Bullshit Son Reborn as an Octomillionaire Tycoon

CHAPTER 9

His vision began to blur as his strength finally gave out. Harry collapsed beside a lonely bus stop, his knees hitting the frozen concrete with a dull thud.

He leaned against the metal bench, gasping for air as the adrenaline from his confrontation faded.

Suddenly, a loud honk pierced the morning silence, followed by the screech of tires against ice. Harry's head snapped up to see a silver sedan spinning wildly out of control, its driver clearly struggling to regain command of the vehicle.

The car skidded across the opposite lane before slamming into a concrete pillar with a sickening crash. Steam immediately began rising from the crumpled hood, and smoke started to seep from the engine compartment.

Someone's hurt, Harry realized, forcing his exhausted body to move.

Harry struggled to his feet and ran toward the wreckage, his legs shaky but determined. The street remained eerily empty-no other pedestrians, no passing cars to help.

Through the spider-webbed windshield, Harry could see an older man slumped over the steering wheel. Blood trickled from his temple, and his lips had taken on a disturbing blue tinge.

"Sir! Sir, can you hear me?" Harry shouted, pulling on the driver's side door handle.

The door was jammed from the impact. Harry braced his feet against the car's frame and pulled with all his remaining strength until the metal groaned and gave way.

The man was unconscious, his breathing shallow and labored. Harry could see the telltale signs—this wasn't just a crash caused by ice. The man had suffered a heart attack while driving.

"Hey—hey! Stay with me!" Harry said, his voice trembling as he reached in to unbuckle the man's seatbelt. "Can you hear me?"

The man's head lolled to the side, unresponsive. Harry carefully eased him back from the steering wheel, checking for a pulse. It was there but weak and irregular.

I can't let him die, Harry thought desperately. Not when I'm the only one here to help.

Harry managed to pull the man from the car and carried him to the nearby bus stop bench. The older man was heavier than he looked, and Harry's exhausted muscles screamed in protest, but he refused to give up.

"Sir, please stay with me," Harry pleaded, pulling out his phone with shaking hands. "I'm calling for help."

Harry dialed emergency services, his fingers nearly numb from the cold.

"911, what's your emergency?" came the dispatcher's voice.

"There's been a car accident at the intersection of Maple and Fifth Street," Harry said quickly. "The driver appears to have had a heart attack. He's unconscious and barely breathing."

"We're dispatching an ambulance immediately. Are you trained in CPR?"

"No, but I'll do whatever you tell me," Harry replied, pressing his ear to the man's chest to monitor his heartbeat.

"Keep him warm and monitor his breathing. The ambulance should arrive in five minutes."

Harry took off his own jacket—still damp and torn from his ordeal at the Solomon estate—and covered the unconscious man. The cold bit into his skin immediately, but he ignored it.

This man needs help more than I need warmth, Harry thought, watching the man's pale face for any signs of improvement.

The ambulance arrived with wailing sirens and flashing lights. Two paramedics jumped out, immediately taking over the man's care.

"What happened here?" the lead paramedic asked as they loaded the man onto a stretcher.

"I saw his car spin out and crash into that pillar," Harry explained. "I think he had a heart attack while driving."

"Good catch," the paramedic said approvingly. "You probably saved his life by getting him out of that car."

As they loaded the stretcher into the ambulance, one of the paramedics turned to Harry.

"Are you riding with us to the hospital?" she asked.

Harry hesitated. "I... I'm not family. I just happened to be here."

"He doesn't seem to have anyone else," the paramedic said gently. "Sometimes strangers are all people have."

Just like me, Harry thought sadly. No family, no one who cares.

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "I'll ride with him."

At the hospital, the medical team rushed the man into emergency care while Harry sat in the waiting room, still wearing his bloodstained clothes from the morning's confrontation.

A nurse approached him with a clipboard and pen.

"Excuse me, sir," she said kindly. "We need someone to take responsibility for the patient since he doesn't have any emergency contacts listed and no family members have been reached."

Harry looked at the papers with shaking hands. "What does that mean exactly?"

"It means you'll be his designated contact person while he's here," the nurse explained. "Someone needs to make medical decisions if he can't, at least until we can locate his family."

A stranger trusting me with his life, Harry thought, a strange warmth filling his chest. When my own family never trusted me with anything.

Harry took the pen and signed his name on the forms without hesitation.

"Harry Solomon," he wrote, then paused and crossed it out.

"Just Harry," he said to the nurse, signing again. "Just Harry."