DESPERATION

The hospital smelled like disinfectant and despair.

Juliet pushed through the crowded waiting room, past crying children and exhausted families camped out on plastic chairs. General Hospital Lagos was always packed. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow.

She found Nkechi in the corridor outside the emergency ward. Her sister's eyes were red and swollen.

"Where's Mama?" Juliet asked.

"Still inside. They won't let me see her until we pay." Nkechi's voice was raw. At nineteen, she looked younger, especially now with tears streaking her face. "Jules, I'm scared."

Juliet pulled her sister into a hug. "It's going to be okay."

It was a lie. She had no idea if it would be okay. But Nkechi needed to hear it, so she said it anyway.

A nurse emerged from the ward, clipboard in hand. Her expression was professionally neutral, the kind of face you learned to wear when delivering bad news was part of your job.

"Fredrick family?"

"That's us," Juliet said, stepping forward.

The nurse glanced at her clipboard. "Your mother is stable for now, but we need to run more tests. Heart enzyme panel, ECG, chest X-ray. The total comes to fifty thousand naira. Once payment is confirmed, we can proceed."

Fifty thousand naira. The number hung in the air like a death sentence.

Juliet pulled out the money Ejike had given her. She counted it quickly. Five thousand naira. Generous for a tip, useless for a medical emergency.

"I have twelve thousand in my account," she said. "And five thousand here. That's seventeen. Can we pay the rest later?"

The nurse's expression didn't change. She'd probably had this conversation a hundred times today. "I'm sorry. Hospital policy requires full payment upfront for non-emergency procedures."

"Her heart stopped this morning. How is that not an emergency?"

"She's stable now. These are diagnostic tests." The nurse's tone was firm but not unkind. "If you need time to gather funds, your mother can wait in the observation area. But we cannot proceed with tests until payment is received."

Juliet wanted to scream. She wanted to grab the nurse and shake her, make her understand that her mother's life was worth more than hospital policy. But she knew it wouldn't help. The nurse was just doing her job in a broken system.

"How long do we have?" Juliet asked.

"The observation area is temporary. If we don't see improvement or if we don't receive payment within twenty-four hours, we'll have to discharge her."

Twenty-four hours. One day to find thirty-three thousand naira.

"Can I see her?" Juliet's voice cracked despite her best efforts to keep it steady.

The nurse hesitated, then nodded. "Five minutes."

Juliet followed her through the doors. The emergency ward was chaos barely contained. Curtained partitions separated patients, offering the illusion of privacy. Machines beeped. Someone was crying. A doctor shouted orders.

Her mother lay on a narrow bed in the corner. Mama looked small under the thin hospital blanket, her dark skin ashen, her breathing shallow. At forty-seven, she'd worked herself into the ground raising two daughters alone. Night shifts cleaning office buildings, day shifts washing clothes for wealthier families. Her body had finally said enough.

"Mama," Juliet whispered, taking her mother's hand.

Her mother's eyes fluttered open. "Juliet. You shouldn't be here. You have work."

"Work can wait." Juliet squeezed her hand gently. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired." Her mother managed a weak smile. "I'm always tired."

"The doctors are going to run some tests. Then we'll know what's wrong and how to fix it."

"Tests cost money."

"Don't worry about that. I'll handle it."

Her mother's eyes searched her face. "Juliet, you can't keep carrying everything alone. You're twenty-five. You should be living your own life, not taking care of an old woman."

"You're not old. And you're my mother. This is what family does."

"Your father's family has money. If you reached out to them—"

"No." The word came out sharper than Juliet intended. She softened her tone. "We don't need them. We never have."

It was a sore subject. Her father had been South African, a businessman who'd swept her Nigerian mother off her feet with promises of a better life. Those promises had evaporated when he found out Mama was pregnant. He'd gone back to Cape Town, back to his "real" family, leaving them with nothing but a handful of memories and a mixed-race daughter who didn't quite fit in anywhere.

Juliet had tracked him down once, when she was sixteen. She'd found his company website, seen photos of him with his wife and legitimate children. All of them looked happy. Successful. Complete.

He'd never responded to her email.

"Time's up," the nurse called from the doorway.

Juliet kissed her mother's forehead. "Rest. I'll be back soon."

Outside, Nkechi was pacing. "What did she say?"

"She's stable. We just need to get the money."

"Jules, where are we going to get thirty-three thousand naira by tomorrow?"

