Chapter 2

The livestream connection had barely dropped before the hospital called.

It was Bartholomew Gray, the male attending physician I'd been in contact with earliest.

"Mr. Baxter, we all caught the livestream just now."

"That was you on the connection, wasn't it?"

"I don't mean to lecture you, but you're not some green kid fresh out of the gate anymore. Why would you go and get on a live connection with some little influencer?"

"Everyone online is cursing you right now. If someone traces it back and finds you, that's no good for you."

I sat back in my chair, in no hurry at all.

"So I should just sit here and let them pin the blame on me?"

Bartholomew pretended to think it over, then spoke slowly.

"You're letting your temper get the better of you."

"How about this. I'll take the lead and pick out a few of the parents for you, you cover their bills for them. That way it shows your goodwill, and it makes the parents trust you more."

In my last life, he'd said the exact same thing to me.

And what came of it?

I paid off the bills for the few parents who'd made the biggest fuss.

I put their children first. They kicked me into the pit.

Back when I needed my own burns treated, the disinfectant medication I needed was held up by people they'd sent.

My family called Bartholomew. Not a single call went through.

My fingers tapped against the desk, and I let out a scoff.

"Dr. Gray, you've got this backwards."

"The donor has to grovel to the ones benefiting from it? Where does that logic come from?"

"Since your hospital cares so little about my donation that you'd send me a muddled foot soldier like you, then there's nothing I can do."

That afternoon, my assistant, standing beside me, called the hospital director directly.

We cut off this month's treatment donation.

The dressings and equipment I'd quietly thrown in on top for treating burns were cut too.

A parent who'd just finished having their child's wound debrided and dressed took one look at the bill in hand and just froze.

Then slapped the bill down on the nurses' station.

"Have you people gone insane over money? My daughter's wounds used to cost a few dollars to treat."

"Now one visit is over a thousand. Has this hospital lost its mind over money?!"

The nurse wasn't rattled. She set the bill back down on the station.

"Sir, the charges aren't wrong. It was always this much."

"It's just that before, all these supplies were billed to that donor's account. For every single item, he asked to cover ninety percent."

The parent just stood there, stunned.

Louise came over from the crowd to soothe them.

"Jamie, the hospital's obviously in on it with the donor. This is just their trick to force us parents to back down."

"It's only a thousand. The wound doesn't need treating every day anyway. So we spend it, we spend it."

"If he really wants a good name, he'll still have to pay for our kids' treatment."

"And when he does, we'll just make him reimburse the money."

The parent nodded. The nurse recorded everything they said, word for word.

Then sent it to me.

That afternoon, the livestream started up again.

It was Louise again, only this time two parents showed up on the stream too.

"We're begging that donor to let us poor parents go."

"All we want is to treat our children. Our kids are so young. I don't want mine turned into a tool for you to grab fame and money."

"Won't the donor even allow us that much?"

One of the mothers had already started wiping her eyes.

"Is there no justice in this world? Does no one see us, the ones with no power?"

A child wrapped head to toe in gauze glanced at the camera and burrowed, frightened, into their mother's arms.

"Mommy, it hurts."