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Joshua Hart stood in the dimly lit hallway of the Cavesh mansion, his phone pressed against his ear as the hospital administrator's words echoed through his mind like a death sentence. "Mr. Hart, your mother's condition has deteriorated rapidly. We need to perform emergency surgery within the next two hours. The cost will be one hundred thousand dollars." His hands trembled. "I—I understand. I'll get the money." For three years, Joshua had endured his position as the Cavesh family's live-in son-in-law. He had accepted the sneers, the contempt, and the treatment that made him feel less than human. All of it—every humiliation—was bearable because Natalie paid his mother's hospital bills each month. That small mercy kept his critically ill mother alive. But one hundred thousand dollars? He had no authority to access that kind of money. Joshua dialed Natalie's number with shaking fingers. The phone rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail. He tried again. And again. Each time, the same result. "Come on, Natalie. Please," he whispered desperately. On his fifth attempt, a different voice answered—smooth, smug, and dripping with disdain. "Stop calling!" Joshua’s mood darkened instantly. It’s him again—Mark Sullivan! Mark was Natalie’s first love, the one she had never truly let go of. Now, he had returned as her “personal assistant.” Although Natalie and Joshua had only ever shared a lukewarm relationship, ever since Mark came back from abroad, her attention seemed to drift back to him once more. She had completely forgotten that it was Mark who had abandoned her back then—running off overseas to enjoy himself while she was left alone, forced to endure the pressure of her family pushing her into marriage. In the end, Natalie had casually chosen Joshua, someone easy to control, to be her contract husband. “Stop calling. Natalie’s busy—she doesn’t have time to listen to your petty domestic nonsense!” Mark said impatiently, brushing him off. Joshua's jaw clenched. Before Mark returned, Natalie had been consistently covering the medical expenses for Joshua’s mother. But after his return, he began using all sorts of excuses to block those payments. The reason was simple: Mark had come back for Natalie’s money. He already regarded her wealth as his own—how could he possibly allow her to spend so much of it on Joshua’s mother? But now, Joshua had to beg Mark. Again. "Mark, please. My mother—she's dying. She needs emergency surgery, and I need to speak with Natalie about the money." "Dying?" Mark laughed, a cold, mocking sound. "Your mother's always dying, isn't she? That's your whole shtick—playing the devoted son with the sick mother. It's getting old, Joshua." The words hit like physical blows, but Joshua forced himself to stay calm. "I'm not lying. The hospital just called. If she doesn't get this surgery in the next two hours—" "How much?" Mark interrupted, his tone suggesting he was already bored with the conversation. "One hundred thousand dollars." The silence that followed was heavy with contempt. When Mark finally spoke, his voice was laced with cruel amusement. "One hundred thousand? Are you out of your mind? Do you think Natalie is running a charity? You're nothing but a burden she took on out of pity, and now you want to bleed her dry?" "It's not like that," Joshua said through gritted teeth. "My mother needs—" "I don't care what your mother needs," Mark snapped. "If you want this money, you'll follow protocol. Get me official documentation from the hospital—medical reports, cost breakdowns, doctor signatures. Everything. And it better be legitimate because I'll be verifying every single detail." Joshua's heart sank. "That'll take time. She doesn't have time—" "Then you'd better hurry, hadn't you?" Mark's voice was syrupy with false sympathy. "Oh, and Joshua? Stop calling Natalie directly. You want something, you go through me. That's how this works. You're staff, not family. Learn your place." The line went dead. Joshua stood frozen for a moment, rage and desperation warring inside him. Then he moved, sprinting from the mansion to his car—Natalie's old car that she'd "generously" allowed him to use. He drove to the hospital like a man possessed, his mother's face filling his mind. At the hospital, he pleaded with the administrator, who reluctantly provided the documentation. Medical reports, surgical proposals, itemized costs—everything Mark had demanded. Joshua's hands were sweating as he clutched the papers, racing back to find Mark. He found him in Natalie's office building, lounging in the reception area like he owned the place. Mark's eyes flickered with annoyance when Joshua approached. "Here." Joshua thrust the documents forward. "Everything you asked for. Now please, contact Natalie. My mother—" Mark took the papers with exaggerated slowness, barely glancing at them before looking up with a sneer. "These could be fake." Joshua felt his blood run