Dr. Patel walked into the room and stopped in front of Eliza's bed. Clipboard in hand, his expression was professionally neutral.
Jack's mouth went dry. Doctors didn't close doors for good news. He'd watched enough medical shows to know that much.
"Mom says the cancer's worse than you thought." Jack kept his voice steady, even as his pulse quickened.
Dr. Patel nodded, glancing at his clipboard. "The treatment we've been using isn't having the effect we'd hoped for. The cancer has metastasized to her liver."
Jack searched for meaning in the unfamiliar word. "Meta-what?"
"It means it's spread," his mother explained softly. Her fingers tightened around his.
Dr. Patel pulled up another chair. "There are experimental treatments available, but they're not covered by your current insurance plan."
Jack's mind raced through calculations – his savings, potential extra shifts at the garage, maybe another job on weekends.
"How much?" he asked.
His mother and Dr. Patel exchanged a look that made Jack's stomach drop.
"More than we can manage," Eliza whispered. "But there's something else we need to discuss."
Jack's vision narrowed to a tunnel focused on Dr. Patel's face. The doctor's words seemed to come from far away, distorted like he was underwater.
"The cancer is aggressive, Jackson." Dr. Patel leaned forward, his voice gentle but firm. "If we wait too long, I won't be able to save your mother anymore."
Jack glanced at his mom. Her face was calm—too calm. Like she'd already processed something he was still struggling to understand.
"What are you saying exactly?" Jack's voice cracked.
Dr. Patel adjusted his glasses. "We're at a crossroads where difficult decisions need to be made. There are two paths forward." He held up one finger. "We can pursue the experimental treatment I mentioned, which has shown promising results in similar cases, but comes with significant financial burden." A second finger joined the first. "Or we can focus on palliative care—managing your mother's pain and symptoms to keep her comfortable for as long as possible."
The clinical terms bounced around Jack's head like pinballs. "So either we spend money we don't have, or we just... wait for her to die?"
"Jack," his mother's voice was soft but reproachful.
"Sorry." He wasn't sorry. He was terrified.
Dr. Patel didn't flinch. "I understand this is difficult to hear. The experimental treatment costs approximately eighty thousand dollars, and that's just to start. Follow-up treatments would be additional."
Eighty thousand dollars. The number hit Jack like a physical blow. He'd been proud last week when he'd saved three hundred dollars toward mom's prescriptions.
"And if we go with the second option?" Jack forced himself to ask.
"With proper palliative care, your mother could have anywhere from three to six months of relatively stable quality of life, though that's an estimate. Everyone responds differently."
Three to six months. Jack's mind flashed to the calendar hanging in their kitchen. Three months would barely get them to summer. Six wouldn't even reach Thanksgiving.
"There has to be another option." Jack stood up, unable to sit still. "What about charity programs? Payment plans? Something?"
Dr. Patel nodded. "There are limited assistance programs, but the waiting lists are long, and eligibility is restrictive. We can certainly apply, but I want to be honest about the timeframe we're working with."
Jack paced the small room, his thoughts racing. He could drop out of school, work full-time. Maybe Mrs. Hernandez would know someone who needed odd jobs done. He could sell their TV, his laptop...
"Jack." His mother's voice pulled him back. She patted the edge of the bed, and he reluctantly sat. "There's something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you long ago."
The look on her face made Jack forget even Dr. Patel's presence. It was the same expression she'd worn when she'd told him about dad's accident—a mixture of dread and determination.
"What is it?" he asked, suddenly afraid of whatever could make his stoic mother look so vulnerable.
She took a deep breath. "It's about my family. My father specifically." Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for his hand. "His name is Elias Altiar."
Jack frowned, the name meaningless to him. "Okay?"
"He owns Altiar Industries."
The name clicked then. Altiar Industries—the corporate giant with headquarters in the gleaming skyscrapers downtown. The company whose logo appeared on half the buildings in the financial district.
"I don't understand," Jack said, though a cold feeling in his stomach suggested he was beginning to.
"I was born Eliza Altiar," his mother continued, her voice steadier now that she'd begun. "My father is one of the wealthiest men in the state. Probably the country."
Jack stared at her, trying to process this information. The Altiars were practically royalty in their part of the world. Their name was on buildings, charity foundations, university wings.
"You're saying we're related to those Altiars?" Jack's voice came out higher than he intended.
She nodded. "I'm Elias Altiar's only child."
The pieces refused to fit together in Jack's mind. If his mother was the daughter of a billionaire, why were they living in a run-down apartment? Why had they struggled for years just to keep the lights on?
"I don't understand," he said. "If your dad is so rich, why have we been living like this? Why are you in this hospital instead of some fancy private clinic?"
His mother's eyes filled with tears. "When I was twenty-one, I met your father. He was working a summer job at one of the resort properties in Veridian Bluffs. My father didn't approve. Thomas wasn't from the right family, didn't have the right connections." Her voice hardened. "When I chose your father over the future my dad had planned for me, he disowned me. Cut me off completely. I haven't spoken to him in over twenty years."
Jack's mind reeled. All this time, they'd had family—rich, powerful family—and he'd never known.
"But now..." His mother's voice grew faint. "I've tried to contact him. About the cancer. About you."
"You what?" Jack stood up again, unable to contain his agitation. "Why would you reach out to someone who abandoned you?"
"Because he's still my father," she whispered. "And more importantly, he's your grandfather. You deserve to know your family, Jack. And with what's happening to me—"
"Don't talk like that," Jack interrupted sharply. "Nothing's happening to you because we're going to fix this." He turned to Dr. Patel, who had been silently observing their exchange. "Do the treatment."
Dr. Patel blinked in surprise. "I understand your urgency, Jackson, but as I explained—"
"No." Jack cut him off. "You don't understand. My mom is going to get the best treatment possible. Starting now."
His mother reached for his arm. "Jack, honey, we can't afford—"
"Elias Altiar can," Jack said, his jaw set in determination. "He's her father. He'll pay for it."
"It's not that simple," his mother protested weakly. "I haven't even heard back from him yet. The messages I left might not—"
"Then I'll go see him myself." The idea solidified in Jack's mind with crystal clarity. "Today. Right now."
Jack knew nothing about his grandfather except that he was rich and powerful enough to save his mother's life. That was all he needed to know.
"Dr. Patel," Jack turned to the physician, "get everything ready. My mom is getting that experimental treatment. I'll make sure the money's there."
Dr. Patel exchanged a concerned glance with Eliza. "These decisions shouldn't be rushed. Perhaps we should discuss—"
"There's nothing to discuss." Jack's voice was steel. "My mom needs that treatment, and her father has the money. If he won't help her, I'll drag him here myself."
The sudden determination burning in Jack's chest felt unfamiliar but necessary. He'd never met Elias Altiar, never even known the man existed until five minutes ago. But that didn't matter. Nothing would stop him from saving his mother—not pride, not history, not even the intimidating prospect of confronting one of the most powerful men in the country.
"Jack, please," his mother whispered. "You don't know what he's like."
"I don't care what he's like," Jack replied, already calculating his next move. "He's going to help us whether he wants to or not."