Chapter 4The Price of My Heart

I went back to my room and exported the files from my recorder.

File name: "Evidence_007_Insurance_Pre_Claim".

I backed up all the files in three places.

One copy on the iPad.

One copy on a USB flash drive hidden under my mattress.

The third copy... I needed to give to someone I could trust.

But I didn't have anyone I could trust.

Classmates? They only knew me as the rich, sick girl. None of them were close friends.

Teachers? Once, a teacher asked about a bruise on my arm. Victoria made one phone call, and the teacher never brought it up again.

Relatives? They all worked for Edward's company. No one dared to cross him.

I thought about it all night.

The next morning, I saw a man by the gates of our gated community.

A homeless man.

He sat on the bench across the street every day, holding a dirty, scruffy cat.

Security chased him away constantly, but he always came back.

I walked over to him.

"Sir, what's your name?"

He looked up, his cloudy eyes focusing on me.

"...Henry."

"Henry, do you have a phone?"

"No."

"Do you know how to read?"

"...I used to be a teacher."

I was stunned.

A homeless man who used to be a teacher?

"Henry, can I come talk to you every day?"

He didn't speak, just gave a slow, gentle nod.

From that day on, I visited Henry after school every day.

I brought him a bottle of water and a sandwich.

Food I had secretly saved from my own meals.

Henry used to be a high school English teacher. After his wife died of cancer, medical debt bankrupted him, and he ended up on the streets.

We gradually became friends. One day, I pulled the USB drive from my backpack.

"Henry, if I die one day, can you take this to the police for me?"

Henry's hands began to shake.

"What... what are you talking about?"

"My parents bought a five-million-dollar life insurance policy on me. If I die, they get the money. So they aren't treating my illness, and they are lowering my medication."

"This flash drive has all the evidence. As long as the police prove they intentionally denied me care, the insurance company won't pay out."

"They're waiting for me to die. But instead of five million dollars, they're going to get a prison cell."

Tears streamed down Henry's dirty, weathered face.

"I can't let you die. You're only twelve years old!"

I crouched beside him, gently patting his back.

I was the one who was dying.

Yet here I was, comforting a stranger who was crying for me.