On the cold, shiny floor, the girl fell to her knees and grabbed the man’s trousers. ‘Please, sir, help my mum. She’s dying.’ Her voice was quiet, but in the calm luxury of the hospital hall, it sounded like broken glass. The nurses stopped and turned towards him.
The receptionist behind the granite desk froze, her eyes wide. The man she was clinging to was Jordan Blake. The townspeople had only seen him on billboards and on television. ‘Blake Holdings – building the future today.’ He stood right in front of them, tall and slender, dressed in a dark suit that probably cost more than most people’s cars.
His gold watch glinted in the bright hospital light as he turned, irritation in his eyes. He hadn’t even reached the door when a little girl, stumbling in her big sandals, bumped into him, her thin fingers digging into his leg. Security rushed to help.
‘Hey, little girl, stay away from our client!’ the guards shouted, grabbing her by the arm.
But she clung on tighter. Her hair was tied up in small, tousled bunches, some of which were already falling apart, as if they had been hastily done that morning. Her dress was a faded yellow, the kind that had seen too many washes in a plastic basin.
Her knees were pressed against the shiny tiles, and anyone standing close could see that they were already bruised and dusty. She looked at him with shining eyes. ‘Sir, they said they wouldn’t touch my mum until we brought the money,’ she sobbed. ‘Please, you’re a rich man. Everyone knows that. Please help us. Please.’ Jordan’s jaw clenched. He hated scenes like this. He hated anything that reminded him of begging.
It brought back memories he had tried so hard to suppress. ‘Get her away from me,’ he said quietly, his voice soft but firm. The security guard immediately let go of his arm.
‘Come on, get up, little one. You can’t hold on to our client like that,’ the guard coaxed, but she just fell to the floor, clinging tightly to Jordan’s leg as if it were a rope. Tears rolled down her face, leaving clear trails in the dust that covered her cheeks. ‘My mum, she’s bleeding to death, sir. She’s pregnant!’
‘They said if we don’t pay now, she’ll die.’ The word ‘die’ hung in the air. People began to whisper. ‘Pregnant, huh?’ Seeing the little girl begging the rich man. One of the nurses at the reception desk awkwardly took a step to the side. She knew the story. Everyone knew it.
The woman had complications, no insurance, no money for a deposit, and a hospital policy stating that operations would not be performed without advance payment.
Rules are rules. Even when those rules hurt, Jordan tried to pull his leg away, but the girl only clung tighter, her small body trembling.
He glanced towards the reception desk. ‘Is that true?’ he asked sharply. The head nurse, a woman with tired eyes and a badge that read Mrs. Admi, swallowed. ‘Yes, sir. Her mother is in one of the emergency rooms. The doctors say they need to operate, but there’s no money for the deposit yet. We’re doing everything we can, but she can’t be moved.’ Jordan looked at the security guard, who tried again to pull the girl away.
‘She’s fine, wait,’ Jordan said. The security guard froze. Jordan looked at the girl. ‘What’s your name?’ The girl obediently wiped the tears from her face with her hand. ‘My name is Zuri,’ she said quietly. Zuri Daniels. Her voice trembled, but her eyes never left his. There was such a stubborn strength in them, a kind of courage that didn’t match her small stature.