cold. "What?" "Fake. Forged. Fabricated." Mark enunciated each word slowly, as if speaking to a child. "You think I'm silly? You could've paid someone to mock up these documents. For all I know, your mother's fine, and you're trying to scam one hundred thousand dollars out of my boss." "Are you insane?" Joshua's voice rose despite himself. "Why would I—my mother is dying! Call the hospital yourself if you don't believe me!" "Watch your tone," Mark said coldly, standing up to his full height. He was taller than Joshua, and he used it to his advantage, looking down his nose with pure contempt. "You're nothing but a leech who married into money. A pathetic excuse for a man who can't even provide for his own family. And now you have the audacity to raise your voice at me? Natalie was right about you—give someone like you an inch, and you think you deserve a mile." Something inside Joshua snapped. His mother was dying—dying—and this arrogant scum was playing power games. His hand shot out, grabbing Mark by the collar of his expensive shirt. "My mother is dying," Joshua said, his voice low and dangerous. "I need that money. Now." "Get your hands off me!" Mark's eyes widened, but there was a calculating gleam in them. "Joshua!" The sharp voice cut through the tension like a knife. Joshua's head snapped toward the doorway, where Natalie Cavesh stood, her expression carved from ice. She was beautiful—her dark hair perfectly styled, her designer suit immaculate—but her eyes held no warmth, no compassion. Only cold judgment. "Natalie, I can explain—" Joshua released Mark immediately, but it was too late. "Natalie!" Mark stumbled backward dramatically, one hand going to his collar as if he'd been brutally attacked. "Thank God you're here. Joshua's been trying to extort money from you. When I asked for verification, he became violent!" "That's not true!" Joshua protested. "He's lying! My mother needs emergency surgery, and he's been stalling—" "Enough." Natalie's voice was arctic. She didn't even look at Joshua directly, as if he were beneath her notice. "Mark, are you alright?" "I'm fine, Natalie. Just shaken. I was only trying to protect you from being scammed." Mark's voice was perfectly calibrated—wounded but brave. "Scammed?" Joshua felt his world tilting. "Natalie, please. Look at the documents. Call the hospital. My mother—" "I said enough." Natalie finally turned her gaze on him, and Joshua felt the full weight of her contempt. "You've gone too far this time, Joshua. Harassing my assistant? Attempting to assault him? All because you couldn't get your way?" "That's not what happened!" "I saw you with my own eyes," Natalie said coldly. "Your hands were on his collar. Or are you going to claim I'm lying too?" Joshua opened his mouth, then closed it. What could he say? She had seen that part—she just hadn't seen what led to it. "This is exactly why I limit your spending," Natalie continued, her voice cutting. "People like you—you don't understand consequences. Give you access to money, and you lose all sense of reality. You think you're entitled to whatever you want, whenever you want it." "My mother is dying," Joshua said quietly, desperately. "Please." "If your mother truly needs surgery, you'll submit a proper request through the appropriate channels. With verification. After you've apologized to Mark for your behavior." Natalie's eyes narrowed. "Until then, I'm suspending all payments for your mother's treatment. Including her regular medications." The words hit Joshua like a physical blow. "You can't—" "I can do whatever I want," Natalie said flatly. "You seem to forget that everything you have—the roof over your head, the food you eat, your mother's treatment—it all comes from my generosity. And I'm tired of your ingratitude." She turned to leave, Mark following with a triumphant smirk on his face. "Natalie!" Joshua's voice cracked. "Please! She'll die without treatment!" Natalie paused at the doorway, not turning around. "Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you laid hands on my assistant. Admit your mistake, Joshua. Apologize properly. Then we'll talk." Joshua's lips curved into a bitter smile as Natalie's words echoed in his mind. Admit your mistake. Apologize properly. Then we'll talk. If his mother died today—and without treatment, she would—what would be the point of Natalie paying for medication? There would be no one left to save. But Natalie didn't care. She had already turned away, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor as she strode toward the exit. Mark followed close behind, and just before disappearing through the glass doors, he glanced back at Joshua. The smile he gave was vicious, triumphant—the look of a man who had won. Joshua stood frozen, the crumpled hospital documents still clutched in his hands. Then he moved, his phone already out, scrolling desperately through his contacts. There had to be someone—anyone—who could help. He called his college roommate first. "David? It's Joshua. Listen, I know this