My father had just passed away when I received a collection call from the hospital. "Family member of patient William Miller, Neurology Bed 23. You have an outstanding balance of $246,000. Please arrange payment immediately!" I froze. I turned to look at my father, lying peacefully in his casket, and a sudden surge of anger flared in my chest. I suppressed it and said, "You must be mistaken. We’ve already been discharged." "I knew you people would try to deny it! You think you can just sneak out of the hospital without paying?!" "I'm giving you 24 hours. If you don't pay up, see what happens!" I lost my temper. "Fine! Let's see what happens!" …… I hung up and pulled out the itemized medical bills from before the discharge. By yesterday, my dad was already gone. In his final days, he was only receiving basic IV fluids. There were absolutely no expensive medications involved. $246,000? They really had the nerve to demand that. I scoffed and tossed the bills aside, deciding to ignore it. But the phone rang again. It was the same landline number. I didn't answer. The phone buzzed relentlessly for fifteen minutes, followed by a text message. "William Miller, stop pretending you can't hear me! You're too old to be acting like this!" "You owe us money, and you think you can just walk away?!" I took a deep breath and typed out a reply. "William Miller has passed away. I am his son, Ethan Miller. The hospital bills were settled in full upon his discharge. I suggest you check your system carefully." I only sent that message to leave a paper trail. Besides, the hospital issued the death certificate themselves. Are their systems not linked? Billing a dead man? This was absolute nonsense! To my surprise, my phone rang almost immediately after I hit send. I answered it, and a shrill female voice pierced my ear. "Ethan Miller, do you have no shame?! You're using a death as an excuse to get out of paying?!" "Let me tell you something. If you don't pay, we are calling the cops! You want to be a deadbeat? Fine, I'll make you famous!" I kept my voice dangerously calm. "What is your name?" "None of your business! $246,000. Not a penny less!" She hung up on me. I didn't hesitate to block the number. According to our family's tradition, there's a three-day viewing period before the funeral, where friends and relatives come to pay their respects. Hearing the commotion from my phone calls, a few relatives asked what was going on. I kept it brief, just mentioning that the hospital was calling about a bill. They didn't press the issue. I assumed the hospital would eventually check their own system, realize the error, and drop it. Plus, I was busy organizing the funeral, so I just blocked their numbers and put my phone on silent. That evening, after all the relatives had arrived and I had settled them into their hotels, I finally returned home. That was when I saw it—over a hundred missed calls and hundreds of text messages. All from the hospital. The texts were littered with profanity. Just reading them, I could picture how rabid the person on the other end must have been. I shoved the abusive messages to the back of my mind and ignored them. But the very next morning, a friend sent me a video link. "Ethan, why aren't you paying your bills? The hospital put you on blast! They're calling you a deadbeat and saying they called the cops!" "You need to clear this up ASAP before it ruins your life!" When I watched the video my friend sent, my vision literally went dark. The video was filmed at the billing counter of Memorial Hospital. A woman in her thirties, wearing medical scrubs, was staring at the camera with red, teary eyes. "Ethan Miller! Your father, William Miller, was receiving treatment at our hospital, and you sneaked him out without paying his $246,000 medical bill! If you don't pay this back, the hospital is going to make me cover the cost!" "I'm begging you! We're all just trying to make a living. Please don't do this to me!" She cried beautifully, looking like the ultimate victim. Then, she played an audio recording of our "phone call": "Stop calling! My dad is dead! I'm not paying a dime, go ask his ghost for the money!" The voice was mine, but I had never said those words. It was blatantly spliced together! But the internet believed it. A tidal wave of vicious, hateful comments crashed down on me from every corner of social media. Following that, my phone practically exploded with calls from unknown numbers. I was completely doxxed. Someone even ordered funeral wreaths and had them delivered to my house. My poor dad never could have imagined that after his death, our house would be flooded with over thirty funeral wreaths—all bearing my name. When my mom saw them, all the color drained from her face. "Ethan, what is this...?" "Mom, I'll handle it." I called the police and preserved the evidence. Even though social media platforms often ignore these things, having a police report on file was much better than fighting alone. Especially since this malicious cyberbullying almost gave my grieving mother a heart attack. This meant war. Next, I hired a lawyer. The lawyer had clearly seen the viral video. It wasn't until I laid out my phone records and my father's death certificate that he finally broke his long silence. "You really got thrown under the bus here. But don't worry. The evidence is solid and complete. She is going to lose!" "I don't just want that billing clerk to lose. I want the hospital to lose! This is a catastrophic error in their internal system, and they're making an innocent person take the fall. I am not backing down!" My lawyer drafted a strategy. As I walked out of the law firm, my phone buzzed endlessly. Unrecognized numbers. Whenever I picked up, it was a barrage of vile insults. I set my phone to reject all unknown callers and filtered out text messages from non-contacts. I finally got some peace, but the video was still spreading like wildfire. The second I walked into work, I saw the messages in the company Slack channel. Before I could even open my mouth to explain, HR issued a formal termination letter and publicly posted it on the company's LinkedIn page. The internet cheered when they saw it. "Serves that deadbeat right! Now he doesn't even have a job!" "Honestly, they shouldn't have fired him. They should have just garnished his wages and sent it straight to the hospital. Now that he's broke, he's definitely not going to pay." "Right? Where are the cops? Didn't the hospital press charges? Why isn't he in jail yet?" I didn't bother