Twenty years ago, my baby girl, who could barely even take her first steps, died in that freezing, sterile emergency room. She could have lived. The St. Jude Foundation had already approved her Compassionate Use Grant. The lifesaving funds had been wired to the hospital’s account. But the night before her surgery, her name was secretly replaced, and the funds were withdrawn. Only later did I find out that the people who stole her spot were my own brother, Thomas, and his wife, Samantha. They traded my daughter’s life for their own son’s chance to survive. Back then, Samantha pointed her designer-clad finger at my face, waving a forged approval letter, and sneered, “This is just how life is, Lynn. Your daughter was born cheap. Don’t blame us for having better luck.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a scene. Instead, I spent twenty long years clawing my way up to where I am today—the Chief Director of the Compassionate Use Program at the State Medical Board. Today, Samantha’s son lies in the ICU, desperately waiting for the only dose of a rare, federally funded gene-therapy drug in the entire state. I looked down at the familiar name on the application form, picked up my red pen, and drew a massive, cold “X” right across it. 0
“Director Mitchell, are you out of your mind? You signed the wrong box!” My assistant, Dr. Julian Carter, practically jumped out of his chair. His eyes were glued to the red-stamped document in my hand. “This is the final allocation sheet for ‘NeoGenesis-1’! Tyler Mitchell’s bio-markers rank number one in the state! The system automatically flagged him as the perfect match!” Julian leaned over my desk, slamming his hands down, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “You signing ‘REJECTED’ in that box… do you have any idea what that means?” “It means this patient does not qualify for our free compassionate-use drug program,” I replied. I didn’t even look up. My voice was as flat as if I were commenting on the weather. Julian was completely dumbfounded. “How does he not qualify? Is it a genetic mismatch? Is his body too weak to tolerate it? Director Mitchell, the federal government only gives our state one single dose of this drug a year. It’s worth 1.2 million dollars, fully covered! It’s his only lifeline!” I raised my head. My gaze drifted past Julian, landing on the young man sitting in the waiting area outside my glass office. It was Tyler Mitchell. Through the glass door, the hope on his pale face instantly shattered the moment he saw me shake my head. “Director Mitchell…” Julian tried to argue again, but I tossed the file folder right back into his chest. “I said he doesn’t qualify, so he doesn’t. The applicant’s paperwork is compromised.” The office door pushed open. Tyler looked ghostly pale, his breathing shallow and ragged. He held onto the doorframe, his voice trembling violently. “Aunt Lynn… is there something wrong with my lab results?” I looked at him. He was twenty. The prime of his life. But unfortunately, he had inherited the worst genetic defect of the Mitchell family. I flipped open his background file, my fingers tapping heavily on the names listed under parents: “Father: Thomas Mitchell,” “Mother: Samantha Vance.” “Your application failed the review,” I said coldly. Tyler froze, taking two desperate steps forward. “How is that possible? My parents did everything. They notarized all our financial assets, they even put up our two estates in the Hamptons as collateral to prove that although we have money, we fully meet the criteria for emergency compassionate relief…” “Did they submit these documents themselves?” “Yes.” I let out a cold laugh and threw my pen onto the desk. “Then it’s officially over. You’re not getting it.” Julian was practically shaking with anxiety. “Director Mitchell, what the hell are you playing at? This file went through initial, secondary, and final reviews! Five department heads signed off on this! Who are you to reject it with a single word?” “Because I am the Chief Director of the Compassionate Use Program,” I said, leaning back in my leather chair, staring at him coldly. “And I hold the veto power.” Julian gasped, his face turning from anxious to furious. He looked around the room. The other assistants in the office quickly bowed their heads, pretending to be buried in their work. No one dared to make eye contact. “This is murder! Do you even know who Tyler’s father is? He’s the CEO of Vance Enterprises!” “Dr. Carter,” I cut him off, my voice sharp as a whip. “Are you a doctor of this state hospital, or are you a lapdog for Vance