I PULLED A MAFIA BOSS FROM A SINKING YACHT—24 HOURS LATER, HIS BODYGUARD BROUGHT $2 MILLION TO MY DOOR

drug trial his doctors kept mentioning. Pay off the care facility. Get him into a better hospital. Breathe for the first time in years.

My second instinct made me want to vomit.

Because this was not gratitude.

It felt like payment.

A transaction.

Like my choice to dive into black water and drag a dying man back to life could be reduced to a number.

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