Overruled

The first thing Ivy heard was the sound of her brother falling. It wasn't loud. It was just a soft thump from the kitchen, like he had dropped a plate. "Mason?" she called out. No answer. She was at her small drafting table, trying to finish a client mood board she knew she would not get paid for until next month. Her laptop was hot. The apartment was too warm because she had turned off the AC again to save money. "Mason, if you broke my mug again, you are doing dishes for a week," she said. Still no answer. Something felt wrong. She stood up. Mason was on the floor. He was on his side next to the sink. His eyes were half open. His hand was on his chest. "Mason!" Ivy screamed. She dropped to her knees. His skin was pale and sweaty. His lips had a faint blue color that she had never seen before. "Mason, hey, hey look at me. Look at me." He tried to breathe. It was a shallow, rattling breath. "Stay awake. Okay? Stay awake for me." She grabbed her phone with shaking hands. She dialed 911 so fast she misdialed twice. "My brother collapsed! He is seventeen! He has a heart condition! Please hurry! Please!" The operator told her to stay calm, to keep him on his side, to not give him water. Ivy held his hand. It was cold. "Don't you do this," she whispered. "Don't you dare do this. You promised me you would tell me if you felt bad." Mason tried to say something. She leaned close. "Not... your... fault," he whispered. "Shut up. Save your energy." The ambulance took eleven minutes. It felt like eleven hours. The paramedics came in fast, two men with a stretcher. They asked questions she answered without thinking. When was he diagnosed? What medication? When was his last episode? They lifted him. Ivy grabbed her bag, her keys, her brother's small backpack that had his hospital folder in it, and ran after them. The ride to St. Clare's Hospital was a blur of sirens and traffic. At the hospital, they took him away behind double doors and told her to wait. She waited. She paced. She sat. She stood up again. She stared at the white wall clock. 3:42 PM. 3:47 PM. 3:51 PM. A nurse came out. "Are you family?" "I'm his sister. Ivy Rowan. He is all I have. How is he?" "He is stable for now. Dr. Patel will speak to you shortly." Stable for now. Ivy hated those words. It never meant stable forever. Dr. Patel came out twenty minutes later. He was a kind man in his fifties who had known Mason since he was twelve. "Ivy," he said quietly. "Let's talk." They went to a small consultation room. The room was too clean. Too quiet. "Mason's condition has progressed faster than we expected," Dr. Patel said. "His left ventricle is weakening. The medication is no longer enough to keep him stable. The episodes will become more frequent. And more dangerous." Ivy felt her stomach drop. "What are you saying?" "I am saying he needs surgery. And not here. The procedure he needs, the specialized repair with the new technique, it is only being done successfully in Zurich right now. By Dr. Lang. We have been on his waitlist for four months." "I know we are on the waitlist," Ivy said. "We are still on it, right?" "You are on it. But Dr. Lang's team contacted me this morning, actually. There was a cancellation. They have an operating slot available. In ten days." Ivy stood up so fast her chair fell. "That's good! That's amazing! So we can go!" Dr. Patel didn't smile. He looked down at his file. "Ivy, to secure the slot, you need to make the first payment. The hospital in Zurich requires fifty percent upfront. It is one hundred and twenty thousand dollars. And you need to make it within seventy-two hours. Friday by 4 PM their time. Otherwise they will give the slot to the next patient on the list." One hundred and twenty thousand dollars. Ivy stared at him. "One hundred and twenty... dollars?" "One hundred and twenty thousand. US dollars. The total surgery, travel, post-op care, it will be close to two hundred and fifty thousand." The room started spinning a little. "I don't have that," she said. Her voice was small. "Dr. Patel, you know I don't have that." "I know," he said softly. "I wish I had better news. I have tried to get you into our assistance program, but the fund is depleted for this quarter." "What about the other foundation? The children's heart foundation?" "They denied the application last week. Because Mason is over sixteen." Ivy put her hands over her face. She was not going to cry. Not here. "What happens if we don't get the slot?" she asked. Dr. Patel was quiet for a second. "If we don't get this slot, the next available slot with Dr. Lang is in eight months. I don't think Mason has eight months, Ivy. Not with the way his heart is deteriorating. If we wait, we are looking at emergency measures. And his chances will be much lower." Ivy nodded. She couldn't speak. "Can I see him?" "Yes. He is in room 312. He is awake." Mason looked so small in the hospital bed. There were wires on his chest. A beeping machine next to him. He tried to smile when he saw her. "Hey," he said. His voice was weak. "Hey, you," Ivy said. She sat next to him and took his hand. "You scared me half to death." "Sorry." "Don't be sorry. Just... don't do it again." He looked at her for a long time. "How bad?" he asked. Ivy had always promised she would never lie to him. "Bad enough that we need to get you to Zurich. Good enough that there is a slot in ten days." Mason closed his eyes. "How much?" "Don't worry about how much." "Ivy." "Don't worry about it. That's my job. Your job is to rest and to stop trying to make toast by yourself." He gave a small laugh, then winced because it hurt his chest. "I heard the doctor talking outside," he whispered. "One hundred and twenty thousand." Ivy froze. "You weren't supposed to