Charlotte burst through the heavy glass doors of her apartment building.
The sky had broken open. A torrential downpour was hammering the Brooklyn pavement. Fat, icy drops of rain slapped against her face and instantly soaked her hair.
She ran to the curb, waving her arm frantically at the street.
Yellow taxis sped past her, their tires kicking up waves of dirty water. Every single one had its 'Off Duty' light glowing.
She checked her watch. Every second felt like an hour. Her grandmother was dying.
She looked down at her feet. Her high heels were slipping on the wet concrete. She kicked them off, grabbed them by the straps, and stepped onto the freezing, flooded asphalt in her bare feet.
She started running toward the subway station two blocks away.
The cold wind sliced through her thin clothes. Her lungs burned with every breath.
As she sprinted across a dimly lit intersection, a dark shape caught the corner of her eye.
She almost kept running. But her instinct forced her legs to stop. Her bare feet skidded on the wet pavement.
She turned and ran toward the curb.
An elderly man was lying on his side in a puddle of water. He was wearing a bespoke wool suit, now ruined by the mud. His face was a terrifying shade of purple.
He was clutching his chest, his mouth open, gasping for air that wouldn't come.
Charlotte dropped to her knees in the filthy water. "Sir! Sir, can you hear me?"
The old man's eyes rolled back. His trembling fingers weakly clawed at the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
Years of caring for Eleanor's severe heart condition kicked in automatically. She recognized the symptoms instantly. She knew exactly what to look for. She reached into his wet jacket and pulled out a small white plastic bottle.
She popped the cap off and shook two tiny nitroglycerin pills into her palm.
She lifted his head, prying his jaw open, and slipped the pills under his tongue. "Swallow. Please, swallow."
Before the medicine could take effect, the man's body suddenly convulsed. His limbs jerked violently, and then he went completely limp. His chest stopped moving.
Panic seized Charlotte's throat.
She placed the heel of her right hand on the center of his chest, locked her fingers over it, and pushed down hard.
She started chest compressions. One, two, three, four.
The rain poured down her face, blinding her. She gritted her teeth, pushing her body weight into his sternum.
Suddenly, the blinding glare of headlights washed over her.
A massive black Maybach slammed on its brakes next to the curb. The heavy tires sent a wave of freezing water crashing over Charlotte's back.
The rear door was kicked open.
A towering man stepped out into the storm. Daxton Gomez.
Through the heavy sheet of rain, Daxton only saw a disheveled, barefoot woman pressing her weight onto his grandfather's chest in the middle of a flooded, dimly lit intersection.
Protective rage exploded in his chest.
Daxton closed the distance in two massive strides. He reached down, grabbed the collar of Charlotte's coat, and yanked her backward with terrifying force.
Charlotte was lifted off the ground. She flew backward and slammed hard onto the rough asphalt.
Her elbow scraped violently against the pavement. The skin tore open. A sharp, burning pain shot up her arm.
Daxton dropped to his knees beside his grandfather. He pressed two fingers to the old man's neck, yelling over his shoulder at his driver. "Call an ambulance! Now!"
Charlotte pushed herself up from the puddle. She clutched her bleeding elbow.
"I was doing CPR!" she screamed over the sound of the rain, her voice cracking with fury. "He had a heart attack!"
Daxton snapped his head toward her. His eyes were like black ice. They were sharp, predatory, and filled with absolute distrust. He didn't say a word, but his glare pinned her to the ground.
Before Charlotte could yell again, the old man on the ground took a sudden, massive gasp of air.
He started coughing violently, water and saliva spilling from his lips. The purple hue in his face slowly began to fade into a sickly pale.
The medicine had worked. The compressions had kept his blood moving.
The wailing siren of an ambulance pierced the storm. Red and blue lights flashed against the surrounding brick walls.
Paramedics jumped out of the rig. They pushed Daxton aside and loaded the old man onto a stretcher.
Daxton stood up to follow them into the back of the ambulance.
He paused with his hand on the metal door. He turned his head and looked back at Charlotte.
She was sitting in the mud, soaked to the bone, bleeding, holding her high heels in one hand.
Charlotte didn't look at him. She pushed herself off the ground, turned her back to the ambulance, and limped toward the subway station.
