One Late Fee Too Far
Chapter 1
My little sister, Maya, got into a car crash. I put her in a high-end recovery center.
Her injuries were bad. Progress crawled. They kept extending her treatment, one phase at a time.
Early this morning, the manager called. Said the card wouldn't cover the next phase.
That's when it hit me—peak season at the company. I'd been slammed, barely breathing. I hadn't topped it up in forever.
I told her I'd transfer the money. She shut it down. Said I had to show up and sign in person before they'd extend anything.
So after work, I rushed over.
Straight into rush hour traffic.
Then she called again.
"Ms. Keyne, your balance hit zero three minutes ago. We're terminating services. This is a premium facility—we don't do free care. The patient tied to your account has been removed per policy."
My mind went blank. I couldn't process a word.
Up front, Colin, my assistant, caught it. He glanced at me in the rearview, eyes tight.
"Removed?"
I gripped my phone, knuckles white. Waited a beat, making sure I heard right.
"What do you mean?"
"Removed means removed. Thrown out. You don't get plain English?" Winnie Booth scoffed, smug. "This is the top private recovery center in Kinston. Not a charity. No money, we discharge. What, you want us to keep her?"
Worst-case confirmed.
"You had no right!" I snapped. "She's a crash victim. Both legs shattered. She can barely stand—and you dumped her?"
Early March. A late winter storm had just passed. Snow still lined the roads.
Wind scraped the windows, sharp and loud. The temperature hovered near freezing.
Maya—used to the recovery center blasting heat 24/7—wore a thin patient gown.
No coat.
Worse, she was still weak.
Every night at eight, she took imported meds for nerve repair, then two hours on specialized equipment.
Without it, the pain would be unbearable.
She could end up permanently paralyzed.
Maya was my only weakness.
After our parents handed me Keyne Corp and left the country, she was all I had.
Growing up, if she wanted something, I'd get it—no questions. If she got a scratch, it messed me up for days.
And now—the sister I'd never even raised my voice at—
was out there in the freezing wind.
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