But there was one thing his wealth hadn’t been able to return in five long years: his ability to walk.
That afternoon, the private garden of the Ridgewood Rehabilitation Center looked flawless, almost staged. White tablecloths fluttered lightly in the breeze, crystal glasses caught the sunlight, and expensive whiskey glowed amber in the afternoon light.
At the center sat Ethan, in a sleek, custom-built wheelchair, commanding attention like a fallen king who refused to surrender his throne.
Around him, four influential businessmen laughed loudly—not at anything clever, but at something far more cruel.
In front of them stood a barefoot ten-year-old girl, trembling slightly on the polished marble floor. Her dress was worn and torn, her small frame marked by hardship. Her name was Lily. Beside her stood her mother, Maria, gripping a mop as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.
“One million dollars,” Ethan said, his voice booming as he pointed at the girl with a chilling smile. “It’s yours if you can make me walk again. What do you say, kid?”