The pills in this young man's palm look like rabbit droppings.
I stare at them, fighting back the urge to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both.
Fifty years building an empire. Hundreds of millions of dollars spent on the finest medical care available. Teams of specialists from Harvard, Johns Hopkins, Mayo Clinic. All of them telling me the same thing.
My heart is failing. Six months, maybe less.
And now my granddaughter brings me some kid who looks like he just crawled out of a college dorm, holding what appear to be compressed balls of dirt.
"Grandfather," Olivia whispers beside me. "Please. Just try."
My son Richard steps forward, his face red with indignation. "This is insane. Dad, you're not seriously considering—"
"Considering what?" I cut him off. "The doctors have given up on me, Richard. What exactly do I have to lose?"
