The director, a man in his fifties, crumpled instantly under the force. His once-rosy face now swollen and bruised, he fell to the ground.

I watched coldly, offering no sympathy.

The issue of the kidney source also partially rested with this director. If he had adhered to his professional ethics and reserved the donor that rightfully belonged to me, I might still be alive.

The commotion drew many curious eyes and people began to surreptitiously take photos.

Jakob’s high profile meant that tomorrow’s headlines would likely be filled with this incident.

“I’ll ask you one last time: Where is Aleah? Don’t tell me she’s... dead. She can’t be dead.” Jakob...