Chapter 3

The live chat froze in an eerie pause.

Celia went white. Her sobs caught in her throat. "What is that supposed to mean? Are you some kind of psychopath? My son is innocent! What did he ever do?"

Arthur lost it completely and roared at the camera, "You extortionist bitch! You just want to use my son's life to drive up your price, don't you? If you don't show up today, I swear I'll dig you up and tear you apart!"

I typed a line and posted it to the public chat: Your son's life is worth nothing to me. Keep your money. Use it to buy him a nice plot in the cemetery.

Then I cut the connection.

#ColdBloodedDonorCursesSickChild

#ArthurHeirFightingForHisLife

The hashtags exploded across social media, and anonymous death threats began flooding my phone.

I sat in the dim living room, looking quietly at my mother's portrait.

There were less than four hours left before that boy would be brain-dead. If all of New York wanted to demand justice on their behalf, then I would go there myself.

I wanted to stand outside that operating room and watch with my own eyes how this show played out.

...

When I pushed open the doors of the emergency center on the top floor of Holy Cross, the hallway was packed wall to wall with reporters and gawkers.

The moment they saw the rare-blood donor badge pinned to my chest, a forest of long lenses swung toward me like sharks smelling blood. The flashes were blinding.

Arthur and Celia shoved through the crowd toward me as if I were the last lifeline in the world.

Years had passed. Every trace of the shy little girl I had been was gone, and what was left was sharp and cold. Arthur's eyes were fixed on the badge on my chest. He never really looked at my face, so of course he didn't recognize that the woman in front of him was the eldest daughter he had once despised.

"You finally showed your face!" Arthur reached out to grab my arm.

I stepped aside, my gaze sweeping over him as if he were garbage. "Mr. Arthur, if you have something to say, say it here."

He shot a wary glance at the wall of cameras around us and lowered his voice through gritted teeth. "It's chaos out here. Let's go to the director's office and discuss terms."

"We discuss it here." I stayed rooted to the spot. "Didn't you want to use public opinion to pressure me? Then let's lay it all out, right now, in front of the whole internet."

Arthur's face turned an ugly gray, but for the sake of the son lying inside, he swallowed it. He signaled to his bodyguards, and every reporter instantly thrust a microphone forward.

"Whatever your terms are, name them." He was trying to hold on to his tycoon's dignity, but his voice was shaking. "As long as you go in there and give blood right now, everything is negotiable."

Celia dropped to her knees at my feet again and clutched the hem of my pants.

"Please, I'm begging you! Arthur and I have been married twenty years, and Luke is the only child we've ever had! He's only six. He can't die!"

Looking at her theatrical face made me sick.

Twenty years? How perfectly timed. That was the very year my mother was driven to her death.

I laughed out loud, the sound ringing clearly through the silent hallway. "Married twenty years, and only one son to show for it?"

I leaned down slightly and looked her in the eye. "Did it never occur to you that maybe you've done so much evil that Heaven is punishing you?"