Chapter 2

The fluorescent lights of the public hospital waiting room were harsh and unforgiving. They made everyone look sick, including me. I clutched a paper cup of cold, bitter coffee, the institutional smell of antiseptic and misery clinging to my clothes.

Leo was in the emergency room, hooked up to machines that beeped and whirred, each sound a new spike of fear in my heart.

A doctor finally came out. He was young, tired, and his face was grim.

"Mrs. West?"

I stood up, my legs unsteady. "I'm Kelsie Hopkins," I corrected him automatically. I hadn't used Franklin's name in months, not since our world had supposedly fallen apart.

He didn't seem to notice. "Your son is stable for now, but his condition is critical. It's a sudden-onset neurological event, likely linked to his autism. It's very rare, and very aggressive."

I just stared at him, not understanding the medical terms, only the dread in his voice.

"What does he need?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"He needs an immediate procedure," the doctor said, his eyes avoiding mine. "It's called a Neuro-Vascular Intervention. It's complex and requires a specialist. And... it's extremely expensive."

He named a number that made the air leave my lungs. Two hundred thousand dollars. Up front.

"We're a public hospital, Ms. Hopkins," he continued gently. "We don't have the equipment or the specialists on staff for this. You'd need to transfer him to a private facility, like Lenox Hill. But they won't admit him without payment."

Two hundred thousand dollars. It might as well have been two hundred million. I had seventy-three dollars in my bank account.

The doctor saw the look on my face. "Is his father... is he in the picture?"

The image of Franklin on that rooftop, throwing money away, flashed in my mind. The helicopter. The pregnant mistress.

"He's... unavailable," I choked out.

The memory was so vivid, so sharp, it felt like it was happening all over again. The confetti of hundred-dollar bills. Janel's triumphant smile. Franklin's easy lie.

I'm hiding from creditors in a motel in Jersey.

The lie was a physical thing, a rock in my throat.

I felt a surge of something cold and hard replace the panic. It was rage. A pure, focused rage.

He had the money. He had it, and he was spending it on a party while our son was dying.

I looked at the doctor, my resolve hardening. "I'll get the money."

He looked doubtful but nodded. "You don't have much time. A few hours, maybe."

A few hours.

I left the waiting room, my mind a blank slate except for one single, burning thought: Franklin.

I walked out of the hospital and into the gray afternoon. I didn't take my car. I took the subway, the metal screeching of the train a soundtrack to the storm in my head.

I was heading to the West Enterprises building. The shining glass tower near Columbus Circle where Franklin had built his empire. The place I had once helped him decorate, the place I had brought a baby Leo to visit his father.

Now I was going as a beggar. A ghost from a life he had tried to erase.

As I walked up to the grand entrance, I saw them setting up for some kind of event. A press conference. There were news vans and reporters.

A large banner was being unfurled over the doors. It read: "WEST ENTERPRISES: A NEW ERA OF PROSPERITY."

I pushed through the gathering crowd, my heart a cold, heavy stone in my chest. He wasn't just lying to me. He was lying to the whole world. And I was about to walk into the middle of his grand performance to demand the life of our son.