Bumping the Wrong Passenger

I ignored the crowd of onlookers and turned to the staff at the counter.

"A refund is fine," I said. "But you need to clearly state on the refund form, in writing, that the ticket was refunded because seats on your airline were oversold and I was forcibly denied boarding."

I didn't want the Castilles to come looking for me later and think that I had deliberately broken our agreement. I definitely wasn't going to take the fall for this.

Barney's expression darkened, and he slammed his hand on the counter.

"In your dreams! We offered you a solution, and you refused it. Now you want to smear our airline?" he snapped. "Security! Are you all dead? Hurry up and drag this lunatic out of here!"

Several airport security guards rushed over immediately, grabbing my arms firmly from both sides.

"Let go of me!"

I struggled desperately, but they didn't listen and dragged me straight toward the airport exit.

As we passed Barney, I couldn't help but warn him, "You'd better remember my face and every single word you said today. Soon, you'll be crawling to me and begging me."

However, not only was he not intimidated, but he even kicked my suitcase over. The already damaged suitcase burst open, spilling my clothes—and the specially prepared medication—across the ground.

Barney stomped on the medicine bottle, crushing it, and the custom-made pills inside instantly turned to powder.

Crap! That was the medicine I'd specially made for Kellie Castille—and it was the only batch! Without it, there was no way she'd be able to survive the post-surgery recovery period.

"Oh dear, my bad," Barney said sarcastically from behind.

Countless phone cameras instantly pointed at me, and waves of mocking laughter drowned me from all sides.

I was thrown out of the terminal and landed hard on the concrete. Then, Barney tossed my suitcase at me, as if he were throwing out the trash.

"Take your junk and get lost! If you cause any more trouble, we'll call the police and report you for public disturbance!"

Just then, my phone started vibrating wildly. I'd just answered it when a barrage of accusations came through the line.

"What is going on with you? The plane took off ages ago. I checked the passenger manifest, but your name isn't on it at all!"

It was Louis Pomeroy, the Castille family's butler. His tone was full of disdain and arrogance.

"The Castilles made a significant effort to hire you, and we've even transferred the deposit. And now you're pulling a stunt like this at such a critical time?

"Who do you think you are to make the Castilles wait for you? If it weren't for your surgical skills, do you really think you'd be qualified to treat the young Ms. Castille?"

I wanted to explain that it was the airline's problem, but he refused to listen.

"I'm warning you—Ms. Castille's condition is terminal, and it can't be delayed. If you don't show up in Jorleton Mercy Hospital's OR before nightfall today, don't blame us for what happens next!

"You dare take our money and not go through with the job? Believe me when I say that I can make sure you'll never work in the medical field again!"

The call was abruptly hung up, leaving only the dial tone echoing in my ear.

Swallowing my anger, I called Louis back. As soon as the call connected, his impatient voice came through.

"What else do you have to say? Figure out a way to charter a plane and get over here!"

"No need," I said coldly. "If you want to know why I didn't board the plane, go ask the airline manager of the flight Ms. Castille was on."

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said."

With that, I hung up.

Then I opened my banking app, found the three million dollars the Castilles had deposited earlier as a show of sincerity, and refunded it in full.