A HEART REVEALED

Chapter four

Mr. Thompson sat at his desk, files scattered around him. He was focused on one when he remembered his driver, Mr. Smith. He hadn't returned to work. Just yesterday, a house worker had to rush him to the office because he almost missed a meeting with a new client.

After that meeting, Mr. Thompson asked his secretary, Vivian, about Mr. Smith's absence. Vivian explained she had received an email from him saying he was sick.

"Vivian, can you come to my office, please?" he called. A moment later, she knocked and entered.

"How can I help you, sir?" she asked.

"Do you have any updates on Mr. Smith? Have you heard from him since yesterday?" he inquired.

"Only that email. "I haven't heard anything else," she replied.

"Please send him a message from the company, checking on his health," he instructed.

"I'll get right on it, sir," she said, and left.

Mr. Thompson returned to his work, but his mind lingered on Mr. Smith as he wrapped up his day and prepared to head home.

**************

I sat on the couch, my mind racing. How would I get the money for my father's operation? My brother, Liam had left for school, believing my lies that my boss would loan me the money , if only I gave him some time. He seemed so relieved.

But I felt the weight of worry. I checked my savings again and calculated the shortfall. Then, a thought struck her—what if her dad had money saved up? She hurried to his room, grabbed his phone, and returned to the couch. Scrolling through his accounts, she saw the savings. It wasn't enough.

Hours went by, and then a notification beeped from her dad's phone. It was an email from his workplace, inquiring about his health. Frustrated, I hissed. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head. What if I go to my dad's boss? If she explained the situation, maybe he would help.

Dad always spoke highly of his boss, calling him kind and supportive. Unlike his son, who was just a rude, arrogant jerk. Iris shuddered at the memory of her encounter with him. She thought about how much his wife would need to change him.

With a silent prayer, she hoped that when she met her dad's boss tomorrow, he would be willing to lend a hand.

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THE NEXT DAY

I woke up feeling hopeful. Today could be the day her father's boss might help with his operation. She headed to the kitchen to whip up breakfast for herself and her brother, Liam.

After I'd finished cooking, Liam strolled in, ready for his meal and school. "Good morning, Iris," he said. "How was your night?"

I replied with a smile, "Good morning!"

After breakfast, he dashed off to school while I prepared for her big day.

I dressed simply, letting my long brown hair flow freely. A quick swipe of lip gloss, I checked myself in the mirror. Satisfied, i locked the door behind her and hopped into a cab, heading for her father's boss's company.

Upon arrival, security gave me a thorough check before letting me in. The size of the building took her breath away. Not sure where to go, she spotted a woman who looked like an employee. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Mr. Thompson's office. "I have an appointment," Iris said.

The woman barely glanced up from her files, "Just go straight. You'll see a building on your right. Go inside and ask anyone there to direct you."

"Thank you!" I said, following the directions.

Inside the new building, I was amazed by its size too. A receptionist sat nearby, so i approached. "I need to see Mr. Thompson," she said. The receptionist sent her to the 10th floor.

Once on the 10th floor, another secretary greeted her. "I'm Vivian. How can I help you?"

"I'm Iris Smith. I need to see Mr. Thompson," she replied, a bit nervous.

"Do you have an appointment?" Vivian asked.

"No, but it's about my father, Mr. Smith," I stuttered.

Vivian's expression softened. "You're Mr. Smith's daughter? You look lovely. I hope everything's okay with him."

"Thank you! "He's not well," I said.

Vivian quickly dialed the company line. "Mr. Thompson, Mr. Smith's daughter is here. She says it's about her father's health. Should she come in?"

After a brief call, Vivian smiled at me . "You can go in now."

I felt a surge of gratitude, I thanked Vivian and headed to Mr. Thompson's office, ready to make my case.

I stood in front of his office door, taking a deep breath. I whispered a quick prayer before knocking softly.

A voice called out, "Come in."

I opened the door and stepped inside. There he was—a man in his sixties, but he didn't look old at all. His eyes were glued to some files. So, this is Mr. Thompson, I thought. He seemed so much more composed and diligent compared to his rough-around-the-edges son.

When he noticed me, he looked up. I managed a sad smile and said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Thompson."

"Good afternoon dear". He returned my greeting with a warm smile and invited me to sit down.

I settled into the chair, my nerves on edge. "I'm here about my father," I started.

His interest piqued. "How is he doing? I heard he called in sick. What's going on? Is everything fine?"

That was it. The floodgates opened, I told him through sobs, "The doctor says my dad has a heart issue and It's serious. He needs a transplant as soon as possible, and it'll cost around $500,000."

I wiped my tears and continued, "I've tried to gather money—my savings, even his—but it's just not enough. Please, I'd really appreciate any help you could offer." Hope flickered in my chest as I looked at him, searching for any sign of good news.

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Mr Thompson's pov

I was at my desk, sifting through some files when my office phone rang. It was Vivian, my secretary. She told me that Mr. Smith's daughter wanted to see me about her father's health. I told her to send her in.

A few moments later, there was a knock at the door. "Come in," I called out.

The door opened, revealing a stunning young woman. Her hair flowed freely, and even in her simple outfit, she looked amazing. Unlike many others, she didn't rely on flashy clothes or heavy makeup to stand out.

As I looked up, she softly greeted me with a "good morning." I smiled and offered her a seat. I asked about her father and how I could assist her. Suddenly, she burst into tears, explaining her father's dire condition. The doctor had asked for $50,000 for treatment. Her sobs filled the room as she spoke of her father's struggle.

I felt a twinge of jealousy at the depth of her love for him. If it were my son, would he go to such lengths? I found myself drawn to this girl—she was decent, beautiful, and unlike the rest.

Once she calmed down, I asked, "What's your name?"

"I'm Iris," she replied.

"Iris, I want to help your father," I said, "but you'd also be doing me a favor in return."