"And he gave all the life-saving money to an outsider? No—I have to call him and explain everything!"
That was exactly why I'd come. I wanted them to hear the truth from their own son.
The call connected, and Mortimer immediately started complaining.
"Mom, I'm busy. Whatever it is, it can wait until I'm done."
Beverly didn't even get a word in before he hung up.
She stared at the phone, stunned.
She pressed redial. This time it rang for a long while before he picked up.
"Mom, I told you I'm busy! I'm in the middle of an important business meeting!"
"What could possibly be so urgent it can't wait? You and everyone else—calling nonstop!"
Mortimer's voice dripped with irritation.
Beverly couldn't contain her fury any longer. "Wait until you're done?"
"What—do I have to wait until your father is dead before you'll stop and talk to us?!"
Silence hung on the line for a few seconds.
"What's that supposed to mean? Did Renee go running to you again?"
"Yes. She's right here beside me."
Beverly looked at her husband's gaunt face, her voice trembling. "She told us everything. Mortimer, your father—he's—"
"Mom." Mortimer cut her off. "Let me guess. You're about to tell me Dad is critically ill, lying in a hospital bed, desperately needs a fortune to survive—and that money just happens to be the same money I transferred?"
His words came slow and dripping with mockery.
Beverly had doubted me at first.
But hearing her son's reaction, a chill crept into her heart.
"What nonsense are you spouting? This is the truth! Your father is really sick!"
Mortimer didn't believe a word.
"I thought Renee was just being petty, making up lies to claw the money back."
"I didn't expect you'd all team up to con me."
"Mom, when did you become like this?"
I stood to the side, watching Beverly's face flush crimson with helpless rage.
All I could do was watch.
"That money is seed funding for the company's R&D. Renata is a professional—I've reviewed every projection and assessment she put together."
"Once the research succeeds, the company's value will multiply several times over!"
"Dad gets a physical every year and he's perfectly healthy. Stop using him to guilt-trip me. It won't work!"
Cough—cough cough cough—
On the bed, Stuart suddenly began coughing up blood.
He looked toward his wife's phone, and something in his eyes went hollow.
All hope, extinguished.
"Stuart?" Beverly rushed to his side in panic.
"Doctor! Doctor!"
The blood spreading across the white sheets sent her into hysterics.
For the first time, the severity of Stuart's illness became terrifyingly real to me.
The doctor had said he was in the mid-to-late stages.
Survival meant surgery. It meant months—maybe years—of imported specialty medications.
The kind of costs ordinary people couldn't begin to afford.
The call was still connected. Mortimer heard the chaos.
He started to ask what was happening—
Then Renata's voice floated through in the background.
"Mortimer, this is Mr. Lambert."
He hesitated.
Then chose Renata's side.
Stuart's condition deteriorated sharply—his son's callousness had pushed him over the edge.
It took over an hour of emergency treatment to stabilize him.
But this time, he was moved to the ICU.
The bills climbed higher.
Beverly stood outside the ward, frantic, calling Mortimer over and over.
Every call went straight to voicemail. Phone off.
To save Stuart's life, I gritted my teeth and made a decision.
"I'll sell the company. It should bring in around twenty million dollars."
"That would cover everything—treatment, medication, whatever comes next."
