Chapter 407 Given That He Was Unwell, He Needed Treatment
The netizens hung around till like 2 PM, but Luann? She was a no-show.
And this court thing? Totally not the circus everyone thought it’d be. Luann just sent some lawyer dude to handle it.
Juliet's lawyer went on and on, and finally, Luann's lawyer said, "When did we ever say we wouldn't take care of the old man? Didn't we cover all his hospital bills?"
He whipped out a stack of papers. "Your Honor, we got no beef here. The defendant's cool with covering all of Mike's future costs. But those millions the plaintiff's asking for? No, that's just overkill. Who knows where that cash would end up?"
So, yeah, it wrapped up pretty chill. Juliet didn't get a dime from Luann.
Mike was in bed, shaking with rage when he heard the news, his head spinning.
Just then, the door creaked open. Luann strolled in, all smiles. "Hey, Dad, how's the recovery going?"
Mike shot her a death glare, teeth grinding.
"Looks like you're doing alright, still got the energy to be pissed." Luann set the lilies she brought on the table, arranging them in a vase, and placed it by his bedside.
She went on, "Don't sweat it, Dad. Even though the docs say you're terminal and there's no point in more treatment, I think every extra day counts, right?"
"My illness is your fault," Mike spat, thinking about the car accident.
"Dad, come on. This is just karma biting you back." Luann pulled up a chair and sat in front of him, her smile sweet but icy. "I've been chatting with the docs about your treatment plan, and it's all set now."
Right then, the attending doctor walked in, holding some papers. He nodded at Luann and then turned to Mike, "Here's your treatment plan. Take a look."
Mike's eyes nearly popped out. "Chemo? Radiation? Why the hell do I need this?"
There were a bunch of medical terms he didn't get, but the dates were clear—he'd be stuck here for the next two months.
"You’re sick, so you need treatment," Luann said softly. "Didn't you call me unfilial? How could I just let you die without trying? I even got some foreign experts to check you out. They'll whip up the best plan for you."
Mike's hands shook with fury, and he started coughing like crazy. "What are you talking about? I want out, out!"
Actually, he was not sick at all!
The attending doc turned to Luann and said, "Time's ticking. His body's still messed up from the car crash, but if we wait any longer, there won't be any chance for treatment. We should start tomorrow."
Mike snapped back to reality. "Luann, are you trying to kill me? Are you torturing me on purpose? I'm fine! If you go through with this, it's medical abuse. That's illegal, you'll end up in jail."
Luann stayed cool. "He seems really worked up. Give him a sedative."
The doc nodded, "Got it."
When Mike came to, Luann was still there, chilling on a comfy sofa, legs crossed, reading a newspaper.
Hearing him stir, Luann looked up and smiled. "Oh, you're awake."
Mike, shaking, pointed at her. "Please, let me go... just let me go."
Mike felt like Luann was out to torture him on purpose.
Luann said, "If you're sick, you need treatment. Why fight it?"
"I'm not sick. Don't give me those injections," Mike suddenly noticed the IV drip by his bed was different. He reached out to yank it out.
"You are sick. It's terminal cancer."
"That's all a lie. Juliet and I made it up to scam you. I don't want the money anymore. Luann, please, I'll go apologize to your mom every year. I swear." Mike's eyes were wide with desperation.
He'd just started to feel a bit better, thinking he was escaping the nightmare, but it was just the beginning of a new one. "My leg's busted, I can't walk anymore. I'm already like this, do you still want to torture me?"
Luann's eyes turned icy, but she smiled. She folded the newspaper with her slender fingers and said coldly, "This is torture for you? Have you ever had nightmares every night for six years, unable to sleep? Have you ever had to take meds like they're meals? Have you ever lived with guilt every single day?
"Ever since Mom had me, she never stopped taking meds. Every day, a new needle mark on her hand, and the drawer always full of life-sustaining drugs. But even with all that pain and effort, she still died.
"Mike, I know you don't have much time left, and even if you get treated, it's a waste of time and money. But I've got time to waste on you. You want money? Fine, I'll give it to you, and I bought you a ton of meds. I just want to see you suffer every day, living a life worse than death. Didn't you always say you wanted to atone? Well, now's your chance."
