The pain in my stomach was unbearable. My face had gone white. I finally snapped, shouting into the phone:
"I told you! I'm at the hospital! My mother is in critical condition! She needs surgery and they're waiting for payment!"
"The card I used wasn't Shelagh's. It was mine! Transfer the money back into my account right now, or I'll report you for theft!"
Silence on the other end. A few seconds passed, then the line went dead.
Julius sent a text:
"Mr. Fox, where do you think your money comes from? Ms. Henson gave it to you."
"And that's your mother, not Ms. Henson's. Why should Ms. Henson have to pay for it?"
"I've already frozen every account under your name and made sure no one will lend you a cent. Once you swear you'll never waste Ms. Henson's money again, I'll consider reactivating your accounts."
My blood boiled the second I read that message.
I dialed the corporate lawyer.
"You have ten minutes. Get someone to the City Central Hospital with the payment. Now."
"And tell Shelagh she either fires that new assistant of hers immediately, or she can stop being CEO altogether."
My family's fortune was worth a hundred billion dollars, and I was the only heir of my generation.
Rather than some arranged marriage for business, I wanted to find someone I truly loved and spend my life with them.
But I didn't want to attract the kind of women who only cared about my background and my family's wealth.
So I hid my identity and entered the company as an ordinary office worker.
That year, I met Shelagh, fresh out of college and just starting at the firm.
Top of her class at a prestigious school. Dirt poor. But gentle and impossibly resilient.
I noticed her the very first day.
Her blouse had been washed so many times it was nearly see-through, but it was spotless and perfectly pressed.
She was always the first one in and the last to leave.
While everyone else complained about overtime, she'd quietly go back and double-check an entire floor's worth of reports on her own.
A few times when I stayed late, she'd come over with her cheeks flushed pink and set a cup of coffee on my desk.
Then she'd pull my computer toward her and say,
"Let me help you finish up. That way you can get home sooner."
My heart wouldn't stop pounding.
The moment I truly fell in love with her came during an incident at work.
A male colleague stole my project, presented it first, then turned around and accused me of plagiarism.
The female manager backing him up went straight for the kill: she wanted me fired, wanted me held liable, threatened to sue me for leaking proprietary information and make me pay damages.
Shelagh, who was on the verge of a promotion, slammed her palm on the table and stepped right in front of me.
"Homer Fox would never do something like that! I'll vouch for him myself!"
"If you insist on firing an innocent man, then this company can't tell right from wrong, and I don't want to be here either! I'm leaving with him!"
She tore off her badge, grabbed my hand, and pulled me all the way out of the building.
I caught her arm and stopped her, my voice tight with worry:
"Have you lost your mind?! Your parents are counting on your paycheck for your dad's surgery! Your little brother and sister still need your salary for school! If you quit, what happens to all of them?"
She looked at me, eyes brimming with tears, her voice breaking:
"But I can't stand watching you be treated like that!"
The moment those tears fell, something inside me shattered.
I pulled her into my arms and let out a long breath.
"Will you marry me? I'll sweep every hardship out of your life."
After the wedding, I respected her ambition to build a career of her own, so I handed the company over to Shelagh to run.
I stepped back to care for my mother, who had suddenly fallen ill.
And Shelagh didn't disappoint. Under her leadership, the company thrived.
Until six months ago, when she came to me with a proposal: she wanted to recruit a group of underprivileged graduates from her alma mater.
