Chapter 50: Chapter 50: The Price of being a Hero
The blinding glare of fluorescent lights stabbed violently at Alexander’s eyelids.
He groaned, a deep, raspy sound tearing from his throat as he forced his eyes open with the familiar smell of sterile antiseptic and rubbing alcohol instantly filled his senses.
He tried to shift his weight, but a sharp, agonizing ache flared across his back and shoulders, forcing him to freeze.
His body felt like lead.
"Ah, you’re finally awake, Sleeping Beauty," a calm, familiar voice murmured from the shadows near the corner of the room.
Alexander slowly rolled his head to the side, his blurry vision finally focusing on Julian, his designated TMC handler, who was sitting casually in a sleek leather armchair, smoothly peeling an apple with a small pocketknife.
"Where... where am I?" muttered Alexander, his throat feeling like sandpaper.
"In the VIP wing of St. Jude’s Medical Center," Julian replied, not even looking up as he sliced off a piece of the fruit.
"You’ve been out for nearly six hours. Playing the tragic hero with absolutely nothing to gain... what’s the matter with you, 815? Do you suddenly have a Superman complex?"
"Fuck you," Alexander grunted, winning as he tried to adjust his pillow with a trembling hand.
"Are you telling me you wouldn’t pull a woman out of a car that’s literally about to blow up?"
Julian stopped cutting the apple.
He raised his eyes, locking a cold, entirely dead pan stare directly onto Alexander.
"If I am not being paid an astronomical corporate fee to do it? Absolutely not. Why the hell would I?" asked Julian, his voice dropping into a flat, pragmatic murmur.
"I am nobody’s savior, Alexander. And as far as the data shows, that little idiot crashed all by herself. It was her very first day driving that Porsche GT, she wanted to show off like a reckless brat, and she couldn’t think of anything more intelligent to do than wrap her daddy’s multi-million-dollar toy around a concrete utility pole."
Julian took a slow bite of the apple, chewing deliberately before leaning forward in his chair.
"By the way, our street cameras logged their telemetry," Julian added, his expression turning sharp and venomous.
"She almost T-boned a pregnant woman at the intersection right before she ran into you. A piece of absolute human garbage like that doesn’t deserve to keep breathing, believe me. You risked your entire career, your cover, and your literal life to pull a toxic parasite out of the fire."
"It wasn’t my place to judge her," muttered Alexander, his voice raspy as he stared at the ceiling.
"The law will take ca—"
"You were about to say ’take care of it,’ right?" interrupted Julian, letting out a sharp, mocking laugh.
"You really are more of an idiot than you look. Take a look at this."
Julian tossed a sleek digital tablet straight onto the hospital blanket covering Alexander’s chest.
Alexander slowly forced his trembling hand up, looking down at the screen.
The display showed an official release form and a heavy, multi-page non-disclosure document.
"What do you think that is?" asked Julian, raising an eyebrow.
"Do you honestly think I want to read legal jargon right now?" groaned Alexander, pressing a hand against his throbbing temple.
"I feel like I’m drowning in a swimming pool and my head is spinning in circles."
"It’s a disclosure agreement. A beautiful, polite word for a contract to make you shut your damn mouth," said Julian, leaning forward and tapping the glass screen.
"It states, and I quote, that you are strictly prohibited from ever speaking about what happened this morning. In exchange, they are offering you a clean twelve thousand five hundred dollars. And guess what? They handed one to every single person who witnessed the crash."
Julian stood up, walking slowly toward the large window overlooking the city.
"You think the law is going to handle it?" scoffed Julian, turning back with a cold smirk.
"The brat has already been cleared of all charges. The Sinclairs are just tying up loose ends now. If anyone actually files an official report and a real investigation is opened, she could face major jail time—especially with the trail of bribes and systemic corruption they’re leaving behind. So, what do you think? Do you think the witnesses accepted the money, or did they reject it?"
Alexander remained completely silent, staring blankly at the screen as the heavy painkillers running through his IV line made his brain feel completely numb.
"Every single one of them accepted," Julian stated flatly, answering his own question.
"Even the pregnant woman she almost plowed through took the cash with open arms. And as for you? On top of paying for your medical insurance and giving you that exact same twelve-thousand-five-hundred-dollar check, that is the entirety of their gratitude for saving her life."
"What are you trying to do here, Julian?" muttered Alexander, his eyelids heavy as the sedatives made him speak without his usual filter.
"What are you trying to convince me of? Don’t come at me with that bullshit story about doing this for my own good or wanting to act like a caring older brother. You can take that and shove it straight up your ass."
Because of the heavy cocktail of drugs and sedatives pumping into his system, Alexander was essentially operating under a forced truth serum, his raw thoughts spilling out without a single ounce of hesitation.
Julian didn’t get angry.
Instead, a wide, thoroughly entertained grin broke across his face.
"God, I absolutely love this. You are an incredibly interesting guy, 815," laughed Julian, pocketing his knife.
"I’m going to record a video of you right now and send it to you when you recover, just to see if you have the balls to repeat that straight to my face. But anyway, it’s not like I have anything personal against you. I just really want to completely screw over the Sinclair family. If you reject that contract, file the report, and drag them into a massive legal nightmare... TMC will wire a clean two hundred and fifty thousand dollars straight to your account."