is sudden, but I need your help. My mother needs emergency surgery and I need to borrow—" "Joshua?" David's voice was cautious. "Man, I heard you married into the Cavesh family. Aren't they loaded? Why are you calling me?" "It's complicated. Please, I just need one hundred thousand—" "One hundred thousand?" David laughed, the sound nervous and uncomfortable. "Dude, I don't have that kind of money. And even if I did... look, I'm sorry about your mom, but I can't get involved in whatever's going on between you and your wife. That's above my pay grade." The line went dead. Joshua tried another number. Then another. Each conversation followed the same pattern. "The Cavesh family's son-in-law is begging for money? That's rich." "Sorry, Joshua. I don't lend money to family, and we haven't talked in years." "You married a millionaire and you're calling me for a loan? What kind of scam is this?" By the eighth call, Joshua had stopped counting the rejections. His hands shook as he dialed his former supervisor from the part-time job he'd worked before marrying Natalie. "Mr. Patterson? It's Joshua Hart. I used to work in your warehouse—" "I remember you." The man's voice was gruff. "Didn't you quit to become some rich woman's husband? How's that working out?" Joshua swallowed his pride. "My mother is dying. I need to borrow money for her surgery. I'll pay you back with interest—" "Let me stop you right there, kid." Mr. Patterson's laugh was harsh. "You made your choice. You picked the easy life—or what you thought would be easy. Now you're calling me, a guy who barely makes fifty grand a year, asking for a loan? Where's your rich wife?" "Please—" "The answer's no. And here's some free advice: a man who can't stand on his own two feet isn't much of a man at all. You want money? Earn it yourself." Click. Joshua's vision blurred. He found himself at the hospital twenty minutes later, standing in the sterile hallway outside the ICU. Through the window, he could see his mother's frail form, tubes and wires connecting her to machines that beeped steadily. A doctor emerged from the ICU, the same one who had called him earlier. Dr. Morrison's face was professionally sympathetic but firm. "Mr. Hart, I understand your situation is difficult, but—" "Please." Joshua grabbed the doctor's sleeve, not caring how desperate he looked. "Just perform the surgery. I'll get you the money. I'll work it off. I'll do anything—just save her first." Dr. Morrison gently extracted his arm. "Mr. Hart, I wish I could help. But hospital policy is clear. We cannot perform elective surgeries without payment arrangements in place." "Elective?" Joshua's voice rose. "She's dying!" "Without the surgery, yes, her prognosis is poor. But it's not an immediate emergency room situation, which means different rules apply." The doctor's voice softened slightly. "I'm truly sorry. If you can secure the funds, we'll operate immediately. But my hands are tied." "There has to be something—" "Talk to our financial services department. They might be able to arrange a payment plan, but for this amount..." Dr. Morrison trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavy between them. No one will give you credit. The doctor walked away, leaving Joshua alone in the hallway. He slumped against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the cold floor. His mother was dying. His wife had abandoned him. No one would help. A television mounted on the wall droned on, tuned to a financial news channel. Joshua barely registered it until a particular headline caught his attention. "Breaking news in the tech sector today," the anchor announced, her voice bright with enthusiasm. "Galaxy Tech, a company many wrote off as vaporware years ago, has shocked the world by successfully going public after developing what they're calling the most advanced artificial intelligence system in human history." Joshua's head snapped up. The screen showed footage of a gleaming corporate building, the Galaxy Tech logo prominent. Charts displayed stock prices climbing at impossible angles. "The company raised initial funds through crowdsourcing nearly eight years ago," the anchor continued. "After years of silence, most investors withdrew their money, writing off their losses. But one investor held onto their shares—an 80% stake that, based on today's valuation, is worth approximately one hundred billion dollars." Joshua's mind reeled. Galaxy Tech. He knew that name. When he'd just graduated college, young and idealistic, he'd seen their fundraising announcement. Something about their sincerity, their vision, had moved him. He'd invested five hundred dollars—every spare cent he had at the time. Then his mother got sick. In the chaos of medical bills and desperate attempts to keep her alive, he'd forgotten completely about that investment. His phone rang, the sound jarring in the quiet hallway. Unknown number. His hand trembled as he answered. "Hello?" "Am I speaking with Joshua Hart?" The woman's voice was