The sterile hallway echoed with footsteps. The wealthy patient in his expensive robe glared at the elderly janitor pushing the cleaning cart.
“Can you move faster? This floor smells like ammonia every morning because of you people.”
The old man in blue scrubs didn’t reply. He just kept walking.
A doctor in white coat approached, tablet in hand.
“Mr. Ellison, the liver your son received two years ago… I need you to look at who brought it to the airport that night.”
The screen showed the janitor’s face. Donor records.
The rich man’s mouth opened, but no words came. The man he had just humiliated was the reason his son was still alive.
The janitor continued down the hall, back straight, cart wheels squeaking softly.