Chapter 6 - The Price of Blood
The hospital room remained quiet as morning fully took over the Chicago skyline.
Ethan’s fingers stayed wrapped around my pinky finger for nearly twenty minutes before drifting into a deep, natural sleep.
Dr. Halpern watched the vitals on the monitor with quiet satisfaction before stepping out to sign the weaning protocol.
I gently pulled my hand away from the incubator port, sealing the latch with a faint plastic click.
Claire had collapsed into the armchair beside the crib, her eyes closed, her breathing heavy with pure physical exhaustion.
I took my wool coat off and draped it gently over her shoulders.
She stirred slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, but didn't wake.
I walked out into the corridor and closed the door behind me.
Marcus was waiting near the nursing station with two fresh cups of black coffee.
His dark suit was rumpled, but his eyes were completely focused.
“The marshals picked Carter up at the penthouse thirty minutes ago,” Marcus said, handing me a cup.
“Did he go quietly?” I asked, leaning against the wall.
“He tried to claim you threatened his life,” Marcus replied with a grim smirk.
“The agents found forty thousand dollars in cash in his duffel bag and a flight itinerary to Costa Rica.”
“Nobody took his statement seriously.”
“Good,” I said, taking a sip of the bitter coffee.
“What about the board meeting?”
Marcus checked his watch.
“Nine o'clock sharp at the Michigan Avenue headquarters.”
“Julian’s lawyers have already filed an emergency injunction to freeze the voting rights on his shares.”
“They’re claiming he suffered severe physical trauma during an alleged robbery last night.”
I stared down the long, linoleum-lined corridor.
Julian was desperate.
He knew that if the board removed his voting rights this morning, his offshore laundering network would lose its legal shield.
He had hit Claire’s car to destabilize me, to force me into hiding or negotiating.
He had completely misjudged what happens when you corner a man with nothing left to lose.
“Call Arthur Pendelton,” I ordered.
“Pendelton?” Marcus asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Julian’s financial fixer?”
“Julian broke his knee last night,” I said evenly.
“Pendelton watched it happen.”
“Tell Pendelton that if he delivers Julian’s private proxy votes to the boardroom by 8:45 AM, his name will not appear on the federal indictment along with Carter’s.”
“And if he refuses?”
“Tell him I will personally show him how fragile the human kneecap really is.”
Marcus nodded once, pulling his phone from his coat.
“I’ll make the call from the car.”
“Wait,” I stopped him.
“I need six elite private guards posted on this floor.”
“Nobody enters room 312 without Claire’s verbal authorization.”
“Not the nurses, not the janitorial staff, nobody.”
“Every person carrying medicine must have their ID badge scanned by our private terminal downstairs.”
“Consider it done, Adrian,” Marcus said.
I walked back to the doorway of room 312 and looked through the glass pane.
Claire was still sleeping beneath my dark overcoat, her hair falling loosely across the white pillow.
Inside that incubator, a ten-month-old child was fighting for every breath, completely unaware that his survival had turned the city’s corporate underground into a warzone.
I checked my watch.
7:15 AM.
I had less than two hours to tear Julian Vance’s empire into pieces before coming back to hold my son’s hand.
May you like
I turned toward the elevator, buttoning my suit jacket.
The businessman had returned, but this time, he was hunting for his family.