Enterprises?” Julian’s face instantly flushed a deep, angry purple. Tyler’s eyes were red, fighting back tears as he struggled to stand straight. “Aunt Lynn, if my parents missed some paperwork, I’ll call them right now to fix it. If my medical evaluation is being questioned, I can do another bone marrow biopsy. Please. Just give me a straight answer. I want to live.” He lowered himself completely, begging for his life. Looking at his face, my mind suddenly flashed back to twenty years ago. Back then, I was ten thousand times more pathetic than he was now. I had knelt in the pouring rain on the concrete steps of the foundation’s office, desperately grabbing the director’s leg, banging my head on the ground until I bled. *”Please, just check the accounts! The grant was approved! Why is it suddenly gone? My daughter is on a ventilator, she can’t wait!”* No one even looked at me. The security guards dragged me through the mud like a dead dog. I closed my eyes, forcing those blood-soaked memories back into the dark corners of my mind. When I opened them again, I looked at Tyler. “I’ve made myself clear. You do not qualify. Get out.” 0
Tyler’s tears finally spilled over. He bit his lip hard, turned around, and stumbled out of the room. A nurse gasped in the hallway outside. He must have tripped and fallen. Julian pointed a trembling finger at my face. “Fine. Great. Lynn Mitchell, everything you did today is going straight to Dean Henderson. Don’t think you can play god just because you sit in this chair!” I pulled out a sanitizing wipe and slowly, methodically cleaned my fingers. “The door is on your left. Don’t let it hit you on the way out.” Julian slammed the door shut. Less than five minutes later, I could hear him shouting into his phone from the stairwell down the hall. He was so loud the entire floor could hear. “Mrs. Vance, it’s Julian. I’m so sorry, there’s a massive issue with the drug allocation… Director Mitchell refuses to sign off. You and Mr. Mitchell need to get down here right now. I can’t keep this under wraps anymore.” I tossed the used wipe into the trash, spun my chair around, and looked out the window. Twenty years. I had waited for this phone call until my very bones felt restless. The next morning, the moment I walked into my office, Julian snuck in with a smug, mocking grin on his face. “Director Mitchell, Mrs. Vance asked me to deliver a message.” “Speak.” Julian choked on his words for a second, forcing his anger down. “Mrs. Vance said, mother to mother, she hopes you can understand. If Tyler’s drug gets approved, she will personally fund and donate the most advanced PET-CT scanner to our radiology department.” I flipped open the medical chart on my desk. “A PET-CT scanner? That’s over three million dollars.” “Exactly!” Julian’s eyes lit up. “Mrs. Vance promised it personally. No take-backs.” “Must be nice to be that rich,” I sneered. Thinking I was tempted, Julian leaned in closer. “Director, let’s be real. Tyler’s medical profile is flawless. You sign the paper, everyone wins. It’s good for the hospital, and it’s even better for your next performance review. Dean Henderson’s new research lab is still waiting on Vance Enterprises’ phase-two funding, you know.” I stopped writing and stared directly into his eyes. “Dr. Carter, how many years have you been in this field?” “Six… six years.” “Six years. And have you ever seen me, Lynn Mitchell, sign off on a single document in exchange for money?” The smile on Julian’s face froze. “I don’t care how much Samantha Vance is paying you under the table. But in this office, her money is nothing but garbage.” Julian shook with rage, his mouth opening and closing but no words came out. Finally, he sneered, spun on his heel, and slammed the door. The office fell silent. I unlocked the bottom drawer of my desk, entered my passcode, and pulled out a plain black folder. Inside, there were no medical charts or hospital documents. There were only yellowed, decades-old bank receipts, blurry photos, and a few USB drives containing recorded calls. This was the evidence I had spent more than seven thousand days digging out from the depths of hell. I thought I would have to wait longer for the Mitchell family to make a mistake. But God had eyes. Tyler’s illness relapsed, and this specific drug was his only hope. At two in the afternoon, my office landline rang. “Hello, is this Director Mitchell of the Compassionate Use Program?” The voice on the other end was dripping with the same high-and-mighty arrogance I remembered. Twenty years, and Samantha’s tone of talking down to people hadn’t changed at all. Back then, my ex-husband had begged her, kneeling in front of her BMW. She had rolled down the window, thrown a few hundred-dollar bills in his face, and said: *”The kid is dead anyway. Just make another one. If you dare come to my office and make a scene again, I’ll make sure you lose your job sweeping the streets!”