My little sister, Maya, got into a car crash. I put her in a high-end recovery center.

Her injuries were bad. Progress crawled. They kept extending her treatment, one phase at a time.

Early this morning, the manager called. Said the card wouldn't cover the next phase.

That's when it hit me—peak season at the company. I'd been slammed, barely breathing. I hadn't topped it up in forever.

I told her I'd transfer the money. She shut it down. Said I had to show up and sign in person before they'd extend anything.

So after work, I rushed over.

Straight into rush hour traffic.

Then she called again.

"Ms. Keyne, your balance hit zero three minutes ago. We're terminating services. This is a premium facility—we don't do free care. The patient tied to your account has been removed per policy."

My mind went blank. I couldn't process a word.

Up front, Colin, my assistant, caught it. He glanced at me in the rearview, eyes tight.

"Removed?"

I gripped my phone, knuckles white. Waited a beat, making sure I heard right.

"What do you mean?"

"Removed means removed. Thrown out. You don't get plain English?" Winnie Booth scoffed, smug. "This is the top private recovery center in Kinston. Not a charity. No money, we discharge. What, you want us to keep her?"

Worst-case confirmed.

"You had no right!" I snapped. "She's a crash victim. Both legs shattered. She can barely stand—and you dumped her?"

Early March. A late winter storm had just passed. Snow still lined the roads.

Wind scraped the windows, sharp and loud. The temperature hovered near freezing.

Maya—used to the recovery center blasting heat 24/7—wore a thin patient gown.

No coat.

Worse, she was still weak.

Every night at eight, she took imported meds for nerve repair, then two hours on specialized equipment.

Without it, the pain would be unbearable.

She could end up permanently paralyzed.

Maya was my only weakness.

After our parents handed me Keyne Corp and left the country, she was all I had.

Growing up, if she wanted something, I'd get it—no questions. If she got a scratch, it messed me up for days.

And now—the sister I'd never even raised my voice at—

was out there in the freezing wind.

"Ms. Booth, I'm on my way to renew. You know it's rush hour—traffic's a mess. I'll transfer the money right now. Just recharge the card first."

I forced myself to stay calm, but my voice still shook.

"I'll wire ten grand. No—fifty. Send someone to find Maya. Bring her back to her VIP room. Please."

This was out of my hands. If I pushed too hard, she'd take it out on Maya. My voice dropped, almost begging.

Winnie laughed—sharp and grating.

"Oh, Ms. Keyne, I'm so sorry." She didn't sound it. "New policy. For client security, all large recharges and renewals must be signed in person by a family member with valid ID. We don't accept remote transfers."

"Just bring Maya back. I'm begging you. It's freezing out. She can't handle it. I'm two kilometers away—I'll be there any minute."

Tears burned at my eyes. It felt like a fist squeezing my chest.

"I'm sorry, but your balance is zero. You're not our client. Our staff are busy. We're not searching the streets for a non-client."

"Two kilometers? Even if you were two feet away, your balance would still be zero." Her voice went flat. "Sorry, Ms. Keyne. I have work to do. Please come recharge as soon as possible."

Click. The line went dead.

I stared at the endless line of red taillights. Despair hit from deep inside.

Maya's paper-white face kept flashing in my head.

She was kind. Gentle. Couldn't even step on an ant.

Just days ago, she smiled at me. "Kylie, you're busy. You don't have to come so much. I'm fine here. They take good care of me."

And now she was out in the freezing cold.

She couldn't stand. Stuck in that icy wheelchair—or did they dump her on the ground?

My chest felt like it was cracking open.

"Winnie Booth..." I bit down hard, tasted blood.

I locked my eyes on the road. No idea how long it took, but the recovery center gates finally came into view.

I didn't think. I shoved the car door open and ran.

The wind hit my face like knives, bits of ice stinging my skin.

I was in a tailored suit and stilettos. Didn't care how I looked as I rushed into the recovery center's fancy lobby.

The heat blasted inside, thick and suffocating.

A few nurses at the front desk were snacking, chatting. They froze when I came in.

I ignored them and headed straight for the manager's office.

Inside, Winnie sat in a wide leather chair.

Her designer suit fit like trash—loud and off. She held a small mirror, carefully swiping on bright red lipstick.

I burst in. Her hand jerked. The lipstick dragged crooked across her mouth.

"Who do you think you are? Ever heard of knocking?" She shot up, slammed the mirror down, and pointed at me. "This is the manager's office at Cloudemont Retreat, not a street market."

I walked up and slammed both hands on her desk. My eyes locked on hers, voice ice-cold.

"Where is Maya Keyne?"

She paused, eyes dragging over me. The flicker of panic vanished—replaced by pure contempt.

"Oh, Ms. Keyne." She eased back into her chair, grabbed a tissue, and wiped the lipstick off the corner of her mouth. "Did you bring enough money?"

"I did. Now get Maya back."

I was still catching my breath as I pulled a black-and-gold card from my bag and slapped it on the desk.

"Run it. Put fifty grand on it. Send every caregiver you've got to find her. Now."

"I understand you're anxious, but we have procedures."

She glanced at the card, then back at me, eyes taunting.

"Per our new policy at Cloudemont, renewals require a new service contract. No signed contract, no payment. It's to prevent certain family members from making false claims later."

"Fine. A contract." I swallowed it down, chest heaving. "Bring it. I'll sign."

If it got the staff out there—got Maya back inside, warm, on oxygen—I could take a few minutes of this.

Once she was safe, I'd make this woman—and the director—learn what hell felt like.

"What's the rush? If you want to sign, I'll have to draft it."

She saw how desperate I was. It lit something ugly in her eyes.

She slowed on purpose, turned to her computer, and took her time.