Chapter 172
[ 512 words ]
Chapter 172:
She looked down at her hands. They were stained dark red. The massive spike of adrenaline began to drain from her bloodstream. Her knees suddenly felt weak. She collapsed heavily onto a plastic waiting room chair.
A nurse walked out from behind the reception desk. She handed Caroline a steaming hot towel.
“Please clean your hands, ma’am,” the nurse said softly. Then she placed a thick clipboard on the chair next to Caroline. “I need you to fill out these intake forms. And I need to warn you about the estimate.”
Caroline wiped the blood off her fingers. She looked at the paper.
“The dog does not have a microchip,” the nurse explained, her tone hesitant. “The laceration is severe. It requires emergency vascular surgery. The estimated cost is five thousand dollars. If you cannot cover it, we strongly suggest considering humane euthanasia.”
Caroline’s stomach twisted. She dropped the towel.
“No,” Caroline said instantly. “Do the surgery.”
She reached into the hidden zipper compartment of her wallet. Her fingers brushed against her own debit card, which held exactly four hundred dollars. She bypassed it.
She pulled out the heavy, black metal credit card Jarrod had given her alongside the keycard and keys—a backup resource she had sworn she would never touch.
She walked to the reception desk. She dropped the card onto the polished marble counter.
𝗥e𝘢𝖽 wit𝗁𝘰𝘂𝘁 𝘪𝗇𝘵е𝘳𝘳uр𝗍𝗶оnѕ 𝗈𝗇 𝘨a𝗅n𝗼𝘷e𝗹𝘀.cоm
It hit the stone with a sharp, heavy, unmistakable metallic clack.
The receptionist looked down. She saw the sleek black metal, the lack of a spending limit, and the name engraved on the front. Her posture instantly changed. She stood up straighter, her voice dropping into a tone of absolute, subservient respect.
“Right away, Mrs. Romero,” the receptionist said, quickly processing the card. “We will do everything possible.”
Caroline stared at the black card. A bitter, heavy taste coated the back of her throat. She had sworn she would never use his money. But to save a life, she had just activated the resources of the most dangerous man in Washington.
Two agonizing hours later, the lead veterinarian pushed through the surgical doors.
“The dog is stable,” the vet announced, pulling off his surgical cap. “You saved its life with that tourniquet. And I have to tell you, this is not a street mutt. This is a purebred Cavapoo. They run about ten thousand dollars from a breeder.”
Caroline frowned. “A stray?”
“No,” the vet shook his head. “Look at the neck. The collar and the microchip were violently cut out of the skin. Someone stole this dog, ripped the tracker out, and probably dumped it when it got injured.”
Caroline looked through the small glass window of the recovery room. The small, black curly-haired dog was sleeping under a heat lamp.
“I will take it home,” Caroline said firmly. “Until we find the real owner.”
By early evening, the rain had stopped.
Caroline walked out of the private elevator and stepped into the massive, cold living room of the penthouse. She was carrying a plastic bag full of antibiotics and premium dog food in one hand.
In her other arm, she held the dog, wrapped tightly in a clean, dry fleece blanket.
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