When the Loser Became rich heir

CHAPTER 3

Luca's legs carried him before his brain could catch up. Three point five billion dollars. His mother could have the surgery. She would live. He burst through the ICU doors and skidded toward the nurses' station—then stopped dead.

Two burly nurses were wheeling his mother's bed out of her room. Toward the elevator. Away from the operating room.

"Stop!" Luca's voice echoed down the corridor. "What are you doing? Stop right there!"

The nurses kept moving. A third nurse, middle-aged with steel-gray hair and a name tag reading "Head Nurse Patricia," stepped into his path with her arms crossed.

"Mr. Romano , we're transferring your mother to a city hospital."

"The hell you are! She needs surgery now!"

Patricia's smile was thin and condescending. "Your mother has received extensive charity care from this facility. Without guaranteed payment for this procedure, we cannot continue treatment. City Hospital has a charity ward. She'll be comfortable there."

"She'll die there!"

"That's between her and God." Patricia shrugged. "We have policies. Beds are needed for paying patients."

Luca's hands clenched into fists. "I have the money. One hundred thousand dollars. I can pay right now."

Patricia's eyebrows rose. Behind her, the nurses had stopped wheeling the bed, clearly enjoying the show. A few orderlies gathered. Patients' families peeked from doorways.

"You have one hundred thousand dollars." Patricia repeated the words like a joke. "You, Mr. Romano ? The man who's been late on every payment for six months? The man whose wife's assistant calls weekly to complain about 'excessive charges'?"

"That was before. I have the money now."

"Sure you do." One of the male nurses, built like a refrigerator, snorted. "Found it under a mattress? Won the lottery?"

"I received a payment. A large payment. I can show you."

Patricia stepped closer, her voice dropping to a mock-conspiratorial whisper. "Let me guess—a Nigerian prince died and left you millions? An anonymous benefactor?" She turned to the gathered audience. "We get three or four of these a week. People who 'suddenly have money' when we try to move their deadbeat relatives."

Laughter rippled through the hallway.

Luca's face burned. "Just give me the POS machine. I'll pay right now."

Patricia sighed dramatically. "Fine. Let's play this game." She snapped her fingers at a younger nurse. "Get the POS. Let's watch Mr. Billionaire swipe his platinum card."

More laughter. The younger nurse returned with the portable payment terminal and held it out.

Luca reached for his wallet.

Empty.

His stomach dropped. He patted his pockets—jacket, pants, back pocket. Nothing.

"Problem?" Patricia's smile widened.

"My wife took my card. She said—" He stopped. Said what? That his wife didn't trust him with money? That he had to beg for every dollar like a child asking for allowance?

"Oh, this is good." The male nurse leaned against the wall. "He's got a hundred grand but no card. Classic."

"I can do mobile transfer." Luca pulled out his phone, fingers trembling. "Just give me the account number."

Patricia rattled off the hospital's payment details from memory, clearly humoring him. Luca typed frantically, his old phone lagging with every keystroke. The screen froze. He tapped it. Nothing. Tapped again.

"Having technical difficulties, Mr. Billionaire?" Patricia's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Maybe try restarting? Or is your Ferrari in the shop?"

The crowd laughed. Someone pulled out a phone to record.

Luca's thumb hammered the screen. "It's an old phone. It just needs a second."

"Old phone?" The male nurse stepped closer, peering at the device. "That's a iPhone 8, right? My kid had one of those three years ago." He turned to the crowd. "Man with a hundred grand uses a phone my twelve-year-old outgrew."

More laughter. Crueler now.

"Please." Luca's voice cracked. "The money is real. I just need—"

"Let me see that." Patricia grabbed his phone, examined the frozen screen, and held it up like a trophy. "Folks, take a good look. This is what a man with one hundred thousand dollars looks like. This phone is cracked. The case is peeling. He's wearing shoes from Payless." She sniffed dramatically. "Does he smell like desperation to you?"

"Yes!" someone shouted. Laughter echoed off the walls.

Luca's mother moaned on the stretcher, pale and barely conscious. The nurses holding her hadn't moved. They were watching the show, enjoying their break.

"Please," Luca whispered. "My mother is dying. Just let me try again."

Patricia handed back the phone with a smirk. "Fine. One more try. Then we move her."

Luca grabbed it, fingers flying across the screen. The payment app loaded. He entered the account number. The amount. His trembling thumb hovered over "Confirm."

The screen froze again.

"No!" He shook the phone. Tapped wildly. Nothing.

Patricia sighed heavily. "Enough of this. Take her."

The nurses started pushing the bed again.

"No!" Luca lunged forward, but the male nurse caught his arm, twisting it behind his back.

"Violence now? Really?" The man's breath was hot in his ear. "You're pathetic. You know that? Absolutely pathetic."

Luca struggled, but the grip was iron. His mother's bed rolled toward the elevator. Ten feet. Five feet. The doors opened.

"Wait!" He thrashed wildly. "The money is real! I have three point five billion dollars! Check my bank! Please!"

Patricia laughed—a loud, ugly sound. "Three point five billion? Not just a hundred thousand anymore? Inflation's a bitch, huh?" She turned to the crowd. "He's upgrading his lies while his mother dies. That's dedication."

The elevator doors slid open.

Luca's phone buzzed in his pocket. Then buzzed again. And again. Dozens of notifications flooding in.

He couldn't reach it. The male nurse held him fast.

His mother's bed rolled into the elevator.

"No!"

The doors began to close.

And then—DING.

The payment screen on his phone, still visible over the nurse's shoulder, suddenly flashed green.

Payment Successful: $100,000.00

Receipt sent to [email protected]

Patricia's phone buzzed. She pulled it out, glanced at it, and went completely still.

Her face drained of color.

The elevator doors were halfway closed. One of the nurses inside hit the "open" button, confused by Patricia's silence.

"Head Nurse?" the younger nurse with the POS called out. "The payment—did it actually—"

Patricia stared at her phone. Then at Luca. Then back at her phone.

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Nothing came out.

The male nurse loosened his grip, sensing the shift in the air. Luca shook free, grabbed his phone, and thrust it toward Patricia.

"Read it," he said, his voice hoarse but steady. "Read the confirmation. Then tell me again about my Payless shoes."

Patricia's eyes darted between the phone and his face. The color hadn't returned. If anything, she looked greener.

"I—" She swallowed hard. "The payment—it's—"

"What's happening?" the nurse in the elevator demanded. "Do we take her or not?"

Patricia's gaze dropped to the floor. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

"Bring her back.”