Once a feared titan in the world of international finance, his name carried weight from Wall Street boardrooms to global investment circles, and people used to lower their voices when they spoke about him. Yet today, he sat slumped on a worn wooden bench, looking like a man crushed by something no amount of money could repair.
Beside him sat his seven year old daughter, Daisy Fletcher.
She held a white cane carefully in her small hands, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping her steady in a world that had turned uncertain.
Even in the suffocating heat, she wore a thick sweater that looked out of place, as if she was trying to hide from something deeper than the weather. Gregory glanced at his watch out of habit, but the passing of time had stopped holding meaning for him months ago.
For half a year, his daughter’s vision had been fading slowly and relentlessly, slipping away no matter how many specialists he contacted across the country. He had flown doctors from Boston, Los Angeles, and Seattle, but every consultation ended with the same cold conclusion.
A rare degenerative condition with no clear cure.