## Hazel's POV
I stared at Tanya across my desk, her perfectly manicured nails tapping impatiently against her designer purse. After the lobby scene this morning, I'd reluctantly agreed to meet with her privately to avoid further public spectacle.
"How much?" I asked flatly.
Tanya's face brightened momentarily. "The specialist charges fifty thousand for the consultation alone. Then there's—"
"I wasn't asking how much the medical bills are. I was asking how much you think you'll get from me."
Her smile faltered. "Hazel, this isn't about money. Your father needs—"
"My father needs nothing from me." I leaned forward, keeping my voice steady. "Harold Shaw lost the right to call himself my father years ago."
"He's dying," Tanya whispered dramatically.
"We're all dying. Some just faster than others."
She flinched at my coldness. Good. I wanted her to understand exactly where we stood.
"How can you be so heartless? After everything—"