touching his lips. “I’ll prep the OR.”
Grant walked over to the armchair where the girls were sitting. He knelt down so he was eye-level with Sky.
“Sky,” Grant said softly, placing his large, warm hand over hers.
Sky looked at him, her dark eyes swimming with tears. “Is my mom going to die?”
“No,” Grant said with absolute, unshakeable certainty. “Your mom is a fighter. She is going to have a very important surgery tomorrow, and the best doctors in the entire world are going to fix her heart. Do you understand?”
Sky stared at him, searching his face for a lie. She found none. She threw her arms around Grant’s neck, burying her face in his expensive suit, sobbing with profound relief.
Grant held her tightly, closing his eyes. He felt a small hand rest on his shoulder. It was Nova.
“Dad,” Nova whispered. “Can we stay here tonight? I want to be here when Clara wakes up.”
“Of course, star girl,” Grant said, pulling Nova into the hug as well.
He held both girls, the sterile waiting room fading away. The empire he had built finally meant something. It wasn't about patents or stock prices anymore. It was about saving the people he loved.
A few hours later, after the girls had finally fallen asleep on the waiting room sofas, Juny approached Grant.
“Mr. Hawthorne,” Juny said quietly, handing him a cup of fresh coffee. “Miss Doway just called from the estate. The police have finished processing the scene. They impounded Evelyn’s car. And…” Juny hesitated, a small smile breaking through her professional calm.
“And what, Juny?” Grant asked, taking a sip of the coffee.
“Miss Doway said the caterers are asking what they should do with the cake,” Juny said. “It’s still sitting in the garden. And the twenty-eight chairs are still set up.”
Grant looked down into his coffee cup. He thought about the empty chairs. He thought about the cruelty of the wealthy families who had abandoned his daughter.
May you like
Then, he looked up at the two little girls sleeping soundly together on the sofa.
“Call Miss Doway,” Grant said, a genuine, radiant smile finally spreading across his exhausted face. “Tell her to pack up the cake. We’re moving the party.”
