Daniel stared at the laptop screen long after the numbers stopped making sense.
Five hundred thousand dollars.
The figure glowed quietly, almost mockingly, as though daring him to believe it. He refreshed the page once. Then again. The numbers didn't change. If anything, they ticked upward by a few dollars, like a living thing breathing right in front of him.
His throat went dry.
For years, he had imagined this moment—dreamed of it during sleepless nights filled with rejection letters, unpaid bills, and whispered insults from people who thought he was chasing foolish ambitions. But now that it was real, fear wrapped around his excitement like a shadow.
Slowly, Daniel closed the laptop.
He didn't want to celebrate. Not yet.
He turned to look at Mia. She was sleeping peacefully, her chest rising and falling gently, unaware of the storm of thoughts racing through her father's mind. A faint smile touched his lips. This—this—was why he had endured everything. Not to prove anyone wrong. Not for luxury. But to protect that fragile peace on her face.
He stood up and walked closer to her bed.
"I've got you," he whispered softly. "No matter what."
Just then, a light knock came at the door.
Daniel stiffened instantly.
"Come in," he said after a brief pause.
The door opened, and a familiar nurse stepped inside—the same nurse who had been helping him bathe Mia, change her clothes, and talk gently to her whenever Daniel felt overwhelmed.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Daniel," she said with a warm smile.
"Good afternoon," he replied, relieved. "The doctor said you'd come."
She nodded. "Yes. He informed me about your request."
She glanced at Mia, lowering her voice instinctively. "She's resting well."
"Yes," Daniel said quietly. "She's been through a lot."
The nurse pulled a chair closer and sat down. "The doctor also told me about the arrangement. I've agreed to help with her care at home—checking her stitches, changing the dressing, monitoring her recovery."
Daniel bowed his head slightly. "Thank you. It means more to me than you know."
She smiled kindly. "We'll discuss my schedule and responsibilities later. For now, you should try to rest too. You look exhausted."
Daniel chuckled softly. "I am. But I don't think sleep will come easily tonight."
The nurse stood up. "I'll leave you both to rest. I'll check back later."
As she left the room, Daniel returned to his seat and reopened the laptop—just for a moment. The numbers were still there. Real. Solid.
He closed it again.
Not yet, he told himself. I need to be careful.
Outside the hospital room, footsteps echoed softly down the hallway.
Daniel's ex-wife stood near the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Richard stood beside her, scrolling through his phone, seemingly unbothered.
"She's fine," the doctor had said earlier. She can be discharged at any time.
Those words should have relieved her.
Instead, they unsettled her.
"How did he pay?" she muttered suddenly.
Richard glanced up. "What?"
"The hospital bills," she said, lowering her voice. "Do you have any idea how much that surgery costs?"
Richard shrugged. "He probably borrowed the money. Or begged someone. You know Daniel."
She frowned. "Fifty million is not something someone just borrows."
Richard scoffed lightly. "You're overthinking it."
But she wasn't convinced.
Something felt off. Daniel's calmness earlier. His confidence. The way he didn't argue when money was mentioned. It all felt… different.
She shook her head slightly, pushing the thoughts away.
It doesn't matter anymore, she told herself. I've moved on.
Still, unease lingered.
Back in the room, Daniel received a message notification on his laptop just as he was about to close it for good.
ACCOUNT MANAGER: Congratulations. Your last trade exceeded expectations. Market volatility worked in your favor. Would you like to withdraw profits or reinvest?
Daniel's heart pounded.
Withdraw… or reinvest?
This was the crossroads he had always feared.
If he reinvested, the money could grow exponentially—or vanish overnight. If he withdrew, he would finally have security. A home. Stability for Mia.
He typed slowly:
I will withdraw a portion. Keep the rest active.
He hesitated, then added:
And keep this account confidential.
The reply came almost instantly.
Understood.
Daniel leaned back, exhaling deeply.
For the first time in years, he allowed himself a small smile.
Evening crept in quietly.
Mia stirred and slowly opened her eyes. "Dad?"
"I'm here," Daniel said immediately, standing up.
"Did I sleep long?"
"A little," he replied. "How do you feel?"
She shrugged. "Better."
Daniel smiled. "That's good."
She looked around the room. "Mom didn't come back?"
"No," he answered honestly.
Mia nodded slowly, as though she had already expected that.
"Dad," she said softly, "are we really going to be okay?"
Daniel knelt beside her bed and took her hand. "Yes. I promise you."
She studied his face closely, then smiled faintly. "I believe you."
That night, after Mia fell asleep again, Daniel stepped outside the room to get some air.
As he leaned against the wall, his phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
He frowned and answered.
"Hello?"
There was a pause.
Then a voice spoke—low, calm, and unfamiliar.
"Mr. Daniel… congratulations on your recent success."
Daniel's blood ran cold.
"Who is this?" he demanded.
A soft chuckle came through the line.
"Let's just say… The Trade Broker."
The call ended.
Daniel stared at his phone, his heart racing.
The Trade Broker?