Chapter 7 - The Ironclad Contract
My parents completely stopped crying, staring up at me with expressions of utter, bewildered shock.
"You want us to give you our home?" my father asked, his voice trembling with disbelief and sudden indignation.
"I want the Lakewood house, your retirement portfolios, your vehicles, and every single penny in your bank accounts," I clarified sharply.
"You will transfer everything into a charitable foundation legally established in Lily's name before I even look at a needle."
My mother angrily wiped her ruined face, the desperate facade dropping to reveal the greedy monster lurking beneath.
"You would leave your own parents completely destitute and homeless out of pure spite?" she hissed viciously.
"You left my daughter in a wooden coffin to secure your own financial comfort," I reminded her with absolute zero empathy.
Richard Pierce impatiently snapped his fingers, signaling one of his heavily armed security guards to approach.
"Call my personal legal team in New York and have them draft the asset transfer documents immediately," Richard barked.
My parents tried to vehemently protest, but Richard silenced them with a single, terrifying glare that promised violent consequences.
"You will sign over every miserable thing you own to this woman right now, or I will personally destroy you," Richard threatened.
We waited in a tense, suffocating silence for forty-five minutes while the corporate lawyers frantically drafted the ironclad paperwork.
A portable fax machine at the nurses' station finally whirred to life, printing out a thick stack of binding legal contracts.
Dr. Evans watched the entire surreal exchange from the safety of the desk, his eyes wide with complete disbelief.
I meticulously reviewed every single page of the contract, ensuring there were absolutely no hidden loopholes or escape clauses.
The documents legally stripped my parents of their entire net worth, transferring it completely to the Lily Pierce Memorial Trust.
I handed a black luxury pen to my fiercely trembling father, tapping the final signature line with a demanding finger.
He signed his name with a pathetic whimper, officially signing away his entire comfortable future to his discarded daughter.
My mother practically snatched the pen from him, glaring at me with pure, unadulterated hatred as she violently signed the pages.
"We have absolutely nothing left, I hope you are finally satisfied, you vindictive witch," my mother spat venomously.
I carefully collected the freshly signed documents, folding them neatly and placing them securely into my leather bag.
"I am ready to proceed with the medical preparation now, Dr. Evans," I announced, turning toward the stunned physician.
My parents instantly breathed a massive, collective sigh of deep relief, believing they had successfully purchased their son's ultimate survival.
Richard nodded in stern approval, finally viewing me as a ruthless equal who understood the true art of a brutal transaction.
Dr. Evans slowly stepped out from behind the nurses' station, his face an unreadable mask of extreme professional conflict.
"I need to run a rapid HLA typing test on your fresh blood before we can begin the actual extraction," the doctor explained cautiously.
He drew a small vial of blood from my arm and placed it into the rapid centrifuge machine down the hall.
Ten agonizing minutes later, the machine beeped loudly, and Dr. Evans pulled the digital results from the glowing computer monitor.
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He looked at the screen, then looked back at the anxious, expectant faces of my terrible family.
"I cannot perform this transplant, because Clara is completely genetically incompatible with Daniel," Dr. Evans announced to the silent room.
