Two Hours to Save a National Hero

Oscar's voice was completely shot. "The recipient is already on ECMO! But he can't hold out much longer! His liver and kidneys are starting to fail!

"A surgical team of 30 people has been waiting here for four hours! Just tell me exactly when the heart is going to get here!"

I opened my mouth, but not a single syllable came out.

What was I supposed to say?

Was I supposed to tell him that the heart was sitting on a tray in an interrogation room, already reduced to a discolored piece of dead tissue?

"Dr. Hooper…" My voice trembled. "The heart… It's already…"

I couldn't finish. I covered my face and broke down sobbing.

The other end of the line went dead silent for a long time. So long that I thought the call had dropped.

Then, Oscar spoke, his voice tightly strained. "Conner, do you have any idea who this recipient is? Do you know how long the entire hospital has been preparing for this surgery? Do you know—"

Before he could finish, the rapid beeping of equipment alarms blared in the background.

Then came a nurse's panicked shout, "Blood pressure is unmeasurable! Heart rate is zero! Dr. Hooper! The ECMO can't hold him anymore!"

Oscar didn't say another word to me.

The phone was filled only with a chaotic mess of footsteps, machine alarms, and shouting.

After about two minutes, Oscar picked the phone back up. His voice had gone flat, completely devoid of any emotion. "Conner, the recipient suffered heart failure at 11:51 am. He has been pronounced dead. You're on your own now."

The line went dead.

I slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor.

My tears had run dry, leaving my eyes burning and raw. Every single joint in my body ached.

That was a human life.

A 72-year-old man who had waited eight months to find a matching heart was gone just like that.

The interrogator kept his head down, not daring to look at me.

Right then, a cold sneer came from the side. Edward set down his cup of coffee and clapped his hands. "Done with the show?"

He stood up from his chair and stretched. "Conner, your acting skills are honestly wasted at the operating table. Dead recipient? Heart failure? I bet every single one of those people is an actor you paid. Even the voiceovers at a funeral home aren't this professional."

He walked over to me, crouched down, and tapped my forehead with his finger. "Stop playing the victim, Conner. You think crying a little is going to fix this?

"Let me tell you, half a million people watched the live stream today. The hashtag 'DrugSmugglingDoctor' is already trending on social media. Your career is officially over."

I finally snapped back to reality.

I looked up and stared him straight in the eye. "Edward, that was a life. A living, breathing human life is gone because of your single kick. How does your conscience handle that?"

Edward blinked, then burst out laughing. He laughed so hard that he bent double. "Conscience? How much is a conscience even worth? Don't try to scare me with dead people, Conner.

"People die in hospitals every single day. What difference does one more or less make? Besides, who knows if that old guy is actually dead? For all I know, he's perfectly fine, and you're just trying to guilt-trip me."

He straightened up, pulled out his phone to check something, and clicked his tongue. "But look, Conner, let's not make things uglier than they need to be. After all, Sara is still waiting at home for news."

He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "You know very well that in the three years you've been married to Sara, that resettlement property has always been under your name.

"The 300 thousand dollars my dad's treatment cost came out of that property, too. Now that he's gone, shouldn't that apartment be handed back to our family?"

My eyes widened as I stared at him. "Y-you pulled this whole stunt at the train station today just for that apartment?"

Edward nodded. "Why else? You think I have nothing better to do than follow you all the way out here?"