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Chapter 6
Chapter 6
"An investment project?" Abby frowned, dubious about his words. If he had any talent for business,
Shaun Sunny, her grandfather wouldn't have let her take over Sunny Group.
"Yeah. Now that you know, send me the money. And hurry up, it's urgent."
Abby didn't comply: "I can send you the money, but first I need to see all the information on this NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.
project."
What kind of father wanted to be told what to do by his own daughter like this? Carl felt humiliated. He
yelled at Abby on the phone, calling her a money-wasting bitch, that he should have her aborted had
he known it was a she. He said a few other insulting things, and then complained about what a tough
life he had had because of her.
Abby was used to this; she had learnt not to be affected: "Is there anything else you want? I need to
go."
"No no, don't hang up! I'll send you all the documents right away!" Carl quickly stopped her for fear that
she was having second thoughts.
A few minutes after hanging up, Abby received the documents. She had her assistant print them out
and make her a cup of coffee.
Abby began to read the documents.
She didn't take any break until a cup of hot coffee was brought to her.
Abby took a sip.
It was top-grade Blue Mountain, with its unique fresh-ground fragrance, and a mellow taste.
But still, it left a bitter taste in the mouth.
She was never one for bitterness.
In the past, she couldn't take a pill without taking a candy immediately after. But now, she had to rely on
this bitter taste to focus.
She took another sip before putting the coffee down, and resumed reading.
It was a real estate project that Carl wanted to invest in.
It had a doable plan, the government's permit, and a team that looked just fine…before Abby could go
through it, Carl called again.
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door.
Abby picked up the phone while motioning for her assistant to come in.
The assistant said: "President Abby, Dr. Quain is waiting for you downstairs."
Mog Quain was here?
This took Abby by surprise.
She didn't have the time to deal with Carl right now.
She said "okay" and quickly hung up on him.
"Invite him up, and bring a cup of tea."
During the time her assistant went to invite Mog, Abby remitted 2 million dollars to Carl.
Then Abby stared at her phone until it went black, but still there was no thank you from her father.
She gave a sad smile before tossing her phone aside.
"President Abby, Dr Quain is here."
The office door was open. Seeing Mog come in, Abby and motioned the assistant out.
"Please have a seat." Abby said to Mog.
Her office was spacious; it had an area especially designed for meeting with guests.
She led the way to the sofa. It was next to a French window, offering a view of the city.
Mog smelled coffee the minute he went in. He followed the scent, and sure enough, there was a cup of
coffee on the desk.
He frowned: "You shouldn't be drinking coffee."
"Is it?" Abby asked while pushing the cup of tea towards him: "Why are you here today?"
Mog sat down before replying: "Seems like you forgot everything I told you last night."
Abby's hand froze. She drew it back and sat quietly on the sofa with her head down, like a child who
had been naughty and was waiting for a good scolding.
"I'm taking you to the hospital today," Mog announced.
Abby didn't look at him; instead, she gazed at a plant in her office, a plant that was withering, and
asked in a low voice, as if in a trance: "For what?"
"For a further examination, a treatment plan, and to check you in."
Mog watched Abby closely.
It was only for a month he hadn't seen her, and yet she looked so thin and vulnerable, like a rag doll.
He couldn't imagine how someone who used to be terrified of a flu shot could take the pain of cancer.
Abby looked down, so Mog couldn't tell what she was thinking.
She shook her head: "Mog, I'm just like this plant, withering from within. There's nothing you can do to
save it."
"Abby, please at least let me try! You can spend all day and night working, you can spend four years to
please a man who you know doesn't love you, why can't you make a little time for yourself?"
Mog felt bad for her. She was only twenty four.
She should be healthy, and happy, and enjoying her life, rather than being stuck at work and a loveless
marriage, and suffering from cancer.
Mog went over to her and patted her head like he used to: "Medical science is very developed now. As
long as you don't give up, there will be…" he trailed off in the middle, because he saw Abby's eyes turn
red.
Abby stroked the yellow leaves of the plant with her finger, and murmured: "Then perhaps you can tell
me, how much hope do I have, fifty-fifty, 20 percent, or 0.1 percent?"
Mog's lips formed a tight line. He didn't speak.
"No, I changed my mind." Abby's cracked lips pulled into a sad smile: "Please don't tell me the answer.
A false hope is worse than no hope at all."
She knew Mog was trying to help, and she appreciated it.
Who didn't want to live a long and healthy life?
But she had never heard anyone survived advanced cancer…
Abby gripped the yellow leave.
It shattered into pieces, and slipped out of her fingers.