Her Dying Breath, His Cold Fury

a million dollars. With only two weeks to find the money, I had to swallow my pri

man named Ginger, took one look at my cheap dress and dec

ng sister was pathetic. In front of her colleagues, she tore Alia'

d hot coffee on my chest, and ripped

k about was the closing window for Alia' s surgery. Every piece of paper she

should have broken us instead forged something new and terrible. I looked at him and said that jail wasn't enoug

pte

smelled of antiseptic. It wa

athing was a soft, shallow whisper in the quiet room. She looked at

her voice barely a sound

ace felt stiff. "I' m not

nce our parents died. I was the older sister, the protector, t

the hallway an hour l

iorating faster than we

t does that mean?" I

enough. There' s a new experimental surgery. It

my chest. "A chance? We' ll

lipboard, avoiding my e

e post-operative care, is estim

ollars. I made less than thirty thousand a year working double

nd of money," I said, t

"You' ll need to make a decision soon. The window of opportunity for th

e and fall of her chest, each breath a victory. Two weeks. I had two

bills. Despair was a heavy blanket, suffocating me. I had sold everythin

one thing

' t spoken in

mo

bro

s maiden name, to erase us. Before he took his share of the small inheritance and va

t answered my calls. He had cut us out of

leaving us to pick up the pieces, fo

ry I couldn' t afford. He was m

orate headquarters. Moran Tech. It was a gleaming tower of glas

e for the surgery. I put them in a large manila envelope, my hands shaking. I put

n with worry lines around her eyes. I saw

anything. I would crawl. I would beg. I wou

were impossibly high, the floors polished marble. Men and women in

like

tched in my hand. The receptionist looked up, h

I help

Moran," I said, my voice

rose a fraction of an inch.

.. I' m hi

cker of amusement, then

ver there. Someone wil

of uncomfortable-looking chairs. She ha

in and out, ignoring me. The hope I

impeccably dressed in a severe grey suit, her red hair

. Moran' s sister?" she asked, her

said, standing up. "My

ering on my frayed dress and cheap shoes

utive assistant. He' s a very busy man.

Alia, our sister, is dying. I need his help." I held

ed at me, her eyes filled with a veno

d flatly. "Now, I suggest you leave

me. "Just give him the envelope. That' s a

handle everything for Mr. Mor

are not the first desperate woman to show up here with a sob story, trying to

, she snatched the e