Chapter 3Refused to Save My Brother

A cold smile touched my lips.

"That machine is the result of seven years of my life's work. Why should I let you use it for free?"

Lena's eyes burned with hatred. My parents looked at me as if I were a monster they were seeing for the first time.

"Elias," my mother choked out, "we were wrong to have ever raised you. If we'd known you'd become this... this thing... Clark should have let those dogs finish you off!"

My own mother, wishing me dead.

I should have felt something. Pain. Anger. But there was nothing left inside me but a vast, silent emptiness, like a dead lake.

I continued calmly, "Unless... you sign over the villa. The one in my parents' name. Then I might consider it."

My parents were trembling with rage.

"You bastard!" My father's hand flew up, striking me again.

I just smiled through the pain. "That's another million you owe me. Pay up, or you get no authorization."

His hand hovered in the air, shaking, but it didn't fall again.

"You vile creature!" my mother screamed. "Using your brother's life to blackmail us for money? That house was meant for Clark! It was going to be our wedding gift to him and his future bride."

I didn't respond. I just tapped my watch, a silent reminder that their time was running out.

After a moment of agonizing indecision, my father finally broke. He scribbled out a transfer deed on the spot and had it rushed for an official seal. Minutes later, the signed contract and the deed to the villa were in my hand.

"There," he spat. "Now sign the authorization."

My pen hovered over the paper, then stopped.

"Seven years of work," I mused. "One house is hardly enough. I also want the family heirloom. The locket."

My mother's eyes widened in horror.

"That is for the eldest son's wife! It belongs to Clark's future bride! How dare you!"

The eldest son. Before Clark, that was me.

I said nothing, just idly twirled the pen between my fingers, waiting.

Finally, they yielded. My father sent someone to retrieve the heirloom. Only after the delicate, antique locket was safely in my possession did I sign the paper.

"There. You have my permission," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "I do hope you know how to operate it."

The mech's success rate was sixty percent, but that number was entirely dependent on the lead surgeon. In the end, it was the human, not the machine, who would determine the outcome.

Lena scoffed. "Just you watch. You're not the only genius in this hospital, Elias."

I gave a slight, knowing smile.

With the deed in one hand and the locket in the other, I walked out of that office with my head held high.

As I passed my parents, my father's voice, cold as a tombstone, followed me. "Don't bother coming home again."

I just grunted in acknowledgment and kept walking.

The stares of everyone in the hallway were like daggers. Even patients I had personally saved now shook their heads in disgust. In their eyes, I was a monster, a pariah who would trade his own brother's life for profit.

I didn't care. I smiled as I left the hospital behind.

I went back to the house, packed my bags, and erased every trace of my existence there. Then I drove to the villa.

My grandmother's favorite carnations by the front door had withered and died.

It didn't matter. I would bring them back.

I placed the locket on the small altar before her photograph.

Grandma, I got it back. I'll never let someone like Clark tarnish it. He doesn't deserve it.

The surgery took nearly four hours. The entire field hospital held its breath. The grounds outside were swarming with media, a circus of cameras and reporters. My phone blew up with calls and messages, a flood of hate from a world that had already judged and condemned me.

I was a cold-blooded animal, a disgrace. My years of service, my past triumphs, were all rendered worthless.

I ignored it all, focusing only on the delicate, withered carnations in my hands.

Six hours after it began, the doors to the operating theater swung open. Lena emerged, proclaiming the surgery a resounding success.

The hospital erupted in cheers. The media descended upon her, hailing her as a hero. The headlines were already being written: The top surgeon's throne had a new heir. Lena was the new "Hand of God."

She spoke eloquently to the cameras, describing the grueling procedure and magnanimously promising to make the surgical mech technology available to hospitals everywhere.

"A doctor's duty is to save lives," she declared, her voice ringing with false piety. "What Elias Thorne refused to do, I did for him!"

Offers from medical tech corporations poured in. Lena ultimately signed an exclusive deal with the titan, Astral Corp.

Overnight, Lena became a household name. And I became a rat, scurrying in the filth of public opinion.

Looking at the court summons that arrived on my phone, I knew my judgment day was at hand.