The Beggar Husband Is a Trillionaire God

Chapter 8

Tires screeched as Claire Hayes swung her silver Porsche Taycan across three lanes of traffic, making a sharp turn.

Her heart pounded violently against her ribs.

From the speaker of Ethan's cracked phone, she had heard the raw, agonizing sobs of Thomas Cross. Thomas Cross was the undisputed king of Riverdale. He controlled the docks, private security firms, and half the city's commercial real estate. Even city councilmen bowed to him.

Yet that powerful man had just wept like a broken child, begging Ethan on his knees.

Claire gripped the steering wheel, glancing sideways at Ethan.

Ethan sat calmly in the passenger seat, his faded green shirt resting against the leather, his wooden toolbox held between his knees. His dark eyes stared out at the flashing streetlights, calm as winter ice.

"Ethan," Claire said, her voice trembling. "Lily Cross has had a weak heart since birth. Thomas Cross brought in top specialists from Switzerland, but nobody could cure her. If she has already flatlined, western medicine cannot reverse cellular death. Are you really sure you can save her?"

"Western medicine is limited by what machines can measure," Ethan answered steadily. "My master's craft measures life itself. As long as her spiritual souls have not crossed the river, my needles can pull her back."

Claire parted her lips to argue, but the sheer confidence in his voice silenced her.

Fifteen minutes later, the Porsche skidded to a halt outside Riverdale Central Hospital.

Ethan leaped out before the car stopped completely. He slung his wooden toolbox over his shoulder and strode inside. Claire parked quickly and hurried after him on her high heels.

They took the express elevator straight to the eighth floor, the VIP Intensive Care Unit.

When the doors opened, a scene of chaos met their eyes.

Armed men in black tactical suits guarded the corridor, their faces grim with grief.

Outside the operating theater stood Thomas Cross.

The billionaire had discarded his coat. His silk shirt was soaked with sweat, his eyes bloodshot from weeping.

Beside him stood Doctor Matthew Henderson, the chief cardiovascular surgeon of Central Hospital, holding a signed medical folder.

"Mr. Cross, you must accept reality," Doctor Henderson said solemnly. "Miss Lily suffered complete ventricular fibrillation. Her heart has shown no electrical activity for fourteen minutes. Brain death has begun. Please sign the death certificate so we can move the body."

"No! I will not sign it!" Thomas roared, weeping openly. "My daughter is not dead! Master Cole is coming! He told me to keep her chest warm!"

Doctor Henderson frowned with deep irritation, shaking his head.

"Fourteen minutes without a heartbeat means biological death. Even if Jesus Christ walked into this hallway, your daughter cannot be brought back. There is no doctor on earth who can reverse death!"

"Who told you there is no doctor on earth?"

A clear, flat voice resonated through the corridor.

Doctor Henderson turned in annoyance. "Who is making noise in my ICU?!"

Everyone looked up.

Walking down the hallway was Ethan Cole, his faded army shirt open at the collar, his cheap sneakers squeaking on the tiles, and his battered wooden toolbox resting on his shoulder. Claire followed right behind him.

Doctor Henderson looked Ethan up and down, his face twisting in disgust.

"Security!" Doctor Henderson barked. "Why is a homeless vagrant allowed on the private VIP floor?! Throw this beggar out immediately!"

Before the guards could move, Thomas Cross looked up.

The moment the city kingpin saw Ethan's face, a surge of desperate hope exploded in his eyes.

Thomas completely ignored the doctors, nurses, and bodyguards. He rushed forward and dropped heavily onto both knees in front of Ethan's dusty shoes.

THUD!

Thomas slammed his forehead against the linoleum floor, weeping.

"Master Cole! You have arrived!" Thomas cried out, clutching Ethan's trouser leg. "Lily is inside! Her heart stopped fourteen minutes ago! The doctors gave up! Please, Master, I beg you with my life! Save my daughter!"

The entire corridor fell into absolute silence.

Doctor Henderson froze, his mouth hanging open. The nurses dropped their clipboards. The armed bodyguards lowered their heads in deep awe.

Claire stood behind Ethan, covering her mouth with her hand.

Seeing it at the club was one thing. But seeing Thomas Cross, the terrifying king of Riverdale, crying on his knees on a hospital floor before her penniless husband sent chills down her spine.

Who on earth had she married?

Ethan looked down at Thomas calmly. "Stand up, Thomas. A man does not shed tears so easily. I gave you my word. Death will not take her today."

"Thank you, Master! Thank you!" Thomas scrambled to his feet, wiping his wet face.

"Hold on!" Doctor Henderson shouted, stepping forward angrily. "Mr. Cross, this boy is barely twenty years old! He is dressed like a laborer! He has no medical license and no sterilized equipment! You are letting a fraudulent beggar tamper with a corpse?!"

Ethan stopped in front of Doctor Henderson.

His dark eyes were calm, but an invisible chill settled over the hallway, making the surgeon's breath catch.

"You spent fourteen minutes relying on machines, and when they failed, you declared her dead to protect your hospital's name," Ethan said in a cold tone. "In my eyes, you are the one who is incompetent."

"You insolent brat!" Doctor Henderson's face turned red with fury. "I graduated from Harvard Medical School! I have performed three thousand open-heart surgeries! How dare an uneducated stray question my diagnosis?!"

Doctor Henderson blocked the operating doors with both arms spread wide.

"I am the chief surgeon! I will not allow this clown to desecrate Miss Lily's body with quackery! If you let him in, I will report this hospital to the medical board!"

Thomas Cross's eyes turned crimson with pure fury.

Step!

Thomas grabbed the chief surgeon by the collar of his scrubs and lifted him off his feet with one arm!

"Matthew Henderson, listen to me carefully," Thomas growled with savage menace. "If my daughter lives, I will donate fifty million dollars to your hospital. But if you delay Master Cole by another second, I will throw you off the roof of this building right now!"

Doctor Henderson gasped, terror turning his face white as snow. "Mr... Mr. Cross..."

Thomas shoved the surgeon aside like garbage.

"Open the doors!" Thomas roared.

Two bodyguards threw open the double doors of the operating theater.

Ethan adjusted his wooden box and walked inside. Claire hesitated for a second, then followed him through the doors.

Inside the theater, the air was freezing cold.

Lying on the stainless-steel table was an eighteen-year-old girl. Her skin was gray, her lips blue, and her chest motionless.

Beside the bed, the heart monitor displayed an unbroken flat green line: 0 BPM.

Ethan set his wooden toolbox on the metal tray, pulled off the hemp rope, and flipped open the lid.

Nine slender, pitch-black needles gleamed under the surgical lights.

"Claire, close the door and stand back," Ethan ordered quietly.

He placed his fingers lightly against the girl's cold forehead.

"Fourteen minutes," Ethan murmured to himself. "Her soul is still wandering near her throat."

With a flick of his wrist, three black needles danced between his fingers like living serpents.

"Return to life!" Ethan whispered.