reading any more comments. I marched straight to my boss's office. When he saw me, he immediately waved his hand dismissively. "What are you still doing here? We don't employ deadbeats!" I looked him dead in the eye. "I will prove the truth in due time. But you fired me on the spot without cause. I expect my full severance package." He froze. "Severance? You're a moral degenerate..." "I don't care what you think of my morals," I cut him off. "If I am missing a single cent of my legally mandated severance, I will sue this company into the ground. You claim to hate deadbeats so much—I suggest you don't become one yourself." His face turned an ugly shade of purple. I just gave him a calm smile, turned on my heel, and walked out. As I packed up my desk, the boss couldn't resist getting the last word. "Keep acting tough! You're never going to find a job this good again!" I scoffed. I didn't know if I'd find a better job, but I definitely knew working for him wasn't worth it. I didn't have the energy to argue. As I carried my box of belongings to my car, my phone rang. It was my mom, her voice panicked and shrill. "Ethan, get back here right now! There's a mob of reporters outside our house! Your father's body is still in the living room! What is going on?!" My voice turned to ice. "I'm on my way. Wait for me!" By the time I pulled up to my house, a massive crowd had gathered. There were reporters, bystanders, and even a few police officers. The relatives who were inside looked at me with eyes full of resentment. "Ethan, what the hell is wrong with you? You can't be doing this kind of shady stuff, especially not now!" "Exactly! If you owe them money, just pay it! Making this huge scene while your father's body is still here... he won't be able to rest in peace!" The reporters immediately swarmed me, shoving microphones in my face. "Ethan Miller, when are you going to pay back the hospital?!" "You claim your father passed away, but even if he's gone, the bills don't disappear. Paying your debts is a basic moral obligation!" "We're here representing the hospital and the concerned public. Exactly when are you going to settle this debt?!" "I see you're using the newest iPhone. You have money for a luxury phone, but no money to pay your dying father's medical bills?" Facing their aggressive interrogation, I couldn't help but let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Instead of asking me, why don't you go ask the hospital? If I actually had an outstanding balance of $246,000, how on earth did the doctors allow me to discharge him?!" "Furthermore, I'd love to know how a man who was already dead managed to rack up $246,000 in medical bills in a single day!" A voice shouted from the crowd, "That's on you to prove! If you have doubts, why don't you go confront the hospital face-to-face?" "Yeah! You're just sitting at home hosting a funeral to collect sympathy donations! You're greedy and evil!" Hearing that, I was so furious I actually laughed. My mom rushed over, grabbing my arm. "Ethan, what is happening? Just stop fighting it." "Ma'am, did you know your son is a deadbeat?" a reporter sneered. "Your family sneaked out of the hospital without paying, and now you're forcing an innocent, working-class clerk to cover your $246,000 bill. How do you sleep at night?" My mom froze, looking at me in shock. "Ethan?" "Mom, don't worry about it." But my mom was in a panic. "No! Your father lived an honest life! We cannot owe this money! Just pay the hospital, hurry! This whole mess is because of that bill, isn't it?" The relatives chimed in, pressuring me. "Ethan, you shouldn't have delayed it. Just go pay them, otherwise your dad will never rest in peace." I finally snapped. "My dad is dead! And the day after he died, the hospital somehow charged him $246,000! Who exactly was using those medications?!" My roar silenced the entire crowd. The reporters stared at me, stunned. "What did you just say?" "You don't believe me? Fine! Let's go! We're taking my dad's casket and his death certificate, and we are going straight to the hospital! We'll confront them face-to-face! Let's see who the real shameless scammers are!" My eyes burned. I whipped around to the pallbearers I had hired. "Boys, we've got a job to do. Load up the casket. We are going to the hospital right now!" The men immediately jumped up. "You got it!" I had my relatives grab the funeral banners and the floral wreaths. We were taking the whole procession. When we arrived at Memorial Hospital, the Hospital Director was already waiting at the main entrance, trying to block my path. "Mr. Miller, if you're here to have a rational discussion, we welcome you. But if you're here to cause a medical disturbance, that's illegal. And you absolutely cannot bring a corpse inside." "Exactly! It's just $246,000! You refuse to pay, and now you're causing a riot! The cops will be here any minute to drag you all away!" The shrill, screeching voice was instantly recognizable. I knew who she was—she was the mastermind behind the cyberbullying campaign against me. Sarah Jenkins! "Where is the itemized bill for the $246,000? Show it to me. If it's accurate, I will write a check right now!" Sarah scoffed. "Pay now? Too late! A deadbeat is a deadbeat. You know you're caught, and now you have to pay the penalty!" "What kind of penalty?" "$246,000, plus a fine for malicious evasion! You owe us $300,000!" I laughed at her sheer, unadulterated audacity. "Fine. Forget $300,000—I'll pay you half a million! But I demand to see the itemized bill!" Sarah sneered and violently threw a thick stack of papers right at my face! "Read it! Let's see what kind of excuses you can spin out of this!" She stood there with her arms crossed, looking unbearably arrogant. I picked up the papers, scanned them, and immediately started laughing. I slammed the death certificate and the medical bills down on the counter right in front of them. "My father passed away on the 1st. Your own doctors signed the death certificate on that day, and I transferred his body to the funeral home." "On the 3rd, I processed the official discharge paperwork. On the 4th, you call me and claim I owe you $246,000. Look at your own itemized bill. On the 2nd and the 3rd, there are charges for 'Emergency Resuscitation' and 'Intensive Care Nursing.' Please explain to me how a dead man was receiving emergency resuscitation?" "How did a corpse lying in my living room rack up $246,000 in emergency medical fees at your hospital?!"
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