Chapter 5 - The Boy in Mount Sinai
I grabbed the phone with trembling fingers, dialing the direct extension to the pediatric intensive care unit on the 7th floor of Mount Sinai.
“Pediatric Pulmonary, Nurse Jackson speaking.”
“Nurse Jackson... it’s Cara. How is Toby?”
“Cara!” Nurse Jackson’s voice shifted from professional exhaustion to breathless excitement. “Where are you? We’ve been trying to reach you for an hour!”
My stomach dropped. “Is he having an exacerbation? Is he on oxygen?”
“No, Cara! Dr. Aaron Bennett—the chief of pediatric pulmonology from Johns Hopkins—just arrived by private medical helicopter thirty minutes ago! He brought the complete Trikafta gene-modulator protocol and established a specialized pediatric intensive care suite under full private endowment!”
I froze, looking up at Adrian.
“The hospital administration told us the entire $300,000 treatment cost was wired in full from the Duca Philanthropic Heritage Trust,” Nurse Jackson continued, her voice trembling with joyful emotion. “Toby is sitting up in bed eating strawberry ice cream! He says he’s waiting for his big sister to come watch cartoons!”
Tears flooded my eyes, spilling over my cheeks like rain.
For two years, I had watched my ten-year-old brother slowly suffocate, scrubbing floors fourteen hours a day, begging insurance coordinators, and rationing his inhalers while the world walked past without caring.
In less than three hours, the man the world called a monster had moved an entire mountain with a single wire transfer.
“Thank you, Nurse Jackson... tell Toby I love him and I’ll be there soon,” I whispered, hanging up the phone.
I stood up, walked over to Adrian, and looked into his dark slate-grey eyes.
“Why did you do that?” I asked, my voice cracking.
Adrian stood up, towering over me, his hand reaching out to gently brush a tear from my cheekbone.
“My younger sister, Elena, had cystic fibrosis,” Adrian said softly, a deep, ancient sorrow echoing beneath his iron composure. “Twenty years ago, when I was a street kid in Brooklyn with twenty dollars in my pocket, I couldn't buy the antibiotics she needed. I held her hand in a public clinic while she took her last breath.”
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He looked down at me with an intensity that burned through the cold room.
“I promised myself that if I ever built an empire, no child under my watch would ever die because of a balance sheet. You gave me my life tonight, Cara. Giving Toby his life is the least I can do.”
