The tip of the ballpoint pen hovered over the signature line of the dical release form.
The room held its breath. The lawyer leaned in, sweating. The doctor adjusted his glasses. Lydia Laurent stopped crying long enough to lean forward, her eyes greedy and sharp, waiting for the ink that would unlock the Vale Family Trust and save her financial life.
"Just sign it, Aria," Lydia urged, her voice trembling with faux-desperation. "Please. For your father."
Aria looked at the line. ’Authorized Representative: Aria Sinclair.’
She smiled. It was a small, private smile.
"You know," Aria said, her voice conversational. "I realized sothing. This form is asking for a family mber to take responsibility. But I’m not really family, am I? According to Raymond, I was a ’bad investnt’."
She lowered the pen.
She didn’t sign her na.
Instead, with slow, deliberate strokes, she drew a large, cartoonish hand with the middle finger raised straight up. She added little motion lines for emphasis. Underneath it, in her elegant cursive, she wrote two words:
FUCK YOU.
She capped the pen with a satisfying click.
"There," Aria said, handing the clipboard back to the stunned lawyer. "I decline to authorize the release of funds. Lydia will have to find another piggy bank."
The lawyer stared at the drawing. He looked at Aria. He looked at the doctor. "Mrs. Sinclair... I cannot accept this."
"Aria!" Lydia shrieked, lunging forward. She grabbed the clipboard, staring at the doodle in horror. "What have you done?! You killed him! You just killed your father!"
"Technically, his bad heart and your spending habits killed him," Aria corrected, standing up and smoothing down Damien’s oversized shirt. "I just declined to pay for the fallout."
"You monster!" Lydia scread, her face contorted with rage. "Everyone will know! I will tell the press! I will tell the world you let him die to save a few dollars!"
"Tell them," Aria shrugged, signaling to her security detail. "The tabloids might enjoy the headline."
The guards stepped forward, creating a wall between Aria and the screeching woman.
"Let’s go, Zoe," Aria said. "I’m bored."
"You are cold!" Lydia wailed, collapsing onto the sofa for dramatic effect. "Heartless! Unnatural!"
Aria walked out of the waiting room without looking back, the sound of Lydia’s histrionics fading as the heavy doors swung shut.
Zoe was trotting beside her, scrolling through her phone. "Okay, that was savage. Top tier. But... uh... Aria? Is he actually going to die? Because that might be bad PR."
"He’s not going to die," Aria said calmly.
She didn’t head for the elevators. She turned left, toward the administrative wing.
"Where are you going?" Zoe asked.
"Billing," Aria said.
She pushed open the door to the Patient Financial Services office. It was quiet, slling of toner and anxiety. A lone clerk sat behind a glass partition.
Aria walked up to the window. She pulled the Black Centurion Card from her purse and slid it under the glass.
"Raymond Vale," Aria said. "ICU. I want to pay the full balance. Surgery, recovery, private room. Everything."
The clerk blinked, picking up the card. It was made of titanium. "Uh... the full balance? Ma’am, that’s estimated to be over two hundred thousand dollars."
"Swipe it," Aria said. "But I have a condition."
"A condition?"
"Anonymity," Aria said, her voice dropping to a steely whisper. "You tell the doctors the funding was approved. You tell the patient it was covered by an ’Anonymous Donor’. You do not tell his wife, Lydia Laurent, or his daughter, Bella Vale, where the money ca from. As far as they know, it was a clerical miracle."
"I... I can do that," the clerk stamred, typing furiously.
"Good."
Zoe stared at her, wide-eyed. "You’re paying for it? After that performance?"
"I need him alive," Aria murmured, watching the transaction approval pop up on the screen. "A dead Raymond is a martyr for Lydia to cry over. A living Raymond, who thinks his wife tried to let him die and who owes his life to a mystery benefactor? That’s a witness to the fraud."
She took the card back.
"Besides," she added, a wicked glint in her eye. "It’ll drive Lydia crazy trying to figure out who saved him. She knows the Trust is locked. She’ll think he has a secret account she missed."
They walked back to the elevators.
"You’re terrifying," Zoe decided, hooking her arm through Aria’s. "I love it."
They reached the lobby. The paparazzi were still swarming outside, but the "Wall" of guards had cleared a path.
Near the revolving doors, Bella Vale was standing in front of a ring light held by an assistant. She was crying on cara.
"Please, guys," Bella sobbed into her phone. "We’re just praying for a miracle. My sister... she left. She couldn’t handle the pressure. But I’m still here. #PrayForRaymond."
Aria walked past her, fuzzy slides slapping softly on the marble.
Bella looked up, mid-sob. "Aria?"
Aria didn’t stop. She just raised her hand in a small, lazy wave without turning her head.
"Good luck with the prayers, Bella," Aria called out. "I hear miracles are expensive this ti of year."
She pushed through the doors into the warm glow of the early evening sun. The flashbulbs erupted instantly, blindingly bright.
"Mrs. Sinclair! Is he dead?"
"Did you sign the papers?"
Aria paused on the curb. She lowered her sunglasses, looking directly into the cara lens of a major network.
"My father is in excellent hands," she said, her voice projecting clearly over the noise. "In fact, I heard a rumor that a very generous, anonymous donor just covered his entire bill. He won’t be dying today."
The reporters scribbled furiously.
"What about the company?" a reporter shouted from the back. "What happens to Vale Entertainnt?"
Aria laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound.
"Vale Entertainnt?" she asked, tilting her head. "That doesn’t exist anymore. It’s just a ghost with a line of credit."
She slipped her sunglasses back on and climbed into the waiting SUV.
Zoe scrambled in after her. "Okay, that ’ghost’ line is going to be a in five minutes."
Aria checked her phone.
[The Wallet: Co to the office. ]
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