professional, crisp. "Yes, this is Joshua." "Mr. Hart, my name is Rebecca Sterling. I'm calling from Galaxy Tech's investor relations department. I have some rather extraordinary news for you." Joshua's heart pounded. "What news?" "Our records show you were one of our earliest investors. You purchased shares for five hundred dollars eight years ago and never withdrew your investment. Is that correct?" "Yes, I—I forgot about it." "Well, Mr. Hart, I'm delighted to inform you that as of today, you are the majority shareholder of Galaxy Tech with an 80% stake. Congratulations—you've just become our chairman." The hallway spun. Joshua gripped the phone so hard his knuckles turned white. "That's—that's not possible." "It's very possible, Mr. Hart. Additionally, we owe you accumulated dividends from the past several years. That transfer has already been processed. You should receive confirmation momentarily." "How much?" Joshua's voice was barely a whisper. "Three point five billion dollars, Mr. Hart. Welcome to Galaxy Tech." The line went dead. Joshua stared at his phone, unable to process what he'd just heard. Then his phone chimed—a text message notification from Star Bank. With shaking hands, he opened it. STAR BANK ALERT: Your account ending in 7742 has received a wire transfer of $3,500,000,000.00 from Galaxy Tech Corporation. Current balance: $3,500,000,127.43. Joshua read the message once. Twice. Three times. The numbers didn't change. Three and a half billion dollars. He looked through the window at his mother, still fighting for her life. Then he looked down at the phone in his hand—at the number that had just made him one of the richest men in the country. Everything had just changed. Joshua leaped to his feet, his heart hammering with a mixture of relief and urgency. Three and a half billion dollars. His mother would be saved. Everything would be okay now. He sprinted down the hallway toward the hospital's front desk, his worn sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. But as he rounded the corner, the scene before him made his blood turn to ice. His mother—frail, unconscious, still connected to portable monitors—was being dragged out of her ward by three burly nurses. Her hospital bed rolled roughly across the threshold, the wheels catching. "Stop!" Joshua's voice echoed through the corridor. "What are you doing?" The lead nurse, a heavyset woman named Patricia, didn't even look at him. "We're moving her to discharge, Mr. Hart. You've had plenty of time to arrange payment." "I have the money!" Joshua shouted, running toward them. "I can pay right now! Stop moving her!" Patricia finally turned, her expression dripping with contempt. The other two nurses—younger women who seemed to take their cues from her—stopped pushing the bed but wore matching smirks. "Oh, suddenly you have money?" Patricia crossed her arms over her broad chest. "Let me guess—did a miracle happen in the last twenty minutes? Did your fairy godmother appear?" "I'm serious. I can pay for the surgery. Right now. Just take her back to the ward—" "Save it." The younger nurse on the left, whose name tag read 'Jennifer,' rolled her eyes dramatically. "We've heard every sob story and excuse in the book. Poor people like you always think you can string us along with lies." "I'm not lying!" Joshua's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I have the money. I can transfer it immediately—" "Transfer it?" Patricia laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Oh, this is getting better. So now you're claiming you suddenly have one hundred thousand dollars ready to transfer? What did you do, rob a bank on your way back?" The third nurse, a thin woman with sharp features named Susan, snickered. "More like he's planning to write us a bad check. We're not falling for it, buddy. We won't treat your mother for free anymore. Hospital policy." "I'm not asking for free treatment!" Joshua's voice cracked with desperation. "I have the money. Just let me pay—" "Fine." Patricia's eyes glittered with malicious amusement. She pulled out a portable card reader from her pocket, holding it up like a weapon. "Swipe your card right now. One hundred thousand dollars. Let's see this miracle money of yours." Joshua's hand instinctively went to his wallet, then froze. His stomach dropped. The card. Natalie had taken his bank card months ago. The memory came flooding back—Natalie's cold voice in their bedroom: "As a member of the Cavesh household, you don't need personal property. You'll receive a daily allowance from the family account." An allowance that had never materialized. Not once. "Well?" Patricia tapped her foot impatiently. "We're waiting. Swipe the card." "I... I don't have my card with me," Joshua said, his mind racing. "But I can do a mobile transfer. Give me the hospital's account information—" The three nurses burst into laughter. "A mobile transfer!" Jennifer slapped her leg, nearly doubled over with mirth. "Oh my God, that's rich. That's the oldest stalling tactic