That was the question. Juliet had already run through every option during the bus ride over. Her bank account was nearly empty. She had no jewelry to pawn, no assets to sell. Her landlord had already refused to give her an advance on her security deposit.

She could ask Rashida, but her friend was barely scraping by herself. Her coworkers at Quick Bite were in the same boat. Everyone she knew was one emergency away from financial disaster.

There was one option she'd been avoiding thinking about. One door she'd sworn she'd never knock on.

"I need to make some calls," Juliet said. "Stay here with Mama. I'll figure something out."

She walked outside into the humid Lagos evening. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. Car horns blared. Street vendors shouted. Life went on, indifferent to her crisis.

Juliet pulled out her phone and stared at it.

She could try calling her father's family. She had numbers for some of his relatives in South Africa. They'd never acknowledged her existence, but maybe in an emergency, they'd show some compassion.

Or maybe they'd laugh and hang up.

Her thumb hovered over the screen.

Then her phone buzzed with an incoming call from an unknown number.

Juliet almost didn't answer. But something made her press accept.

"Hello?"

"Miss Fredrick?" The voice was male, professional, unfamiliar.

"Who's asking?"

"My name is Damilola Obiora. I work for Ejike Olatunji. We met earlier today at Quick Bite."

Juliet's heart skipped. "I remember."

"Mr. Olatunji would like to speak with you. Are you available this evening?"

This had to be a joke. Africa's richest man wanted to talk to her? "About what?"

"He'll explain when you meet. I can send a car to pick you up. Where are you located?"

Every instinct told her this was a bad idea. Rich men didn't seek out poor women unless they wanted something. And whatever Ejike Olatunji wanted, it probably wasn't good for her.

But she thought about her mother lying in that hospital bed. She thought about twenty-four hours and thirty-three thousand naira.

"I'm at General Hospital Lagos," she said. "But I need to know what this is about."

"Mr. Olatunji prefers to discuss business matters in person. The car will be there in twenty minutes."

"Wait—"

The line went dead.

Juliet stared at her phone. This was insane. She should ignore it, focus on finding legitimate ways to raise money. Going to meet a strange billionaire was something out of a movie, not real life.

Her phone buzzed again. A text from the same unknown number: *The car is a black Mercedes. License plate Lagos KJA 123 FA. Driver's name is Chidi.*

Another text followed: *Mr. Olatunji is aware of your mother's situation. He may be able to help.*

Juliet's blood ran cold.

How did he know about her mother? She'd only found out herself a few hours ago. Had he been having her investigated? For what possible reason?

She should be angry. She should be scared.

Instead, she felt a tiny, dangerous spark of hope.

If Ejike Olatunji could help her mother, did it matter why he wanted to meet? She could deal with consequences later. Right now, she needed to focus on keeping her mother alive.

Juliet went back inside and found Nkechi. "I have to go somewhere. I'll be back in a few hours."

"What? Where are you going?"

"To get the money."

Nkechi grabbed her arm. "Jules, what are you planning? You're scaring me."

"I'm not doing anything illegal. I promise. Just trust me, okay?"

Her sister's grip tightened. "At least tell me where you're going."

Juliet hesitated. If she told Nkechi the truth, her sister would try to stop her. But if she lied and something went wrong, Nkechi would never forgive her.

"I'm meeting someone who might be able to help," she said carefully. "Someone with money."

"Who?"

"A businessman. He came into the restaurant today. I think he might offer me a loan or something."

It sounded weak even to her own ears. Nkechi's eyes narrowed.

"Businessmen don't just offer money to random waitresses, Jules. What does he want in return?"

"I don't know yet. But I'm going to find out."

"This is a bad idea."

"Maybe. But it's the only idea I have."

Outside, a sleek black Mercedes pulled up to the curb. The driver, a middle-aged man in a crisp white shirt, got out and looked around.

"That's my ride," Juliet said.

"Jules—"

"I'll call you in a few hours. I promise." She hugged her sister quickly and walked toward the car before she could lose her nerve.

The driver opened the door for her. "Miss Fredrick?"

"That's me."

"I'm Chidi. Mr. Olatunji is waiting."

Juliet slid into the backseat. The interior smelled like leather and money. As the car pulled away from the hospital, she watched Nkechi standing on the sidewalk, her face tight with worry.

Juliet pulled out her phone and typed a quick text: *I'm okay. I'll explain everything later.*

Then she leaned back against the seat and tried to calm her racing heart.

She had no idea what Ejike Olatunji wanted. But in twenty minutes, she was going to find out.

And somehow, she knew her life was about to change forever.