The Unrivaled Heir

Chapter 2

"What did you just say?"

Doctor Henderson let go of the oxygen valve, his eyes narrowing into cold slits.

"I said I have the money," Marcus panted, his chest heaving under his soaked grey jacket.

"Run the five hundred thousand right now and turn that valve back on."

The head charge nurse glanced up from her acrylic nails and let out a sharp, mocking bark of laughter.

"You? Half a million dollars?" she scoffed, shaking her head.

"You smell like cheap takeout and ditch water, boy."

"He's hallucinating from the cold," Henderson sneered, crossing his arms over his pristine lab coat.

"Ten minutes ago you were begging for twelve hours on your knees."

"Now you want me to believe a street beggar on a rusted moped pulled five hundred grand out of his ass?"

Marcus did not waste his breath arguing with them.

He shoved his hand into his damp pocket and thrust the cracked phone across the counter.

The Halden Commercial Bank app was glowing with the incoming wire confirmation.

The figures stood out in sharp, unmistakable green: $10,000,000.00.

"Take the phone," Marcus said, his voice raw and shaking with adrenaline.

"Run the transfer through the hospital gateway before her oxygen level drops any lower."

The charge nurse rolled her eyes, snatching the phone from his trembling fingers with two manicured nails.

"Let's see what kind of pathetic photoshop job you pulled off the internet," she muttered.

She tapped her terminal keyboard, opening the Central Hospital expedited ACH billing portal.

She typed in Marcus's checking account number and punched in the amount: $500,000.00.

"Hold your breath, beggar," the nurse smirked, clicking the blue submit icon.

The monitor display cycled through a loading wheel.

Marcus gripped the stainless steel counter so hard the metal groaned beneath his raw knuckles.

Process it, he prayed in the black silence of his mind. Just let it process.

The terminal speaker let out three shrill, high-pitched electronic warning tones.

BEEP.

BEEP.

BEEP.

The entire screen flashed a blinding, violent crimson.

A heavy black dialogue box slammed across the middle of the portal interface:

[TRANSACTION REJECTED: TIER-4 FINANCIAL ANOMALY DETECTED.]

[ACCOUNT TERMINATED UNDER ANTI-FRAUD STATUTE 804. ALL ASSETS FROZEN PENDING IN-PERSON VERIFICATION AT A REGIONAL BRANCH.]

Marcus stared at the bright red text, the blood draining completely from his face.

An account that held eleven dollars for three years suddenly receiving ten million had tripped the bank's automated security tripwire.

The entire ten million dollars was trapped behind an administrative wall.

"Fraud," the nurse said, her voice dropping into pure, triumphant disgust as she tossed the phone across the linoleum.

The cracked glass skidded across the floor, stopping against Henderson's polished black leather shoe.

Henderson looked down at the phone, then slowly raised his head, his face contorted in vicious fury.

"You piece of s**t," Henderson said, his voice trembling with anger.

"You brought a fraudulent, photoshopped balance to play games with me while your mother rots in my corridor?"

"No, listen to me," Marcus shouted, lunging forward with his hands outstretched.

"The wire is real! Call the regional branch manager! Call the bank directly!"

"Shut your filthy mouth!" Henderson barked.

He hit the red panic button mounted beneath the edge of the nurses' desk.

"Security! Floor four! We have an aggressive vagrant committing grand larceny and hospital fraud!"

Henderson turned his back on Marcus and stepped toward the mobile gurney.

His right hand clamped around the brass valve of the green transport cylinder.

He gave it a vicious, deliberate twist to the right.

The valve clicked dead.

The soft hiss of oxygen cut out completely.

Under the thin cotton sheet, his mother's frail chest gave one violent, spasming heave, and then fell still.

The transport monitor beside her bed let out a deafening, continuous electronic scream:

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

"Flatline," Henderson said coldly, checking his gold wristwatch without a shred of remorse.

"Time of death: twelve-oh-eight."

"Move this dead bag of bones to the loading dock before she stinks up my floor."

A red curtain dropped over Marcus's vision.

Every drop of blood in his veins ignited into pure, murderous madness.

He didn't think.

He didn't hesitate.

Marcus exploded across the four feet of linoleum, his shoulder driving like an iron ram straight into Henderson's chest.

The doctor flew backward with a strangled gasp, slamming hard against the metal supply cart.

Trays of needles and glass vials shattered across the floor in a chaotic rain of steel and medicine.

"Get away from her!" Marcus roared, his voice tearing from his vocal cords like an animal's growl.

He ripped the plastic ambu-bag from the emergency wall bracket and slammed the silicone mask over his mother's pale face.

With his right hand, he squeezed the rubber bladder with rhythmic, frantic force, pumping raw air straight into her lungs.

"Breathe, Mom," he sobbed, his tears burning through the dried wine on his cheeks.

"Breathe! Don't you dare close your eyes! Breathe!"

Heavy combat boots thundered down the tiled hallway from the stairwell.

Two burly private security guards armed with heavy black tactical batons burst into the corridor.

"Get him off the equipment!" the charge nurse screamed, pointing a trembling finger.

"He's attacking the doctor! Kill him!"

The first guard lunged forward, swinging his baton in a brutal downward arc toward Marcus's shoulder.

Marcus didn't let go of the rubber breathing bag.

He took the blow across his upper back with a sickening thud, grunting as pain radiated through his spine.

Without turning his chest away from his mother, Marcus drove his left elbow backward with terrifying, bone-crushing force.

The solid point of his elbow struck the guard directly in the bridge of his nose.

Cartilage gave way with a loud crunch, and the guard collapsed into the shattered medicine vials, howling and clutching his bloody face.

"Shoot the bastard!" Henderson shrieked from the floor, clutching his bruised ribs.

The second guard unholstered a heavy taser, but before he could raise the sights, he tackled Marcus low around the knees.

Marcus crashed hard against the concrete floor, his head bouncing off the metal leg of the gurney.

He lost his grip on the silicone mask.

The plastic tube fell to the linoleum, the rubber bladder deflating beside his mother's limp, dangling hand.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

The flatline tone drilled into his skull like a drill bit.

The second guard drove a heavy combat boot onto Marcus's chest, pinning his neck down with the edge of his steel baton.

"Stay down, you worthless dog!" the guard snarled, grinding his weight into Marcus's collarbone.

Henderson scrambled to his feet, wiping spittle from his chin, his face mottled with purple rage.

"Drag this piece of trash down to the basement disposal chute!" Henderson screamed, kicking Marcus violently in the ribs.

"Call the police and tell them he assaulted staff and killed his own mother with his violent outburst!"

Marcus clawed at the guard's boot, his fingernails tearing against the heavy leather, his eyes fixed on his mother's motionless face.

"Mom," Marcus choked out, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips. "Mom, please..."

The loud, crisp chime of the private VIP elevator echoed through the sterile corridor.

DING.

The polished brass doors slid open.

Julian Vance stepped out into the hallway, dressed in a spotless cream cashmere coat, a smug, venomous smile plastered across his face.

Beside him stood the Chief of Medicine, wearing a tailored three-piece suit, looking down at the bloody chaos with utter shock.

Julian looked at Marcus pinned under the guard's boot, then glanced at the flatlining monitor beside the gurney.

"I told you at the banquet, Marcus," Julian said softly, stopping just inches from his bleeding face.

"Trash belongs in the incinerator."