2025-04-30 21:39:14Jamie and everyone else stood in stunned silence, the kind that presses down like a sudden snowfall—quiet, cold, and impossible to ignore. Dr. Jason Trein, the same man who had arrogantly called the guards just moments ago, was now trembling, his phone clattering to the floor like it had burned his palm. His knees buckled beneath him, and before anyone could register what was happening, he collapsed onto all fours like a man struck by divine lightning.
“Please... forgive me,” he whispered, his voice raw with desperation. “I had no idea... I didn’t know...”
Jamie took a step back, genuinely puzzled and more than a little unsettled. Was this a prank? Some cruel hospital hazing ritual? But one look at the man’s face told him everything—this wasn’t performance. This was pure, undiluted fear.
“What are you doing?” Jamie asked, narrowing his eyes.
Dr. Trein lifted his tear-streaked face, lips quivering. “Sir, I just received a call from the president of our hospital chain at the headquarters. You’re the new owner. St. Mary’s General has just been bought in your name a few minutes ago... transferred... everything. You own us now. And I was told... I was told to get on my belly and beg for your forgiveness or hand in my resignation effective immediately.”
Gasps echoed through the corridor like tiny explosions. Nurses exchanged nervous glances, a janitor dropped his mop, and even the ever-serious security guards stood at attention, unsure of what to do next.
Jamie didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.
It hit him then—this was Raymond Ashford’s doing. Somehow, in the short time since Jamie had entered the hospital, his alleged grandfather had bought the entire facility and handed it over to him like it was just another chess piece on his grandboard. And it wasn’t just the purchase—it was the symbolism. It was about power, visibility, control. Raymond had sent a message: You are not to be trifled with anymore. You are one of us now.
Dr. Trein, still groveling, motioned weakly to the staff. “Bow. All of you. Show respect to your new chairman.”
And like dominos, they did—nurses, interns, even a senior administrator. They bowed before Jamie as though he were royalty.
Jamie let it linger for a moment. He soaked it in—not because he was vindictive, but because he’d spent his entire life on the other side of this moment. Humiliated. Ignored. Abused. And now, without uttering a single threat, without lifting a single finger, he had flipped the table completely.
“I want my mother’s body preserved in the highest-quality morgue unit you have,” he said calmly. “She will get the funeral she deserves. No cutting corners.”
“Yes, sir! Of course, sir!” Dr. Trein stammered.
“And the money I transferred—$1.2 million?”
“Refunded... immediately. With an apology letter, sir.”
“Good,” Jamie said. “Now, you're also fired. And permanently banned from entering this hospital. Next time, you’ll do the right thing.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Please, Mr. Ash—uh, Jamie... I have a family—”
Jamie turned to the others. “Anyone else want to be next?”
They all shook their heads with synchronized fear.
He left the hospital with a slight smile tugging at his lips, not because he enjoyed the fear of others, but because for the first time in his life, he felt like he mattered. Like his mother’s death wasn’t in vain. She’d promised him a future—and even in death, she kept her word.
Outside, the late morning sun painted the city in warm gold. Jamie hailed a private cab and asked to be taken to the nearest upscale plaza. His clothes were hanging off him like rags on a scarecrow, stained and crumpled from days of neglect. He knew he had to upgrade his appearance; he had $10 billion sitting fat and idle in his account—time to let it breathe. If he was going to embrace this new life, it needed to start with how he looked.
The cab brought him to a gleaming plaza, its storefronts dripping with exclusivity. He chose the priciest clothing boutique, its windows flaunting suits and dresses that cost more than most people’s rent. Inside, marble floors gleamed under soft lighting, racks lined with fabrics screaming wealth. Jamie moved unnoticed, picking out a crisp white shirt, a tailored blazer, slim-fit trousers—enough items to bury the beggar he’d been. The attendant, a prim woman with a pinched face, didn’t spot him until he neared the counter, arms full.
She recoiled, nose wrinkling. “Hey! You can’t just—” Her eyes raked over his filth, his stench, and she lunged for the phone. “Security! Thief!”
Two guards barreled in, meaty hands poised to grab him. Jamie held up a hand, calm as stone. “I’m here to buy, not steal. Check my card if you want.”
Before they could respond, the door chimed, and a trio of familiar voices sliced through the air. Amanda Conway, Olivia Feng, and Meghan Sharp swept in, dripping in couture and contempt. Their eyes landed on Jamie, and disgust flared like a match.
“Ugh, you?” Amanda groaned, flipping her hair. “Where’ve you been hiding? Your boss at Momentuum’s got thugs hunting you—owes him big for that bottle you smashed.”
Jamie ignored her, jaw tight, stacking his clothes on the counter.
“Oh my God, what is that smell?” Olivia asked dramatically. “Are they letting homeless people into Elan now?”
“Don’t be rude, Olivia,” Meghan said mockingly. “It’s not his fault. He’s just... broken.”
Amanda folded her arms. “So where’ve you been, Jamie? Your manager at Momentuum is looking for you. Said you bailed on your debt. Word is, he’s got thugs on the streets waiting to beat you until you cough up the money.”
Jamie didn’t respond. He looked at Amanda, once his everything, and felt... nothing.
“I heard your mother’s corpse was sold off,” Meghan chimed in. “Hope she fetched a good price.”
“Reynolds broadcasted the whole thing,” Amanda added, sneering. “We all laughed. Guess it’s true what they say—trash breeds trash.”
The attendant stepped back, content to let the girls shred him.
Olivia smirked. “I can’t believe you used to be his girlfriend, Amanda. Thank God you dumped that motherless cockroach.”
Meghan clapped Amanda’s shoulder, grinning. “Smart move, girl. Nathan’s your future now—Reynolds blood, real prospects.”
The taunts piled like bricks, each one heavier, dumber, crueler. Jamie’s fists clenched, his mother’s warnings about Amanda ringing true—Stacy’s too. Why hadn’t he listened? These girls, bloated with privilege, oozed a naivety so thick it choked out decency. He wanted to snap back, to flaunt the ten billion that dwarfed their petty fortunes, but he held his tongue, letting their ignorance fester.
Olivia’s patience snapped, her polished facade cracking. “This is ridiculous. I can’t shop with him here—it’s insulting.”
She pulled out her phone, dialing with a flourish. “Hey, Aunt Tricia? It’s Olivia Feng. Please come down the hall—some filthy nobody’s stinking up your store and won’t leave. We need it handled.”
Jamie recognized the name—Ms. Tricia Monteverde, the manager, a gushing fan of Olivia’s films, and a close friend to Olivia’s family. She was Olivia’s godmother. Olivia couldn’t stand sharing space with him, her classy bubble too fragile for his presence.
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