* “Speaking,” I said, gripping the receiver. “This is Samantha Vance, Tyler’s mother. I want to discuss my son’s drug approval with you in person. Tomorrow morning, 9:00 AM. Be in your office.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order. “Of course,” I smiled. “I’ll be waiting.” “My husband will be joining me. We expect a reasonable explanation from you, Director Mitchell.” “I promise you’ll get exactly what you deserve.” I hung up, walked over to the restroom, and looked in the mirror. The woman staring back had short, sharp hair and cold, icy eyes. At forty-five, I was no longer that pathetic girl in a faded T-shirt with a ponytail, weeping and begging for mercy. More than that, back then, to them, I was just a poor relative from the countryside whose name wasn’t even worth remembering. How could they possibly recognize me now? 0
The next morning at exactly 9:00 AM, my office door was kicked open. Samantha strutted in on four-inch heels, clutching a limited-edition Hermès Birkin bag, looking like she owned the place. My brother, Thomas, followed closely behind in a tailored suit, looking every bit the successful billionaire. “So, you’re Director Mitchell?” Samantha looked me up and down, pulled out a chair, and sat down without a single polite word. “I don’t beat around the bush. You made things difficult for my son yesterday, and he didn’t sleep a wink last night. How are you going to make this right?” I took a sip of water from my mug. “How would you like to settle it, Mrs. Vance?” Samantha slammed a thick stack of medical reports onto my desk. “This is a joint evaluation from the top medical specialists in the state! Tyler is a one hundred percent match! What right do you have to block us at the final stage? Who do you think you are?” Thomas gently pulled her sleeve, trying to play the reasonable gentleman. “Director Mitchell, my wife is just worried sick about our boy. She’s a bit emotional. We came here today to find a solution.” He pulled out another chair and sat down, folding his hands on my desk. “My son’s condition is critical. If there’s some misunderstanding, let’s lay it all out on the table.” I pushed the stack of reports aside. “Mr. Mitchell, Mrs. Vance. I made my decision clear in the file. Tyler does not qualify.” “Bullshit!” Samantha slammed her hand on the desk. “You just want money, don’t you? Name your price! Stop acting so damn righteous!” Thomas quickly tried to smooth things over. “Director Mitchell, I understand your position carries a lot of pressure and many things to consider. But rules are made by people. If your department needs funding for research, or if you personally… have some expenses that are hard to talk about, Vance Enterprises can take care of it.” “Like what?” I asked with a half-smile. “For instance, a luxury apartment in Manhattan, or perhaps your children want to go to an Ivy League school…” Thomas lowered his voice, offering the bait. “Are you openly bribing a state official, Mr. Mitchell?” Thomas’s face stiffened, and he let out a dry laugh. “You misunderstand, Director. It’s a perfectly legal philanthropic donation…” “Stop wasting your breath on her!” Samantha snapped impatiently, glaring at me. “Just tell me, how much money will it take for you to sign? Five million? Ten million?” The office fell into a dead, heavy silence. I set my mug down, stood up, and looked down at the wealthy couple. “Mrs. Vance, this is the State Medical Board, not a flea market for Vance Enterprises. Take your dirty money and get out.” Samantha gasped in disbelief, then laughed mockingly as she stood up, pointing her finger at my nose. “You ungrateful bitch! Who do you think you are? A low-level director, and you actually think you’re hot shit?” “I’m warning you for the last time. You are signing that paper today, whether you like it or not! If you don’t, I will make sure you never practice medicine in this country again!” The utter disregard for human life in her eyes was identical to twenty years ago. “Samantha Vance,” I said, calling her by her full name. She froze. “Tyler Mitchell’s application is permanently denied. If you don’t like it, go file a complaint with the Department of Health.” Samantha’s face turned white with rage, her chest