He turned the sealed nursery into a medical room overnight. Nurses rotated shifts. Equipment was delivered. But the girl—her name was Lucy—slept on the floor beside the crib. She only ate bread, hiding extra pieces under her pillow.
On the third day, Benny’s fever broke.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows. Lucy stood before an expensive abstract painting in the library.
“It looks like fire,” she said quietly.
Jonathan sat nearby. “Where are your parents, Lucy?”
“Mama went to the hospital with a cough. She didn’t come back. Elena kept us until the men took everything. She said wait by the crane.”
“How long?”
“Many rains.”
Jonathan felt sick. While he debated mergers and acquisitions, she had been counting storms.
“You don’t have to wait anymore,” he said gently.
“She promised,” Lucy insisted.
He didn’t argue.
Weeks passed. Jonathan ignored his company. His assistant, David Collins, called constantly.
“The board is furious. The merger—”
“Sell my shares,” Jonathan said one afternoon, watching Lucy step cautiously into the backyard with Benny strapped against her chest.
“Sir?”
“Liquidate everything.”