Chapter 7 - The Race Against Time
Panic erupted in the auditorium. Shareholders shouted for help, while Arthur Sterling stood frozen in shock, watching his coup crumble into chaos. Marcus, who had followed close behind, rushed through the crowd, dropping to his knees beside Owen.
“Call an ambulance! Now!” Marcus bellowed, pressing two fingers against Owen’s neck. His pulse was erratic, dangerously weak.
Within minutes, sirens wailed through the downtown streets. Owen was rushed back to St. Jude’s Private Medical Center, hooked up to every life-support machine available.
Dr. Vance walked out of the intensive care unit to address Marcus and a terrified little girl who had been brought to the hospital by a concerned nanny.
“His heart has suffered a massive failure,” Dr. Vance said grimly, rubbing his forehead. “We need a donor heart immediately. But matching blood types and tissue profiles on such short notice... it’s nearly impossible. Realistically, we have less than twenty-four hours.”
Hannah stood outside the glass wall of the ICU, pressing her small palms against the cold surface. Inside, Owen lay motionless, tubes running into his arms, his chest rising and falling only because of the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator.
She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She remembered what he had told her: Billionaires don't break promises.
She slipped away from Marcus, who was on the phone with the legal team, and wandered down the quiet hospital corridors until she reached the chapel at the end of the wing.
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Inside the empty, dim room, lit only by flickering votive candles, the little girl climbed onto a wooden pew, folded her small hands together, and closed her eyes.
“Please,” she whispered into the quiet air, her voice trembling. “Don't take him away. He’s my daddy. Take me instead if you have to, just let him stay.”
