Too Late, Mr. Forbes: Watch Me Shine

The cab stopped at a red light just past the university gates.

Hayden kept her eyes glued to the brick facade of the journalism school. Her stomach hollowed out.

Seven years ago, she had held the acceptance letter for the full-ride investigative journalism program in her hands. She remembered the exact sound the thick paper made when August ripped it in half. You don't need to work, he had said, his hands resting heavily on her shoulders. I'll take care of you. I'll take care of Aniya.

She had traded her voice for her sister's medical bills.

The light turned green. The cab jerked forward, leaving the campus behind.

Hayden pulled her phone from her pocket. She opened her email app and scrolled down to the hidden drafts folder. She tapped on a document she hadn't opened in three years.

Her resume.

Her thumbs flew across the screen. She updated the contact information. Then, she scrolled to the 'Experience' section. She bypassed the name field entirely, refusing to type the pen name she had used in secret. Instead, she created a section labeled 'Independent Investigative Samples.' She listed the titles and brief summaries of the three explosive financial exposés she had published anonymously before August's surveillance had become too tight. If they questioned the authorship, she would prove it in the interview room by breaking down her investigative methodology piece by piece. It was the only way to protect her identity while proving her worth.

She checked the boxes for the top media conglomerates in Manhattan. Her finger hovered over Vanguard Media, the most aggressive, ruthless news outlet in the city.

She pressed send.

She stared at the confirmation screen for a long moment, then made a decision. If August had already moved against her, then Aniya was vulnerable right now—not tomorrow morning, not after she'd settled into some motel. She leaned forward and spoke to the driver. "Change of plans. Take me to Mount Sinai Hospital first."

The driver nodded and changed lanes at the next intersection.

The cab pulled up to the towering glass entrance of Mount Sinai Hospital.

Hayden paid the driver, grabbed her suitcase, and walked through the sliding doors. The sharp smell of antiseptic and bleach stung her nose. She walked straight to the elevators and hit the button for the ICU step-down unit.

She signed in at the nurse's station. Her palms were sweating. She walked down the quiet corridor and stopped outside room 412.

Through the glass window, she saw her younger sister, Aniya. Aniya's skin was the color of old paper. Clear tubes ran across her cheeks, feeding oxygen into her nose.

Hayden pressed her hand against her chest, right over her heart, waiting for the painful squeezing sensation to pass. She pushed the door open and stepped inside quietly.

Aniya's eyelids fluttered. She turned her head. Her sunken eyes widened when she saw the black suitcase resting against the wall.

"Hayden?" Aniya's voice was a dry rasp. She reached out a trembling hand. "Did he... did he kick you out?"

Hayden walked to the bed and took Aniya's cold, bony hand in both of hers. She forced the corners of her mouth up into a soft smile.

"No, sweetie," Hayden said softly. "I left. I'm getting my own life back."

Before Aniya could answer, the door swung open. Dr. Evans walked in, holding a thick clipboard. He looked at Hayden, his expression tight.

"Miss Simmons," Dr. Evans said, his voice low. "The billing department just notified me. The trust account that covers Aniya's targeted therapy has been frozen. The payment for this month's cycle was declined."

Ice water flooded Hayden's veins. Her breath hitched.

August. He was cutting off Aniya's lifeline to force her back to the estate.

She stood up, placing herself between the doctor and her sister's bed. She kept her face completely blank, refusing to let Aniya see her panic.

"It's a temporary freeze on the account," Hayden said, her voice steady and hard, masking the frantic calculations running through her mind. "Please give me a forty-eight-hour grace period. I will have a partial payment for the emergency fees wired to the hospital by then." She was already mentally scrolling through her options, planning to contact an old informant who owed her a favor, or pawn the vintage watch she had bought with her own money years ago.

Dr. Evans sighed, nodding slowly. "Please do. We can't delay the next dose." He turned and left the room.

A tear slipped down Aniya's cheek, soaking into her pillow. "I'm ruining your life," she whispered. "You have to go back to him because of me."

Hayden leaned down. She wiped the tear away with her thumb, her touch gentle but firm. "Don't you ever say that again. I am never going back to him."

She pulled her phone out to distract her. "Look, I just sent out my resume on the way here— "

She glanced at the screen for the first time since stepping out of the cab. A notification sat waiting from twenty minutes ago. It was an email from Vanguard Media.

Hayden tapped it. Her eyes scanned the brief, sharp text from the HR department. Her pulse hammered in her ears.

She looked down at Aniya, a fierce, burning light in her eyes. "I got an interview. Tomorrow morning."