Chapter 6 - The Heir's First Cry
We didn't take the Maybach. We took my helicopter.
We landed on the roof of the Vance Corporation building just as the press conference was starting in their glass-walled atrium on the ground floor.
I held Lucy’s hand tightly as we took the private elevator down. She was wearing a stunning, elegant maternity dress we had quickly ordered—a deep emerald green that brought out the fire in her eyes. She looked like royalty.
When the elevator doors opened, the flash of cameras was blinding.
My mother was standing at a podium, dabbing imaginary tears with a lace handkerchief. Natalie was standing beside her, looking solemn.
"...my son has been tragically manipulated," my mother was saying into the microphones. "This woman, who abandoned him, has returned to extort our family, claiming to carry a child that—"
"Is legally and biologically mine!" I roared, my voice booming through the atrium, cutting off the microphone feedback.
The entire press corps spun around. Gasps echoed through the room.
I walked forward, keeping Lucy tucked safely to my side. The reporters parted like the Red Sea.
My mother’s face turned the color of chalk. Natalie physically took a step back, terrified.
"Alexander," Vivian hissed, forgetting the microphones were on. "What are you doing here?"
"I am here to stop a criminal from speaking on behalf of my family," I stated, turning to face the cameras.
I didn't yell. I spoke with cold, calculated precision.
"My name is Alexander Hale. And this," I gestured to Lucy, "is my legal wife, Lucy Hale. For the past seven months, my mother, Vivian Hale, orchestrated a massive, illegal conspiracy. She forged divorce documents, intercepted medical records, and bribed my staff to force my pregnant wife onto the streets."
The press erupted. Questions were shouted out in a chaotic frenzy.
"Do you have proof, Mr. Hale?!" a reporter screamed.
"I have the sworn testimony of her own attorney, who flipped on her this morning to avoid jail time," I said smoothly, pulling out a flash drive and tossing it onto the press table. "All the emails, financial transfers, and forged documents are right there."
Vivian gripped the podium, her knuckles white. "Lies! He's insane! She has bewitched him!"
"The police are waiting for you outside, Mother," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper that only she could hear. "Fraud. Extortion. Reckless endangerment. You're done."
Suddenly, Lucy gripped my arm. Her fingers dug into my suit jacket with terrifying force.
I looked down. Her face was contorted in sudden, sheer agony.
"Alex," she gasped, her breathing instantly shallow. "Alex, the baby."
Panic seized my chest. The doctor's words echoed in my mind: Premature birth is highly possible. The adrenaline and stress of the confrontation had pushed her body over the edge.
"Get a medic!" I screamed at the crowd. "Call an ambulance! Now!"
I caught her as she began to collapse.
"I got you. I got you," I chanted, lifting her into my arms.
"It hurts, Alex," she cried, clutching her stomach. "It's too early. It's too early!"
I ignored the flashing cameras, the shouting reporters, and my mother's stunned silence. I carried Lucy sprinting back toward the private elevator.
"We're taking the chopper," I told my security chief who was running alongside us. "Tell the hospital to prep the surgical wing. Now!"
The flight to the hospital was a blur of terror.
Lucy was in agonizing pain, her contractions hitting with violent speed. I held her hand, kissing her forehead, begging her to hold on, begging our son to hold on.
When we landed on the hospital roof, Dr. Evans and a surgical team were already waiting. They rushed her onto a gurney. I ran beside her until we hit the double doors of the operating room.
"You have to stay here, Mr. Hale," a nurse said, pushing me back.
"No! I'm not leaving her!"
"Alex!" Lucy cried out, reaching for me through the doors.
"Let him in!" Dr. Evans ordered. "Get him scrubs. Quickly."
I threw on the sterile gear and rushed to her side, gripping her hand as the anesthesiologist worked. The chaos in the room was deafening, but all I could focus on was Lucy's pale face.
"If it comes down to it," she whispered frantically, pulling me down to her level. "Save him, Alex. Save our son."
"I am saving both of you," I choked out, tears blurring my vision. "I am not losing you again. I love you, Lucy. I never stopped."
She looked at me, her eyes softening despite the pain. "I know," she whispered.
Then the medication kicked in, and she fell unconscious.
For the next two hours, I stood in the corner of the operating room, praying to a God I hadn't spoken to in years. The surgeons worked frantically. Alarms beeped. Blood pressure dropped and rose.
And then... the sound.
A weak, high-pitched cry pierced the sterile air.
"Time of birth, 4:32 PM," Dr. Evans announced. "He's small, but he's a fighter."
A nurse brought the tiny, wrapped bundle over to me. My son.
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He was tiny, fragile, hooked up to a small oxygen tube, but he was alive. I touched his tiny hand, and his little fingers wrapped around mine.
In that moment, the billionaire CEO died, and a father was born.
