Anisa bent down to check the bottom of her shoe, then scraped it against the ground with disgust. "What terrible luck. My shoe is dirty now."

Anthony had witnessed the whole thing clearly from above. His body began to convulse violently, and his eyes became bloodshot.

I turned and reached for the steel cable on the outside of the basket. "Dad, I'm going down to get the backup pills."

Anthony grabbed my wrist and shook his head. He clamped down on my wrist with surprising strength, stronger than a 70-year-old sick man should have had. He didn't want me to take the risk.

At that moment, a sharp electronic beep sounded from below. A black remote control appeared in Anisa's hand. "Let me show you what weightlessness feels like."

The basket's brake was released remotely. Without warning, the metal cage fell into free fall from nearly 100 feet in the air. My stomach shot up into my throat, and all I could hear was the wind and the chains shrieking as they rattled wildly.

When the cage was about 33 feet from the ground, it stopped abruptly. The sudden inertia hurled Anthony and me forward like rag dolls.

Anthony's forehead slammed hard against the iron railing, and blood gushed out immediately from the wound. His eyes rolled back, showing only the whites. Then his body went limp, and he passed out. His lips began turning black.

I was on the verge of breaking down as I slapped his face hard. "Dad, wake up."

I knelt in the basket, my knees hitting against the rusted metal floor with a dull thud. "Anisa, please let us down. I'll sign the divorce agreement right now and give up my place to you. I'll give you whatever you want."

After hearing my words, Anisa laughed triumphantly. "You should've gotten lost a long time ago. But today's high altitude roller coaster ride isn't over yet. Stay up there and suffer."

She glanced at her watch. "Wait another half an hour. I have a nail appointment. I'll let you down when it's time."

Half an hour was too long. Anthony couldn't even last another 30 seconds.

I laid him out flat on the metal floor and knelt beside him to perform CPR. With every compression, I could hear an abnormal, hollow sound coming from his chest. His hands hung by his side, and his fingers still curved in the same shape from twisting the medicine bottle cap.

I fumbled for my phone and dialed for emergency help. "I'm on tower crane number three at Randall Group's construction site in the southern district. Someone is having a heart attack. Please send an ambulance immediately."

The operator told me to stay on the line. Anthony's lips had already turned completely black.

Eight minutes later, I heard the ambulance siren growing closer. Anthony finally had a chance.

I leaned over the edge of the basket and saw the white ambulance stop at the site's main gate, unable to get in. Two dump trucks loaded with dirt sat sideways, blocking the entrance.

Anisa stood at the entrance with her arms crossed. "Who gave you permission to enter?"

The paramedics jumped out of the ambulance and rushed forward with their medical kits. "We have a patient in cardiac arrest. Please move aside."

Anisa didn't even blink. "This is a restricted Randall Group construction site. Outside vehicles need approval to enter. Your tires are filthy. If you track dirt onto the site, who's going to clean it?"

The lead paramedic's eyes turned red with anger. "Do you realize you're killing someone?"

Anisa pulled a stack of cash from her pocket and threw it straight at the paramedic's face. "It's just some old man from the countryside pretending to be dying. You people are making a huge fuss over nothing.

"This money is enough to cover his medical bills. If you delay Randall Group's construction schedule, can you even afford the losses?"

The bills scattered in the wind, but no one picked them up.

The dump trucks didn't move an inch. In the end, the paramedics had no choice but to carry the stretcher and medical kits over the nearby wire fence.

The construction site was huge. It took six or seven minutes just to run from the gate to the basket, but the critical window for resuscitating a cardiac arrest patient was only four minutes.

From above, I watched the paramedics run desperately across the massive site, weaving around scaffolding and jumping over ditches.

Five minutes passed. I continued performing CPR on Anthony mechanically, but his chest no longer showed any response.

Anisa unhurriedly pressed a button on the remote control, and the basket began to descend. It wasn't a smooth descent. Instead, the basket plunged into a sudden free fall.

The entire metal cage crashed to the ground, sending dust and gravel flying everywhere. The impact sent me sprawling across the floor of the basket.