hear that." "Maybe you shouldn't take me to Zurich," he said. "Maybe we should just... wait. The meds will work." "The meds are not working anymore and you know it." "I don't want you to sell everything again," he said. His eyes filled with tears. "You already sold Mom's stuff. You sold your car. You don't even eat properly. I'm tired of being a burden." "You are not a burden," Ivy said firmly. "You are my brother. You are the only reason I get up in the morning. So don't say that ever again." Mason started crying silently. "Ivy, I'm scared." "I know," she whispered, hugging him carefully so she didn't touch the wires. "I know. But I promise you, I will find a way. I have never broken a promise to you, have I?" He shook his head. "So trust me now. I will find a way." She stayed with him until he fell asleep. Then she walked out of the hospital like a zombie. She had $3,420 in her bank account. She needed $120,000 in three days. The next morning, Ivy woke up at 5 AM and started calling everyone she knew. She called her aunt in Ohio. Her aunt said, "Honey, we have our own problems right now," and hung up. She called her father's old business partner. He said, "Ivy, your father's company already owes me money. I can't." She went to the bank where she had applied for a loan three times before. The loan officer looked at her file and said, "Miss Rowan, your credit score is 610. Your company had a bankruptcy. You have no collateral. I cannot approve this." "Please," she said. "My brother will die." "I am sorry. My hands are tied." She went to two other banks. Same answer. She went to her apartment and opened her small jewelry box. Inside was the last thing she had from her mother. A pair of pearl earrings and a thin gold necklace. Not expensive, but real. She took them to a pawn shop. The man looked at them and said, "One hundred and eighty dollars." "They are real pearls," Ivy said. "One hundred and eighty is my final offer." She took it. She felt sick after. She walked home with $180 in her pocket and $3,600 total. It was 2 PM on Tuesday. She had until Friday. She sat on the floor of her empty apartment. Most of her furniture was already sold. Her drafting table and mattress were the only things left. She put her head on her knees and finally cried. She cried loudly, without shame, because no one was there to hear her. That's when someone knocked on her door. Ivy wiped her face quickly and opened it. A man in a gray suit stood there. He was in his forties, holding a leather briefcase. He looked completely out of place in her building. "Miss Ivy Rowan?" he said. "Who are you?" "My name is Richard Cole. I am an attorney representing Kingsley Global Holdings. May I come in?" Ivy stared. "Kingsley Global? Why would Kingsley Global want to talk to me?" "I have an offer that could solve all your problems," he said. "It concerns your brother's medical expenses. All of them. Not just the first payment. The entire surgery, travel, aftercare. Fully funded." Ivy's heart started beating fast. "What kind of offer?" "An offer of marriage," he said calmly. "My client requires a wife for one year. It is a business arrangement. He will pay for everything you need in exchange." Ivy thought she misheard. "Excuse me?" "My client, Mr. Dorian Kingsley, needs to fulfill a condition in his grandfather's will. He must remain married for twelve months to assume permanent control of his company. He is looking for someone discreet, intelligent, and in need of a mutually beneficial agreement. Your name came up." "My name came up from where?" "He saw you at a charity event six months ago. You challenged his business decision in public. He remembered you." Ivy remembered that event. She had been working as a junior assistant for a design firm, serving drinks at a Kingsley charity gala. She had heard Dorian say something about demolishing low-income housing for a new tower. She had spoken out of turn. She thought no one had listened. "You are saying Dorian Kingsley wants to marry me?" she asked, laughing a little because it was so absurd. "For one year. Under contract. No love, no interference, no romantic expectations. You play his wife in public. He funds your brother's treatment. At the end of the year, you divorce quietly with an additional settlement of five hundred thousand dollars." The numbers sounded fake. Like Monopoly money. "This is insane," Ivy said. "It is unusual," the lawyer agreed. "But it is completely legal. The contract is thirty pages. You would be protected. If you are interested, Mr. Kingsley will see you tomorrow at 10 AM at Kingsley Tower. If not, we will not bother you again." He handed her a thick envelope and a business card. Inside the envelope was a cashier's check for $10,000. Just for showing up to the meeting. "Consider it a good faith gesture," the lawyer said. After he left, Ivy sat on the floor again, holding the check and the card that said KINGSLEY TOWER - 88TH FLOOR. She looked at the photo of her and Mason on her phone background. It was from two years ago, before he got really sick. He was smiling big, his arm around her. She whispered, "What am I supposed to do?" Her phone buzzed. It was the hospital. "Miss Rowan, this is administration. We need to confirm if you will be able to make the first payment by Friday at 4 PM Zurich time. We have another family waiting. If you cannot confirm, we will have no choice but to give the operating slot to another patient." Ivy closed her eyes. "I will confirm," she said. "I will make the payment by Friday." "Are you sure?" "Yes." She hung up. She looked at the business card again. Tomorrow at 10 AM. She had just sold her mother's last jewelry for $180. And a stranger had just offered her brother's life in exchange for her name.