heaving. “Fine! Just you wait!” She spun around to leave, but stopped at the door, turning back to hiss, “Let’s see how many more days you get to wear that white coat!” Thomas gave me a long, dark look filled with malice. “Director Mitchell, you’ve chosen a very dangerous path.” The moment they left, Julian slipped back into the room, sweating profusely. “Director! Are you crazy? You just completely crossed Samantha Vance! Her family holds massive political sway in this state. You’re committing career suicide!” “Dr. Carter,” I sat back down, opening my computer. “Take a guess. What do you think her next move will be?” Julian swallowed hard. “What else? Use her connections to pressure you, and get the media to destroy you!” I nodded. “Excellent. Let’s make sure she plays it as big as possible.” 0
At three in the afternoon, I was summoned to Dean Henderson’s office. When I opened the door, Samantha was sitting on the leather sofa, sipping tea, while Thomas stood by the window, smoking a cigar. Dean Henderson sat behind his mahogany desk, his forehead creased into deep lines. “Lynn, come in, take a seat,” the Dean said, pointing to the chair opposite him. “Speak freely, Dean. I’ll stand,” I replied. The Dean cleared his throat. “Well, Mrs. Vance just brought a serious issue to my attention. She claims you have a personal bias in the drug allocation process, and that you are intentionally blocking her son’s lifesaving medication. This is reflecting very poorly on our institution.” “I am following the regulations. What bias?” Samantha slammed her teacup onto the glass table. “Regulations? Every specialist in this state says my son is the perfect fit, and you’re the only one saying no! If that’s not bias, what is? Did you take a bribe from someone else to sell our drug under the table?” Dean Henderson waved his hands frantically. “Mrs. Vance, please, let’s not throw accusations. Lynn isn’t that kind of person. But Lynn, Tyler’s condition is indeed critical. You must give us a reasonable explanation.” “My explanation is in the file. Non-compliant paperwork.” Samantha bolted upright and marched right up to my face. “Do you think your position here is secure?” She leaned in, whispering so only the three of us could hear: “Let me tell you something. Crushing you is easier than stepping on an ant. Bow your head, apologize, sign the paper, and I’ll pretend today never happened. Otherwise…” “Otherwise what?” I met her icy glare. Samantha suddenly laughed, a vicious, triumphant sound. “Otherwise, by tomorrow, everyone in this state will know that the Director of the Compassionate Use Program at this hospital is a corrupt, heartless murderer. I wonder if the families of the patients who didn’t get the drug will come and tear you apart?” Dean Henderson panicked. “Mrs. Vance, please, let’s not be rash…” “There’s nothing to talk about!” Samantha turned to the Dean. “Dean Henderson, I’m putting it on the line today. If my son doesn’t get that drug, the fifty-million-dollar endowment Vance Enterprises promised for your new medical wing is officially canceled!” Dean Henderson’s face drained of all color. “Lynn!” The Dean slammed his hand on the desk. “What the hell are you holding out for? Sign the damn paper!” I looked at the panicked Dean, and then at the smug, victorious Samantha. “No.” Samantha let out a cold laugh, pulled out her phone, and put it on speaker. “Hey, is this the lead editor at *The Daily Chronicle*? I have a massive story for you. The Director of the Compassionate Use Program at the state hospital is abusing her power and letting a young boy die out of spite. Yes, I have all the proof ready. I’ll send it over now.” She hung up and looked at me with pure malice. “Get ready to be ruined, Mitchell.” Thomas walked over, patting Samantha on the shoulder, looking at me with cold pity. “Director Mitchell, you should have left yourself a way out. Since you insisted on putting yourself in a corner, don’t blame us.” The two of them walked out, heads held high. Dean Henderson collapsed back into his chair, his hand trembling as he pointed at me. “Lynn! You’re usually so smart! Why the hell are you acting like an idiot now? Do you know how important that fifty million is to this hospital? How am I supposed to defend you when the news breaks tomorrow?” I turned toward the door. “You don’t have to defend me, Dean.” “What do you mean?” I looked back over my shoulder and smiled. “Because I’m the one who lit the match.”
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “435684”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster
Leave a Reply