Leo nodded quickly, already reaching into his pocket.
“I just came to return something,” he said.
But before he could explain, a fragment of conversation drifted toward him from the security desk.
“…Mr. Coleman’s baby… not responding…”
“…they’re saying it’s over…”
Leo’s head turned instinctively.
Something about the urgency in those voices made his chest tighten.
He hesitated only a second.
Then he moved.
An hour earlier, Leo had been walking along the edge of the financial district, scanning the sidewalks the way he always did—carefully, patiently, like someone who understood that small things mattered.
That was when he saw the wallet.
It was too clean to belong there.
Black leather. Heavy. Expensive.
Inside—more money than Leo had ever seen in one place.
And a card.
Richard Coleman — CEO.
Leo recognized the name. Everyone did. His face appeared in newspapers, on screens, in conversations that had nothing to do with boys who collected bottles for coins.
Leo stood there for a long moment, the wallet open in his hands.
He could have taken it.
No one was watching.
No one would ask questions.
But then he heard his grandfather’s voice, clear as if the old man were standing right beside him:
“Your eyes aren’t just for seeing, Leo. They’re for choosing. Look carefully… and choose right.”
So Leo closed the wallet.
And started walking.
Back in the hospital, chaos had settled into something quieter.
Not calmer.
Just heavier.
Richard Coleman stood beside the bed, unmoving, as if any motion might break whatever fragile connection still tied him to reality.
His wife, Isabelle, sat in a chair, her body bent forward, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress as though she could hold their child in place through sheer will.
The doctors spoke in low voices behind them.
“…severe obstruction…”
“…no visible foreign body…”
“…possible internal growth…”
“We’ve done everything,” the chief physician said at last.
Richard didn’t turn around.
“Do something else.”
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