When Olivia heard her husband's words, her heart soared with hope, and she agreed without a moment's hesitation. Within just two hours, Mishal was swiftly transferred to the private hospital, where the doctors were standing by, ready for his arrival.
Mishal, bewildered, opened his eyes to find himself in an unfamiliar room. Confusion clouded his young face as he glanced around in search of familiarity. The moment he began to contemplate his surroundings, a doctor entered the room, bringing with him an air of professionalism and purpose. Mishal watched as the doctor meticulously conducted a thorough examination of his frail body.
With a sense of frustration, Mishal attempted to speak, but his voice failed him. He felt utterly helpless. The doctor, undeterred, prepared an injection and administered it, causing Mishal to gradually succumb to slumber.
Unbeknownst to the occupants of the hospital room, a mysterious woman had been quietly observing the unfolding events from the shadows.
After a short while, medical staff wheeled Mishal into the surgery room, embarking on a journey fraught with uncertainty. Hours passed in the tense atmosphere outside the operating room.
John and Olivia, along with members of the York family, anxiously awaited the doctor's return. As he emerged from the operating room, a grave expression etched across his face, a wave of anxiety washed over the gathered individuals. Their collective worry was palpable.
"What's the news, Doctor?" John inquired, his voice tinged with concern.
The doctor, his countenance weighed down by the gravity of the situation, gazed solemnly at the group. He began by delivering the good news, assuring them that the surgery had indeed been a success. However, it was the subsequent revelation that sent shockwaves through the room.
"Mishal's condition is precarious," the doctor explained, his voice heavy with sorrow. "His body is incredibly weak after the surgery, and his pulse is feeble. I fear he may not survive the night."
A shroud of despair descended upon the assembly, and people exchanged concerned glances. Amid the grim discussion, John and Olivia shared a wordless moment, their expressions inscrutable.
But within the depths of Olivia's mind, an idea began to take shape. She and John withdrew from the group, conferring in hushed tones. After a brief discussion, they returned to the doctor with a proposition.
"Doctor," Olivia began, "we understand the situation. Mishal may not make it through the night. We'd like to make a donation—for money."
After some paperwork was swiftly signed, sealing Mishal's fate, the doctor observed the retreating figures of John and Olivia, shaking his head in quiet disbelief.
"Cruel people, driven by money," he muttered to himself, "willing to trade their own child."
In the end, John and Olivia received a total of over 40 million dollars—10 million from the York family and another 30 million from the hospital in exchange for Mishal's organs. Mishal's body held no value to them, and they departed without a second thought.
Two days later, in the lavish surroundings of a Los Angeles five-star hotel room numbered 305, a five-year-old child lay on the bed, none other than Mishal. Seated nearby, a mysterious woman regarded him with a mix of concern and compassion.
As Mishal stirred and opened his eyes, he found himself surrounded by unfamiliar luxury. Confusion returned, and he asked aloud, "Where am I?"
The enigmatic woman offered a gentle reassurance. "Don't worry, kid. You're safe. I rescued you from your cruel parents."