I scrambled out of the basket, dragged Anthony out, and laid him flat on the ground. His forehead was still bleeding, but the color of the blood was no longer bright red. It had turned dark red, almost black.

Two paramedics finally reached us. The lead paramedic crouched down and felt for a pulse at Anthony's carotid artery.

Then he looked up at me and slowly shook his head. "His pupils are dilated. This is sudden cardiac death. I'm sorry. He's gone."

My hands were still frozen in the compression position, suspended mid-air. It felt as if all the sounds around me had suddenly vanished. Then I heard a sound that felt both distant and close, rising from my own throat.

I held Anthony's body as it slowly grew cold and let out a wail.

Anisa stood about ten feet away, covering her nose as she stepped back. "He's dead, so what? Why are you screaming like that? You sound like a maniac. This is such bad luck."

When Anisa saw that Anthony was indeed dead, she showed no fear at all. Instead, her expression was full of contempt and disgust.

She started bossing the nearby workers around. "This old man died on our construction site just to extort us and bring us bad luck.

"You guys, go grab the filthiest tarp you can find on this site and cover up this old man. I don't want to look at him. Then call a tow truck and get him taken to the crematorium to be burned right away."

The workers glanced at one another, and none of them dared to move. Anisa couldn't be bothered to spare me another glance and turned away to touch up her lipstick.

20 minutes later, a black Maybach pulled up at the entrance of the construction site. Conner stepped out of the vehicle. He wore a crisp suit and held a blue Tiffany paper bag.

Anisa jogged over and threw herself into his arms. "Mr. Randall, you're finally here. You have no idea what happened. Your wife brought her broke old dad to the site to cause trouble.

"When he couldn't squeeze any money out of us, he lay on the ground and pretended to be dead just to scare me. My heart nearly gave out."

Conner looked down and smoothed her wind-tousled hair. Then he looked toward me, or rather at the shape covered by a dirty tarp beside my feet.

He walked over, stood beside the tarp, and glanced down. The tarp didn't fully cover the body, and one hand stuck out. A watch rested on that wrist. It was from the Patek Philippe Nautilus series, and only 50 pieces were ever produced worldwide.

Yet Conner didn't notice the watch. He stepped directly onto that exposed hand.

He looked down at me, his gaze cold. "Listen carefully. Not only are you useless, but your dad is also a scheming old fraud. Sign the divorce agreement and get out right now. Don't dirty my property with your disgusting father."

I stopped crying and lifted my head, staring at his foot on Anthony's hand. I spoke slowly and deliberately. "You're stepping on your own father."

Conner froze for a moment. Then he burst out laughing as if he had just heard the most ridiculous joke in the world. "Sylvia Bradford, are you out of your mind? Or has grief completely fried your brain?

"My dad is doing just fine at a top-tier care facility in Eurena. Does a country bumpkin like your dad even deserve to pose as my dad?"

Before he could finish speaking, the roar of engines echoed in the distance. It wasn't just one car that arrived, but more than a dozen. A row of black Hummers rolled in like a steel serpent along the road, ramming through the dump trucks blocking the entrance.

The security guards tried to stop them, but the man in black at the front flashed a badge. At a glance, the guards' knees buckled.

The convoy stopped in a semicircle at the center of the construction site. The door of the vehicle in the middle swung open, and a middle-aged man in a gray suit scrambled out in panic.

I recognized him. He was the Randall family's head butler, Martin Duffy.

Martin ran to the tarp and dropped to his knees with a thud. With trembling hands, he yanked away the filthy cover, revealing Anthony's face, which remained majestic and familiar despite being covered in blood.

"Mr. Randall, look. This is Mr. Randall Senior," Martin said.

Conner's laughter stopped abruptly. He stared at the face of the man he had looked up to for 30 years. The Tiffany bag slipped from his grip and hit the ground with a dull thud. A diamond necklace slid out of the box and landed in the dust.

His knees began to shake, and then he collapsed to the ground.