ISLA'S POV
I ran through the hospital emergency room doors with red paint still on my hands.
James Chen, I gasped at the front desk. Heart attack. Where is he?
The receptionist typed slowly. Too slowly. Room 7, emergency wing. But you'll need to speak with billing first—
I was already running.
The emergency wing smelled like antiseptic and fear. Machines beeped from every room. Somewhere, someone was crying.
Room 7's door was closed. Through the small window, I could see doctors surrounding a bed. My father's bed.
A nurse stepped out, nearly colliding with me. Family?
Daughter. Is he—
Alive. Barely. She checked her clipboard. He needs emergency surgery immediately. The cardiac damage is severe. Without intervention in the next hour, he won't survive the night.
Relief and terror crashed through me simultaneously. Then do the surgery! Whatever he needs!
We need payment authorization first. Fifty thousand dollars upfront for the operating room, anesthesia, surgical team
Fifty thousand? My voice came out strangled.
That's just for tonight's emergency procedure. The recovery, medication, follow-up care—that'll be additional. Do you have insurance?
I thought about Daddy's company collapsing. About losing our health insurance three months ago. About the stack of unpaid medical bills already sitting on our kitchen table.
No, I whispered.
The nurse's expression softened. Then we need a payment method. Credit card, bank transfer
I don't have fifty thousand dollars. My hands were shaking. I don't have anything close to that. But please, you can't let him die because
I'm sorry. Without payment guarantee, we can only provide basic stabilization. Surgery requires
I'll get the money! Desperation made my voice too loud. Other people in the hallway turned to stare. I'll get it somehow. Just please, save him!
The nurse looked uncomfortable. I'll give you thirty minutes to arrange payment. After that, we'll have to move him to a standard room and wait for county hospital transfer.
County hospital. Where people went to die slowly because they couldn't afford real care.
Thirty minutes, I repeated numbly.
She disappeared back into Room 7, leaving me alone in the hallway.
I pulled out my phone with paint-sticky fingers and opened my banking app.
Account balance: $247.32
I'd been saving for the engagement party. For the dress. For the honeymoon Marcus and I had planned.
Two hundred and forty-seven dollars.
Fifty thousand needed.
The math was impossible.
I started calling. Everyone. Anyone.
Maya answered on the third ring, her voice sleepy. Isla? It's midnight, what
I need money. Fifty thousand dollars. It's an emergency.
Fifty thousand? Isla, I'm a paralegal. I make thirty thousand a year. I have maybe two thousand in savings
Can you get a loan? From your parents? Anyone?
My parents are retired in the Philippines. They don't have—Isla, what's going on?
My father's dying. The hospital won't operate without money upfront. I need— My voice broke.
I'll send you everything I have, Maya said immediately. Two thousand. It's not much, but
Thank you. I was crying now, tears mixing with the paint on my hands. Thank you so much.
I hung up and kept calling.
My college roommate didn't answer. My cousin sent the call to voicemail. My former coworkers, my old professors, distant relatives I barely knew—nobody picked up.
Or if they did answer, they made excuses.
Times are tough right now...
I wish I could help, but...
Have you tried a loan?
Twenty-five minutes passed. I had $247 in my account and a promise of $2,000 from Maya.
$2,247 total.
Still $47,753 short.
And that was just for tonight.
Miss Chen? A doctor appeared, older man with tired eyes. I'm Dr. Park. Your father is stable for now, but he needs surgery within the hour. Have you arranged payment?
I'm working on it, I lied. Just a few more minutes
We don't have minutes. His heart could stop again at any moment.
Then do the surgery! I'll pay you back, I'll work it off, I'll
That's not how this works. Dr. Park looked genuinely sympathetic. I wish I could help, but hospital policy
Your policy is going to kill my father!
Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Heavy. Confident.
Mr. Zhao appeared around the corner, flanked by two large men in dark suits. His smile was sharp as he approached.
Miss Chen. We meet again so soon.
My blood turned to ice. How did you find me here?
