Chapter 4 - The Boardroom Ambush
The elevator ride down to the first floor was the longest three minutes of my life.
Every turn of the wheelchair sent a jolt of fire through my fresh surgical incision, but I refused the morphine drip Caleb offered. I needed my mind sharp. I needed to feel every single nerve firing.
Suite A was draped in sheer silk banners. A silver ice bucket holding Dom Pérignon sat on the credenza next to three dozen congratulatory floral arrangements from Fortune 500 executives.
Through the double glass doors, I could hear Ethan’s voice, commanding and buoyant, talking to an interviewer.
“...a miraculous morning for the Vance family,” Ethan was saying, his voice rich with practiced warmth. “My partner, Serena, has shown extraordinary resilience. We are calling him Arthur, after Claire’s late father. It’s our way of honoring the legacy that made this entire venture possible.”
“And Mrs. Vance?” the reporter’s voice asked. “There were rumors she was also admitted to St. Jude’s last night?”
Ethan chuckled smoothly. “Claire is resting comfortably in our private retreat upstate. Her pregnancy has been... delicate. She chose to step away from the public eye during this joyous transition.”
“Did I?” I asked.
Caleb pushed my wheelchair through the double doors. The heavy oak banged against the drywall, the sound cracking through the suite like a thunderclap.
The room froze.
Ethan stood near the bedside holding a crystal champagne flute. Serena Brooks was propped up on four silk pillows, wearing a bespoke lace robe, a sleeping infant tucked into an acrylic bassinet beside her. Two photographers with Vance-Sterling press badges dropped their lenses.
Ethan’s smile didn't just slip; it slid off his face like wet paint.
“Claire,” he choked out, his throat working violently. “What are you doing out of bed? You’re delirious. Security—”
“Security is currently answering to Dr. Sterling, Ethan,” I said, resting my hands on the wheels of the chair. “And before you tell these lovely reporters another word about my 'delicate rest upstate,' perhaps you’d like to show them the documentation for Arthur Hollister’s true heir?”
Serena sat up straighter, her manicured fingers clawing at the lace of her robe. “Claire, this is completely inappropriate. This is a private medical space. You can’t just barge in here making a scene because you’re bitter.”
“Bitter?” I wheeled myself directly to the edge of Serena’s bed. Up close, I could see the sweat beneath her heavy foundation, the terror fluttering behind her false eyelashes. “I’m not bitter, Serena. I’m fascinated. Tell me, how much did Ethan pay that boutique clinic in Zurich to harvest my eggs two years ago?”
The color drained from Serena’s face until she matched the linen sheets.
Ethan lunged forward, grabbing the handle of my wheelchair. “That’s enough. Caleb, take her back upstairs before I have your nursing license revoked by sunrise.”
“Touch this chair again, Ethan, and Julian Sterling will have you arrested for criminal battery on an active surgical patient,” I said without looking at him. My eyes were locked on Serena. “You should have checked the lab reports, Serena. Five million dollars is a lot of money to pay for a forgery.”
“What are you talking about?” Ethan hissed, his fingers digging into the rubber handle. “I oversaw the transfer myself! The genetic paperwork has been filed with the county probate office!”
“Then you’ve just filed a fraudulent claim on a seventy-million-dollar trust,” I said, pulling the sealed laboratory document Julian had printed out from my lap and tossing it onto Serena’s lap. “Baby Arthur is O-Negative. I am AB-Positive.”
Ethan froze.
The photographers looked at each other, their news instincts instantly overriding their corporate loyalty. The shutter of a Nikon DSLR clicked—once, twice, three times.
“Get those cameras out!” Ethan roared, lunging toward the reporters. “Delete those frames! Delete them right now!”
“Keep them,” I called out, my voice ringing clear and steady over Ethan’s panicked shouting. “In fact, run the front-page exclusive: *Ethan Vance Attempts to Disinherit His Newborn Daughter for a Fraudulent Surrogate Heir.* Has a nice, sharp ring to it, doesn't it?”
Serena looked down at the blood-typing document, her breath catching in a ragged sob. “Ethan... you said the paperwork was locked. You said she couldn't prove anything without an audit!”
“Shut up, Serena!” Ethan snarled, spinning around with his fists clenched. “Shut your mouth!”
“She can’t shut it now,” I said, gesturing to the corner of the room, where Julian Sterling stood with two plainclothes detectives from the Manhattan District Attorney’s office. “Because the audit started twenty minutes ago. And they aren't just looking at the birth certificates, Ethan. They’re looking at the staffing logs from the third floor.”
One of the detectives stepped forward, his gold shield catching the warm suite lights.
“Mr. Ethan Vance?” the detective said, pulling a pair of steel cuffs from his belt. “We have an emergency warrant for your arrest regarding the deliberate interference with emergency surgical staffing under New York Penal Code Section 120.20: Reckless Endangerment in the First Degree.”
Ethan stepped back, knocking over the silver ice bucket. The crystal champagne bottle shattered across the polished floor, the golden liquid mixing with the melting ice.
“Claire,” he pleaded, his voice breaking into a panicked squeak as the detectives closed the distance. “Claire, wait! We can settle this! The company needs us! Think of Maya!”
May you like
“I am thinking of Maya,” I said as Caleb turned my wheelchair around toward the door. “That’s why I’m making sure she never has to look at your face again.”
***
