Prologue 3

It was a Friday evening, and Jet was getting ready for work.

He was still stuck doing Q&A because the pay was just too good, and no matter how many times Carl insisted on a small ceremony, Jet was certain that whatever they initially planned to spend would at least double in the end.

After all, it was a darn wedding; things were supposed to spiral out of control at some point. That's just how they worked.

Jet was adjusting his shirt when his smartphone began to ring to the tune of "Night on Bald Mountain," the preset ringtone for unknown numbers.

"Jet Evangelista, who's calling?"

"Mister Evangelista, this is the Saint Joseph Hospital," the concerned female voice on the other end replied, sending shivers down his spine.

"Is Carl Evangelista your brother?" Her voice seemed almost trembling.

"Yes, what happened?"

"He was involved in a car accident and is in critical condition. You should come here as soon as possible. The doctors need you since you are his healthcare proxy, and the patient is unconscious."

"A car accident?!?" Jet exclaimed, rushing out of the door and looking for a cab.

"We don't have a damn car! What the hell happened?"

"I'm sorry, I am not at liberty to say. The doctors will explain it..." Jet hung up on her. He had no time for pointless chatter, only for a cab.

Every second stuck in traffic felt like torture, and when he finally arrived, it was too late.

The surgeon and a police officer explained to him that Carl had been struck by a drunk driver. The culprit had fled the scene, and the police were still searching for him.

A passerby had immediately dialed 911, but due to the traffic jam caused by the accident, it took hours for the ambulance to arrive.

So, by the time Carl reached the hospital, he was already in critical condition. He had multiple fractures, a ruptured spleen, and internal bleeding, requiring immediate surgery.

Jet had been called while Carl was just entering the operating room.

The medical team had done their utmost to save him, but Carl had lost too much blood, and there was nothing more they could do. They offered Jet their condolences, but all he could hear was a deafening silence.

"Let me see my brother," he pleaded.

Carl's lifeless body lay beneath a sheet, with only his head visible. Jet could still see traces of blood on his little brother's face.

Jet left his contact information with the police officer to stay informed about the investigations, then returned home.

The culprit was quickly apprehended thanks to traffic cameras. It turned out to be a kid, barely seventeen years old, who had stolen his father's car and then gotten drunk and high with his friends.

Jet lived the months leading up to the trial in anguish. The blasted District Attorney had decided to prosecute him as a minor, and an even more accursed judge had granted him house arrest, all while his dear little brother, Carl, was dead because of him.

"How could they do such a thing?" Jet would shout and argue with anyone willing to listen. "Why all this talk about the rights and future of that little brat? What about my brother's rights? What about his future? Carl has none because of him! What kind of justice is this?"

Jet visited the DA's office multiple times, expressing his outrage and demanding they seek the maximum sentence. They were always kind and accommodating, promising him they wouldn't forget about Carl.

When the day of the trial finally arrived, Jet's world crumbled once more.

The DA and the defense attorney had reached a settlement.

Since Chris Wainright, the name of the murderer, was still a minor and this was his first offense, he agreed to go to rehab and complete six hundred hours of community service. If Chris successfully completed his rehab and stayed out of trouble for the next three years, he would be a free citizen with no criminal record.

Jet was too stunned to even be angry. After the session ended, he approached the DA and asked a single question in a muffled voice.

"Why?"

In their kindest and most accommodating tone, the DA's assistants explained to Jet that Chris was just a kid from a good family who had made a foolish mistake.

He had a promising future ahead, already accepted to Cal Tech, and this was his first offense. Furthermore, Chris's parents had hired a top-notch lawyer, and the judge was unlikely to ruin Chris's life.

Despite their explanations, Jet didn't cause a scene. His fire had been extinguished, and he had no more tears to shed.

In the following days, Jet went through the motions, following his routine as if nothing had happened. His mind continued to reject everything that had occurred in the last six months.

The only thing that made him feel alive was the constant headache that had begun shortly after Carl's death. According to his doctor, it was a stress-related symptom, so Derek had been popping aspirins and paracetamol like candy.

But the pain never subsided; instead, it grew worse. Jet finally mustered the strength to get a thorough check-up, and once again, bad news awaited him.

According to the full-body scan and the subsequent biopsy, he had stage two pulmonary cancer.

"But I've never smoked in my whole life!" Jet exclaimed, more amused than scared.

"Indeed, it's odd," Dr. Monroe, his oncologist, replied, quite puzzled.

She was a good-looking Hispanic woman, perhaps five years older than Jet. Under different circumstances, he might have asked her out.

"You mentioned you work for a chemical company, right?" Jet nodded.

"Such an aggressive cancer is too uncommon to be a coincidence. My personal opinion is that their ventilation system failed. You and God knows how many more people have been breathing poison for quite some time."

"But we wear masks the whole time we work with the chemicals, and speaking for myself, I always follow the safety protocols to the letter. My colleagues tease me about it!" Jet said, still in disbelief.

"Then maybe the masks are cheap pieces of junk. Or maybe the lab or the storage, if not both have leaks. These corporate scumbags only seek profits.

It would not surprise me in the least if they cut from the safety budget to put more dividends in their pockets."

Doctor Monroe was too outraged, even in his catatonic state Derek could tell there was more to it.

"Doctor, what are you hiding from me?" He asked, looking her straight in the eyes for the first time.

She nibbled on her lower lip for a while before answering.

"Between you and me, you are not the first case from your company. I have already reported it to the Department of Health and to the federals. If I were in your shoes, I would get a good lawyer and sue the soul out of them. You'll need a lot of money for the treatments."

"I agree on the lawyer, but I refuse any treatment. I'll just take palliative care."

Doctor Monroe jumped from her chair.

"Do you realize that without the proper treatments you have six months, a year at best to live? Also, as I have already said, your cancer is really aggressive. We need to start as soon as possible if we want to a chance to beat it."

The situation was dramatic, but Derek found all those "we" words hilarious, so he could not refrain from chuckling.

"We barely know each other, doctor. So, we have nothing to do if not going separate ways." Derek said to her with an icy tone.

"What do I have to live for? I have no family, no loved ones. My little brother's ashes are all that is left to keep me company. I could die tomorrow and I would not give a s**t!"

They parted on bad terms, but she still gave him her number, in case he changed his mind or simply needed to talk. Derek called his old shark lawyer and explained everything.

Years had passed but they would still send each other Christmas cards.

Derek had kept tabs on him, just in case. He had now more gray hair than before, but was still a first-class shark.

Derek stopped going to work and started spending his money without much care. He would go to all the fancy restaurants he had always wanted to try, bought the suits he always dreamed about and only ate his favorite foods for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Derek would spend most of his days playing games on his brand-new gaming PC and revisiting all the spots that held a significance for him and Carl.

Then, twenty-four days after the diagnosis, he had an epiphany.