Rise of the Rich and Powerful Jamie Ashford

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the hospital room like an unwelcome guest. Jamie Reynold sat quietly by his mother’s bedside, his fingers lightly curled around her frail hand. Tubes and beeping monitors surrounded her like mechanical vultures, ticking down the moments she had left. Her skin had turned pale and parchment-thin, and each shallow breath she took rattled like a fading whisper. But to Jamie, she was still the strongest woman he'd ever known.

He hadn’t slept in over a day. The nurses had offered to relieve him, to let him rest in the waiting room, but he refused. He wanted to be present for every second she had left. He wanted her to feel him beside her when she slipped away—not a stranger in white scrubs. He wanted her to feel loved.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He hesitated, glanced at his mother’s face—eyes shut, chest barely rising—then slowly stepped into the corridor. The name Amanda lit up his screen in soft white letters. He answered.

“Amanda,” he said, his voice tired but hopeful.

“Jamie,” she replied, her voice sharp and impersonal.

He waited for something more—a “how are you,” or maybe even a “how’s your mom?” But silence followed. She wasn’t calling to check on him.

“Why didn’t you come see me?” Jamie asked, voice low, a crack of hurt slipping through despite his effort to bury it. “Not once, Amanda. Not even now.”

“Come where?”

“To the hospital.”

Her laugh was a shard of glass. “What’s the point, Jamie? I’ve got a birthday party to host tonight.” The words landed like a slap, cold and dismissive, slicing through the thin thread of hope he’d clung to. “What do you want me to do—sit there and watch your mom die? That won’t change anything. Don’t be dramatic, Jamie.”

He blinked, stunned. “Amanda… and still…”

“Jamie, you know I hate hospitals,” she said, brushing off his pain like lint on her expensive coat. “Besides, I called to ask if you can send me some money. I want everything perfect tonight—the dress, the DJ, the rooftop setup. You know how my parties are. As my boyfriend, it’s your responsibility.”

Jamie stared blankly at the white hospital wall in front of him. “I don’t have any money,” he said quietly. “In fact, I was going to ask if you could lend me some. I’m still short on Mom’s hospital bill.”

There was a long pause.

“You’re joking, right?”

“No,” he said.

She scoffed. “You really are useless, Jamie. God, how did I even end up with you? I should’ve gone with someone like Andrew. At least he has money. You think love’s enough? It’s not. Grow up.”

The line went dead.

Jamie stood frozen, phone still pressed to his ear. His throat burned. He wanted to feel anger, but all he felt was emptiness—numb, hollow betrayal. This was the love of his life, and yet, it appears as though his pains were none of her business. They’ve been dating for over a year now, and while he knew she was shallow, he never thought she was this terrible. He returned to the room and tried to mask the storm inside him, but his mother, even in her fragile state, noticed immediately.

“Jamie,” she whispered, her voice dry and cracked. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, Mom. Just tired.”

She reached for his hand with what little strength she had. “Tell me.”

He hesitated. But there was no point in lying now. “Amanda called. She wanted money for her party. I told her I didn’t have any. She hung up.”

Elizabeth sighed deeply, then coughed. “I warned you about that girl. She’s poison, Jamie. Always has been. You deserve better.”

“I know.”

“She doesn’t deserve a minute more of your thoughts, Jamie. You are not… some disposable thing for others to use.”

Her words had always carried weight with him. Even now, on her deathbed, she was still fighting for his dignity.

She drew a slow breath. “Listen to me. After I’m gone, things are going to get worse.”

Jamie swallowed hard. “I know.”

“Ben… and his sons… they’ll come after you. They’ll make life unbearable for you.”

“They already do.”

He knew it was true. His stepfather and stepbrothers—Nathan, Jonathan, and Edward—had always treated him like dirt under their polished shoes. But with his mother’s death looming, he’d shoved that dread aside, too consumed by her fading pulse to face it. 

She turned her head slightly toward him. Her eyes, once bright and full of warmth, now glistened with urgency. “But you must endure it. Do you hear me? Endure. Because everything is about to change.”

Jamie frowned. “What do you mean?”

She squeezed his hand weakly. “You are not a nobody, Jamie. You’re not.”

Confusion crept across his face. “You’ve never told me anything about my father—nothing about where I come from. And now, you’re saying this?”

“I couldn’t before. It wasn’t time. But now…” She coughed again, painfully. “Now, just know that your world is about to open. You will step into something far bigger than anything you can imagine.”

Jamie shook his head slowly. “What are you talking about, Mom?”

Her lips trembled. “Be ready. When it comes… when they find you… remember how I raised you. Remember the man you are.”

“No, no. Don’t do this. Don’t say goodbye like this, not with riddles.”

“I love you, Jamie. With everything in me.”

Tears streamed down his face as he leaned closer. “Please, Mom. Tell me more. What do you mean? Who am I?”

But her eyes had gone still. Her chest, which had risen and fallen in shallow waves, stilled completely.

“Mom?” he whispered.

No response.

He stood abruptly and ran to the hallway, yelling for help. Doctors rushed in, and Jamie waited, breath caught in his throat.

A minute later, a doctor turned to him and shook his head solemnly. “I’m sorry. She’s gone.”

Jamie collapsed into the nearby chair, silent tears running down his cheeks. His worst fear had just been realized—he was now completely alone.

He stayed in the room long after the doctors left, holding her cold hand, letting the silence press around him like a vice.

The sun outside began to rise, casting a weak orange hue into the sterile white room.

Just as he was about to leave, the doctor returned.

“Mr. Reynold,” he said gently, clearing his throat. “I… I hate to burden you in a time like this, but hospital policy requires me to inform you…”

Jamie turned, weary eyes meeting the doctor’s.

“There’s still a balance of $24,000 on your mother’s treatment. And her funeral arrangements with Serenity Grove have an outstanding charge of $86,000.”

Jamie didn’t say anything. He simply stared.

“If you’re unable to pay within twenty-four hours, her body will be claimed by the state and… repurposed.”

“You mean harvested,” Jamie said bluntly.

The doctor flinched slightly. “We prefer not to use that term.”

Jamie’s stomach dropped. “What? You can’t—” 

He fumbled for his phone, pulling up his bank app. The screen glowed with a pitiful $500—his stepfather’s monthly pittance, deposited that morning. A hundred and ten thousand dollars loomed like a mountain, and he had a pebble to throw at it.

The same amount his stepbrothers probably spent on one bottle of water.

“Is there anyone you can call?” the doctor asked.

Jamie slowly stood, gripping the phone in his hand. “No. No one.”

“Well,” the doctor said softly, “then you’d better go find the money.”

The door closed behind him with a quiet click, leaving Jamie standing alone beside the woman who had loved him through a lifetime of storms.

He clutched his phone, Amanda’s rejection still raw. Ben wouldn’t lift a finger—$500 was his limit, a cruel joke compared to the hundred grand he tossed at his real kids. Nathan and Jonathan would laugh in his face, maybe spit in it for good measure. Stacy might care, but she had no cash to spare. His mother’s warning rang again—“rough times ahead”—and already, the walls were closing in.

He walked out of the hospital and into the cold Los Angeles morning.