Chapter 8 - A Crack in the Citadel
Inside the private delivery suite of Portland Medical Pavilion, the monitors beeped steadily, measuring the irregular cadence of my contractions. The medical team had successfully administered medications to slow the labor, but the doctor’s expression remained guarded.
"You’re dilated to four centimeters, Mara," Dr. Evans said gently, checking the monitor strip. "We’ve managed to stall active delivery for now, which gives the steroids time to help the baby’s lungs develop. But you need complete rest. High blood pressure right now could cause placental abruption."
"I understand," I whispered, leaning back against the pillows. Arthur sat in the corner armchair, his phone constantly buzzing with updates from his legal team and the U.S. Marshals.
"The Marshals know he cut the monitor," Arthur said quietly after the doctor stepped out. "They’ve issued an interstate fugitive warrant. Highway patrol has checkpoints set up along the interstate."
"He won't use the highway," I said, my voice barely audible. "Grant used to smuggle luxury watches into the country through private docks. He knows every back road and marina from Boston to Bar Harbor. If he’s coming, he won't come like a rational person. He’s coming like an animal backed into a corner."
Just then, the door to the room swung open. Julian walked in, carrying two cups of coffee and a thick manila folder.
"The patents are officially registered under your name and the Croft Foundation," Julian announced, handing the documents to Arthur. "Even if Grant walked into the U.S. Patent Office with ten million dollars in gold, he cannot touch Callahan Logistics' intellectual property. The company is completely ring-fenced."
"Thank you, Julian," I said, a faint smile touching my lips. "My father always said you were the real genius behind the logistics engine. Grant just had the charisma to sell it."
"Your father was a good man, Mara," Julian said softly. "He gave me my first job when nobody else would hire an unproven immigrant. I owe this to his memory, and I owe it to your children."
May you like
Suddenly, the overhead fluorescent lights flickered once, twice, and then plunged the room into darkness. A low, droning alarm sounded down the corridor, followed by the dull hum of emergency backup generators kicking in. The medical monitors rebooted with high-pitched chirps.
Arthur stood up instantly, his hand moving to the inside of his coat. "The power grid just experienced a localized cut. That’s not a storm."
