473 The old mother thought her son had abandoned her in the rain…

The ICU waiting room at St. Jude Hospital was quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock.

Ellen sat on a vinyl chair, her hands clasped tightly in prayer. She had refused to change out of her wet, blood-stained clothes. Beside her sat Agent Marcus, holding two paper cups of hot coffee.

"Drink this, Mrs. Ellen," Marcus said gently, handing her a cup. "You’ve been awake for over thirty hours."

"I can't drink, Agent Marcus," Ellen whispered, her eyes glued to the double doors of the Intensive Care Unit. "My son is in there fighting for his life. If he dies... Victor Vance still wins."

"Julian is a fighter," Marcus assured her. "The evidence he provided has already led to the arrest of fourteen high-ranking executives in Vance’s network. The state prosecutor is filing first-degree murder charges against Victor for your husband's death, and attempted murder for Julian. They are going away forever."

Just then, the ICU doors opened, and a tired-looking chief surgeon walked out, pulling off his surgical mask.

Ellen stood up instantly. "Doctor! How is my son?"

The doctor took a deep breath, looking at Ellen with a mixture of sympathy and caution. "We stabilized the gunshot wound on his shoulder, Mrs. Ellen. But... as you know, Julian's primary threat is the acute chemical toxicity in his lungs."

"Can you cure him? Please, tell me there's a way!" Ellen begged.

"The chemical exposure destroyed over seventy percent of his lung tissue," the doctor explained quietly. "His body is failing under the toxins. Normal medication won't work anymore. His only chance of survival is an emergency double-lung transplant."

Ellen felt her knees go weak. "Then give him the transplant! I have two million dollars in that bag! Take all of it!"

"It's not a matter of money, Mrs. Ellen," the doctor sighed. "The donor waiting list for a double-lung transplant is months, sometimes years long. Julian doesn't have years. He has less than forty-eight hours."

Ellen felt as if the ceiling had collapsed onto her head. "Forty-eight hours...?"

"Unless a compatible organ becomes available immediately, I'm afraid... you should prepare to say goodbye," the doctor said softly before walking away.

Ellen stumbled back into her chair, burying her face in her hands. The tears were gone; only a deep, agonizing numbness remained. Julian had survived the bullets, survived the storm, survived Victor Vance's traps, only to be killed by the poison lingering in his body.

"Lord," Ellen prayed silently, looking up at the fluorescent lights. "Take me instead. He is too young. He has suffered too much. Take my life, but save my boy..."

Suddenly, Agent Marcus’s phone buzzed loudly. He answered it quickly, listening to the person on the other end. His eyes widened.

"Are you sure?" Marcus asked into the phone. "Check the blood type compatibility again... Right now!"

He hung up the phone and looked at Ellen, a look of utter shock on his face.

"Agent Marcus? What is it?" Ellen asked, hope flaring up in her chest.

"You won't believe this," Marcus said. "Ten minutes ago, a high-speed police chase ended in a crash downtown. The driver was one of Victor Vance's chief lieutenants—the man who personally supervised the chemical plant operations and oversaw your husband's fatal explosion."

"Is he... dead?"

"He was declared brain-dead upon arrival at the trauma center," Marcus said. "And because he was a registered organ donor, and his blood type is a rare, perfect match for Julian... the hospital ethics board just approved an emergency organ transfer!"