Crowdfunding And Porsche Chapter 1

My brother went into cardiac arrest. I called Greyson twenty-seven times before he finally answered. "One hundred thirty-six thousand dollars? Harrington funds are for commercial growth, not your family's bottomless pit. Start a crowdfunding campaign. I'll send the link. You're an adult, Norah. Stop relying on others to clean up your mess."

Numb with cold outside the ER, I returned to our estate at 2 A.M. for my brother's records. Through the study doors, I heard Greyson speaking tenderly to his assistant. "Order a four-hundred-thousand-dollar pink Porsche Panamera for Jasmine. Put it on the corporate account. She scraped her knee today. Scars don't suit a young girl. Have it drive her daily."

Jasmine was an intern of seventeen days. Spotting me in the hallway, Greyson nodded approvingly. "Adults solve their own problems. I donated ten dollars to your crowdfunding page, by the way. I had to show some support for my wife."

I gave a hollow reply and walked into the study. Clarity struck like a blow. He had the resources. I simply wasn't worth the expense. I pulled the divorce papers from the drawer and signed my name, stroke by stroke. From this moment on, we were strangers.

…

When Greyson's ten-dollar donation cleared, my brother Lucas saw his heart rate drop below twenty for the third time.

The nurse rushed toward me, her voice panicked. "Mrs. Harrington! He needs to be moved to the hybrid operating room immediately. We need the initial deposit of one hundred thirty-six thousand dollars cleared right now."

I stared at my phone screen.

Donor: Greyson Harrington.

Amount: $10.

Note: Adults must learn to carry their own weight.

I dialed his cell again. When he finally answered, his irritation spilled through the speaker.

"Norah, how long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum?"

"Lucas went from ventricular tachycardia to fibrillation," I rasped, my throat raw. "The doctor said any further delay will cause brain hypoxia. Please, loan me the money. I will sign a formal promissory note."

He let out a dry, dismissive laugh. "Do you have any idea how much your brother has cost over the years? Harrington capital drives enterprise, Norah. It is not an endless treasury to keep your family on life support."

Inside the trauma bay, someone shouted, "Prepare the defibrillator!"

My knees gave out. I collapsed onto the cold tile floor. "He is only twenty-two years old. I am begging you."

"Begging will not change reality. People need to face consequences. You cannot dump your financial risks onto others every time life gets hard."

The line went dead.

A second later, a text arrived with a link to a public assistance form.

Then came the notification for his ten-dollar contribution.