in the book!" "He probably doesn't even have a bank account," Susan added, her voice dripping with scorn. "Look at him. Look at those clothes. That's a man who's never seen a thousand dollars in his life, let alone a hundred thousand." "Please." Joshua pulled out his phone, his hands shaking. "Just listen to me. I received a transfer today. I can show you—" "Show us?" Patricia's eyes narrowed. "Oh, this I've got to see. What are you going to do, show us some photoshopped bank statement?" Joshua's fingers trembled as he navigated to his messages. He found the text from Star Bank and thrust the phone toward Patricia. "Look. See? The money just came through." Patricia grabbed the phone from his hand, her eyes scanning the screen. Then she read aloud, her voice mocking: "Your account ending in 7742 has received a wire transfer of three billion, five hundred million dollars." She paused, then burst into the loudest laugh yet. "Are you kidding me with this?" Jennifer and Susan crowded around to see, both erupting into giggles. "Thirty-five billion dollars?" Susan wheezed between laughs. "You couldn't even make up a realistic number?" "This is the most pathetic scam I've ever seen," Jennifer added, wiping tears from her eyes. "Did you make this text message yourself? What app did you use? 'Fake Bank Alert Generator'?" "It's real!" Joshua shouted, grabbing his phone back. "I can prove it. Just give me the hospital's payment account. I'll transfer the money right now—" "Sure, sure." Patricia pulled out a small notepad, scribbling down an account number with exaggerated slowness. "Here. The hospital's billing account. Go ahead and make your imaginary transfer from your imaginary billions." Joshua's fingers flew across his phone screen, opening his banking app. But his phone—a battered model he'd owned for five years—lagged, the screen freezing. "Come on," he muttered, tapping harder. "Come on!" "What's wrong?" Patricia leaned in with mock concern. "Having technical difficulties with your billionaire phone?" The nurses laughed again. "Is this what a billionaire's phone looks like?" Jennifer pointed at the cracked screen, the faded case. "Shouldn't you have the latest model? Or is that another thing you forgot to upgrade with your imaginary fortune?" Joshua ignored them, his entire focus on the frozen screen. He tapped the payment button again and again, but nothing happened. The app had locked up completely. "This is pathetic," Susan said, shaking her head. "We're wasting time here. Let's finish moving her to discharge." "No!" Joshua's voice was raw. He jabbed at his phone frantically. "Just wait. It's loading—" "Give it up," Patricia said, reaching for his phone. "You're just stalling. We're not silly—" The screen suddenly flickered to life. Joshua's thumb hit the confirmation button with desperate force. For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happened. Then the screen changed. PAYMENT SUCCESSFUL Recipient: Mercy General Hospital Status: COMPLETED The corridor fell silent. Joshua held up his phone, his hand still shaking, showing the confirmation screen to the three nurses. Patricia's face had gone pale, her mouth hanging open. Jennifer and Susan looked like they'd been slapped. "There," Joshua said, his voice hoarse. "Payment successful. Now take my mother back to her room and prep her for surgery." "It went through!" Joshua's voice cracked with relief and triumph. "The payment was successful! Look!" Patricia's eyes narrowed as she glanced at her own phone, then back at Joshua with undisguised disgust. "Who knows how much you actually paid? Your piece of junk phone was freezing and lagging like crazy. For all we know, you transferred ten dollars and think you're clever." Joshua's elation faltered. In his panic and desperation, with the phone screen stuttering and freezing, he honestly couldn't remember how many zeros he'd typed. But he was certain—he had to have paid at least ten thousand dollars. Maybe more. "I can check the transfer record," Joshua said quickly. "Just let me—" "Check the record?" Patricia grabbed the phone from his hand before he could react. "Who knows if you'll just fake another screenshot? We're checking the hospital account directly. The real account. Not your photoshopped fantasy." She pulled out her own phone, dialing with sharp, aggressive jabs at the screen. "Yes, this is Nurse Patricia Wilson from the ICU floor. I need you to check if we've received a payment. Medical expenses for a patient named..." She glanced at the chart, "...Mrs. Elizabeth Hart. The amount should be one hundred thousand dollars." Joshua held his breath, his heart pounding. The payment had gone through. He'd seen the confirmation. Patricia's expression shifted from professional inquiry to smug satisfaction. "Uh-huh. I see. No, nothing? Are you absolutely sure?" She paused, listening. "Right. Thank you." She ended the call and turned to Joshua with a venomous smile. "Finance says no payment of one hundred thousand dollars has been