I find everyone eventually. He pulled a thick folder from his briefcase. I thought we should have a proper conversation about your father's debt situation.
Dr. Park frowned. This is a hospital, not a collection agency
The hospital will want to hear this too, Mr. Zhao interrupted smoothly. He opened the folder and pulled out page after page of documents. James Chen's company, Chen Imports, currently owes various creditors a total of... He paused dramatically. Fifty million dollars.
The number hit me like a physical blow.
Fifty million.
Not fifty thousand. Fifty MILLION.
That's impossible, I whispered. His company was small. He had maybe ten employees. There's no way—
Someone sabotaged him. Mr. Zhao spread the documents across the nurse's station desk. Falsified shipping records. Created fake loan agreements. Forged his signature on guarantees for business deals that never existed. By the time anyone noticed, the debt was astronomical.
I stared at the papers. My father's signature appeared on dozens of documents. Loans from banks I'd never heard of. Contracts with companies that sounded fake.
Who did this? My voice shook. Who would destroy him like this?
Does it matter? The debt is real now. Legal and binding. Mr. Zhao's smile widened. And since the company is bankrupt, the creditors will come after personal assets. His house, his car, his medical care... His eyes gleamed. His life.
I'll pay it back, I said desperately. Give me time—
I'm giving you ninety days.
Ninety days. Three months. To find fifty million dollars.
That's not enough time!
It's more than most people get. Mr. Zhao leaned closer, his breath smelling like coffee and cigarettes. Ninety days, Miss Chen. Pay every cent, or accidents start happening. Sick fathers in hospitals are so vulnerable. Equipment malfunctions. Medication errors. Such tragic, unavoidable accidents.
He was threatening to kill Daddy.
Right here. In front of a doctor. And nobody stopped him.
You can't— I started.
I can do whatever I want. You have no money, no power, no options. He tapped the folder. Ninety days. Starting now.
The men flanking him moved closer, intimidating without saying a word.
Dr. Park cleared his throat. Regarding tonight's surgery
The hospital can add it to her father's existing debt, Mr. Zhao said casually. I'm sure they'll be happy to. After all, when I collect in ninety days, I'll be taking everything anyway.
He walked away, leaving the documents scattered like tombstones.
Dr. Park picked one up, his face paling as he read. Fifty million dollars. Miss Chen, I... I'm sorry. I'll authorize the surgery under emergency protocol. But afterwards...
I know. My voice sounded dead. Thank you.
He disappeared into Room 7 to prep for surgery.
I slid down the wall, sitting on the cold hospital floor, staring at the debt documents.
Fifty million dollars.
Ninety days.
The math was impossible. Even if I worked every single day for the rest of my life, I'd never earn that much money.
My phone buzzed. A text from Maya: Money sent. $2,000. I'm so sorry it's not more. What else can I do?
What else could anyone do?
I was drowning in an ocean of debt, and Maya had thrown me a teaspoon of water.
A nurse wheeled my father past me toward the operating room. He was unconscious, his face gray, tubes and wires everywhere.
I scrambled to my feet. Daddy!
They paused for just a moment.
I grabbed his hand—cold and lifeless. I'll fix this, I whispered, my tears falling on his hospital gown. I'll save you. I promise. I don't know how, but I'll find a way.
He didn't respond. Couldn't respond.
The nurse gave me a pitying look. Surgery will take four to six hours. We'll update you when we know more.
They wheeled him away.
I stood alone in the empty hallway, surrounded by debt I couldn't pay and promises I didn't know how to keep.
Ninety days.
The clock was already ticking.
And I had absolutely no idea how to stop it.
My phone buzzed again. Another text, this time from an unknown number:
Heard about your father. Such a shame. If you need money fast, call me. We help desperate girls like you. —Golden Phoenix Matchmaking
I stared at the message, my stomach turning.
Help desperate girls.
I knew what that meant.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, a terrible thought whispered:
How far would I go to save my father's life?
How much of myself was I willing to sell?