When the Loser Became rich heir

CHAPTER 5

Chapter Five

Patricia's legs gave out. She crumpled to the floor like a marionette with severed strings, her face drained of all color. The portable card reader clattered from her hand, skittering across the linoleum.

"No," she whispered. "No, no, no..."

Luca stood frozen for a moment, processing what had just happened. His ancient phone. The lagging screen. His desperate thumb hammering the numbers over and over. In his panic, he must have typed extra zeros. One hundred thousand had become one hundred million.

He took a slow breath, then spoke clearly. "I'm Luca Romano. I'm the one who transferred the one hundred million dollars."

Antonio Ricci's tablet slipped from his hands. It would have crashed to the floor if Sophie hadn't caught it reflexively, her own face pale with shock.

"You?" Ricci's voice was barely audible. "But you're... you're..."

"I know what I look like," Luca said quietly. His worn sneakers, his faded jeans, the t-shirt with a small hole near the collar. He looked like someone who couldn't afford a bus fare, let alone a nine-figure bank transfer. "But check your records. The transfer came from my account."

Ricci's fingers trembled as he took back his tablet and pulled up the transaction details. His eyes went wide. "My God. It's real. Luca Romano. Account verified. One hundred million dollars, received seven minutes ago."

Heavy footsteps thundered down the corridor. A tall man in his sixties with silver hair and an impeccable navy suit appeared, his expression severe. Director Vittorio Fontana surveyed the scene: the collapsed nurse, the stammering finance officer, the security guards still loosely gripping a young man's arms.

"What in God's name is happening here?" Fontana's voice carried the weight of forty years in hospital administration. "Ricci, you said this was urgent. Explain. Now."

Ricci straightened immediately. "Director Fontana, this is Mr. Luca Romano. He's just made a transfer to the hospital of..." He swallowed hard. "One hundred million dollars, sir."

Fontana's face went rigid. His sharp eyes fixed on Luca, and something shifted in his expression—calculation, then worry, then what looked almost like fear.

"One hundred million," Fontana repeated slowly. He approached Luca, his movements careful. "Mr. Romano, I must ask—are you attempting to acquire this hospital?"

Luca blinked. "What? No, I—"

"Because if that's your intention," Fontana continued, his voice taking on a pleading tone, "I must beg you to reconsider. Memorial Hospital has served this community for seventy-three years. We treat patients regardless of their ability to pay. We—"

"Director Fontana," Luca interrupted, raising his hand. "Please. I'm not trying to buy anything. I just wanted to pay for my mother's surgery."

Fontana's eyebrows shot up. "Your mother's surgery? But that would only require—"

"One hundred thousand dollars. Yes." Luca gestured to his cracked phone. "My phone was lagging. I accidentally added extra zeros. I was desperate—my mother is dying, and this nurse," he pointed at Patricia, who was still on her knees, tears streaming down her face, "she refused to treat her. She mocked me, called me dirt, accused me of fraud. She was having me and my mother thrown out onto the street to die."

The temperature in the corridor seemed to drop ten degrees. Director Fontana's face transformed from worried to thunderous.

"Is this true?" His voice was ice.

Patricia sobbed. "Director, please, I can explain—"

"You refused treatment to a dying patient?" Fontana's words were clipped, precise, lethal.

"She was behind on payments," Patricia stammered. "The policy says—"

"The policy," Fontana roared, making everyone in the corridor flinch, "says that we stabilize critical patients first and handle payment arrangements later! I have personally waived fees for dozens of families who couldn't afford care. I have never—never—in my entire career, authorized throwing a dying woman into the streets!"

Patricia collapsed forward, her forehead touching the floor. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please, Director—"

"Why?" Fontana's voice was quiet now, which was somehow worse than the shouting. "Why would you do this?"

Patricia's shoulders shook with sobs. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible. "Alessandro Greco. He... he came to me two days ago. He said that if Mr. Romano's mother needed treatment, I should refuse it. Make it difficult. He said Mr. Romano was trying to scam the hospital, that he was a con artist who deserved to suffer. He... he paid me a thousand dollars."

Luca's vision went red. "Alessandro paid you?"

"Yes," Patricia wailed. "I needed the money. My son's tuition... I thought... I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought you were really trying to scam us—"

"You took a bribe to let an innocent woman die!" Luca's voice shook with fury.

Fontana stepped between them, his face carved from granite. "Patricia Romano, you are hereby terminated, effective immediately. You will never work in healthcare again if I have anything to say about it. Security, remove her from the premises."

"No! Please!" Patricia grabbed at Fontana's pant leg. "I have a family! I need this job! I made a mistake, please—"

"You made a choice," Fontana said coldly. "Now live with the consequences. Security!"

The guards who had been restraining Luca moments ago now moved toward Patricia. They hauled her to her feet as she screamed and begged, her pleas echoing down the corridor until they dragged her through the exit doors.

Silence fell.

Luca's hands stopped shaking. The white-hot rage that had consumed him slowly ebbed, leaving behind a cold, clear determination. Alessandro had tried to kill his mother. That changed everything.

Fontana turned to him, his expression weary. "Mr. Romano, I cannot apologize enough for what you've endured in my hospital. The one hundred million dollars—I'll arrange an immediate refund minus your mother's treatment costs, naturally."

"No," Luca said.

Fontana paused. "No?"

"Keep the money." Luca met the director's eyes. "But I want it used for something specific. Create a fund—a permanent endowment to help patients from poor families who can't afford treatment. So what happened to my mother never happens to anyone else."

Fontana stared at him for a long moment. Then, for the first time since arriving, he smiled.

"Mr. Romano,

" he said quietly, "it would be my honor."