received. What a surprise." "That's impossible," Joshua protested. "I saw the confirmation—" "You saw what you wanted to see," Jennifer cut in, her voice dripping with contempt. "Probably got confused by all those numbers you're not used to seeing." Susan laughed sharply. "I bet he transferred ten bucks and thought he was being generous." "Give me my phone back," Joshua demanded, reaching for it. "I'll show you the exact amount—" Patricia held the phone high above her head, well out of Joshua's reach. "I don't think so. You've wasted enough of our time with your lies and theatrics." She turned to the security desk phone mounted on the wall nearby and pressed the call button. "Security? This is Nurse Wilson on the fourth floor. I need two guards up here immediately. We have a vagrant causing a disturbance and attempting to defraud the hospital." "I'm not a vagrant!" Joshua's voice rose. "I paid! There must be some kind of error—" "The only error here is you," Patricia snapped. "You and your sickly mother have taken advantage of this hospital's generosity for the last time. When security gets here, they're throwing both of you out onto the street where you belong. You can beg for spare change there." "Wait!" Joshua's mind raced. In his panic with the lagging phone, maybe he had made a mistake with the amount. "Okay, maybe—maybe I didn't enter the full amount correctly. But I know I paid at least ten thousand dollars. I can pay the remaining ninety thousand right now—" The three nurses erupted into laughter. "Ten thousand?" Patricia gasped between her cackling. "Oh, that's rich! I think you paid ten dollars and you're trying to pull a fast one on us!" "You're pathetic," Jennifer added, shaking her head with exaggerated pity. "You really think we're silly enough to fall for this?" "I'll prove it," Joshua said desperately. "Just give me back my phone. Let me show you the transaction history—" "Not a chance," Patricia said coldly. "You've proven yourself to be a liar and a con artist. The phone stays with me until security arrives." Joshua felt panic clawing at his chest. His mother was still lying on the gurney, helpless and dying, while these nurses treated him like garbage. He opened his mouth to argue further when the sound of rapid footsteps echoed through the corridor. A middle-aged man in an expensive suit came rushing down the stairs from the upper administrative floors, his face flushed and his breathing heavy. He clutched a tablet in one hand and his phone in the other. Patricia's eyebrows rose in recognition. "Mr. Bernard? What are you doing down here?" Robert Bernard was the hospital's chief financial officer, a man who typically spent his days in the executive suite and rarely ventured to the patient floors. His presence was unexpected, to say the least. Patricia's smug expression returned full force. "Actually, perfect timing. You can personally confirm for this con artist that he hasn't paid a single cent toward his mother's medical bills." Bernard barely glanced at her, his attention fixed on his tablet screen. "I don't have time for this," he muttered irritably. "The hospital just received the largest single transfer in its entire history. One hundred million dollars. One. Hundred. Million. I can't reach Director Matthews and I need to find him immediately. This is unprecedented—" Patricia's jaw dropped. Then she recovered, turning to Joshua with even more vicious mockery. "Did you hear that? One hundred million dollars. That's what real wealth looks like. Someone out there just paid enough money to buy this entire hospital without blinking an eye." She leaned closer to Joshua, her voice dripping with scorn. "And you? You can't even scrape together a hundred dollars. You're nothing. Less than nothing." "Some people have class," Susan added, nodding sagely. "And some people are just leeches on society." Bernard was already walking away, muttering under his breath as he scrolled through his tablet. "Who is this person? Joshua Hart... Never heard the name before. How does someone quietly transfer one hundred million dollars without any prior contact?" The corridor went utterly silent. It was as if all the oxygen had been breathed out of the space. Patricia's face, which had been twisted in smug satisfaction just seconds ago, went deathly pale. Jennifer's mouth fell open. Susan actually stumbled backward. Joshua felt the world slow down around him. "What..." Patricia's voice came out as a croak. She lunged forward, grabbing Bernard's arm so forcefully that he nearly dropped his tablet. "What did you just say? Who was the payment from?" Bernard frowned, clearly annoyed at being detained. "I don't have time to—" "The name!" Patricia's voice was shrill now, almost hysterical. "What was the name of the person who made the transfer?" Bernard pulled his arm free, glancing at his tablet screen again with obvious impatience. "Joshua Hart. The payment came from a Joshua Hart." He looked up, his irritation evident. "Why? Do you know him?"