Chapter 4 - The Hospital Corridor
The private wing of Santa Monica Medical Center was clinically quiet, save for the rhythmic, soothing beep of the fetal heart monitor beside Alora’s bed.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The sound was the most beautiful symphony I had ever heard in my thirty-four years of life.
The lead obstetrician, Dr. Aris, stepped back from the ultrasound machine, wiping the clear gel from Alora’s stomach with a warm towel. She offered us a gentle, reassuring smile.
“The placenta is intact, Mr. Sterling,” Dr. Aris said, adjusting her glasses. “There is no evidence of subchorionic hematoma or internal trauma. The baby’s heart rate is strong at 155 beats per minute. Your wife was extraordinarily fortunate.”
Alora let out a long, trembling breath, her shoulders sagging into the white hospital mattress as fresh tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “The baby... the baby is really okay?”
“The baby is resilient, Mrs. Sterling,” Dr. Aris replied warmly. “However, you have suffered a mild concussion, contusions across your right cheek and left forearm, and severe psychological stress. I am admitting you for a mandatory forty-eight-hour observation period. Absolute bed rest, no visitors, no stress.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” I said, stepping forward to shake her hand.
Once the medical team slipped out of the room, leaving only the dim amber nightlight burning, I sat in the armchair beside the bed, leaning over to rest my forehead against Alora’s arm.
“I’m so sorry, Alora,” I whispered, my voice finally cracking under the weight of the night. “I brought those monsters into your life. I allowed them to think they had a right to exist near you.”
Alora’s slender fingers reached out, stroking my hair gently. Her cheek was bruised purple, a stark contrast against her pale skin, but her eyes held a fierce, quiet clarity.
“You didn't do this, Thane,” she said softly. “You fought for us. You saved us.”
“I should have cut them off years ago,” I said, looking up into her eyes. “Every time Corrine demanded more money, every time Sloan asked for a job she didn't work for... I paid them to keep the peace. I thought if I gave them everything, they would leave us alone.”
“You gave them money, Thane,” Alora said gently. “You can’t buy humanity for people who don't possess it.”
A quiet tap sounded at the door.
I stood up instantly, stepping between the door and Alora’s bed before calling out, “Enter.”
The door opened to reveal Vance, my personal head of security and a former Special Forces operator who had managed my corporate intelligence for six years. Behind him stood Marcus Vance, my lead legal counsel—a ruthless, brilliant corporate litigator who commanded a retainer that could buy a small island.
Both men wore tailored black suits and carried heavy leather document cases. Their expressions were completely devoid of warmth.
“Boss,” Vance said in a low voice, bowing his head slightly. “The perimeter at the estate is secure. Forensic teams are finishing up taking prints and fiber samples from the master bedroom.”
“Where are they?” I asked, my tone dropping into the arctic register Vance knew all too well.
“Corrine and Sloan were booked at the Twin Towers Correctional Facility at 4:15 AM,” Marcus answered, pulling a tablet from his briefcase. “The charges logged by the district attorney are extensive: First-degree residential burglary, assault with a deadly weapon, attempt to commit grand theft, felony child endangerment regarding the unborn child, and conspiracy.”
“Can they post bail?” I demanded.
Marcus offered a cold, predatory smile. “Normally, for individuals with no prior criminal record, bail would be set around two hundred thousand dollars. However, I took the liberty of waking up Senior District Judge Vance at 4:30 AM. I presented him with the high-definition video footage, along with a certified financial statement showing their flight risk and the likelihood of witness intimidation.”
Marcus tapped the tablet screen. “Judge Vance set bail at five million dollars each, cash only, with a mandatory surrender of all passports and an immediate, temporary order of protection forbidding them from coming within one thousand yards of you or Mrs. Sterling.”
I nodded slowly, satisfied. Corrine’s total liquidity consisted of the allowance I deposited into her checking account every month. Sloan’s total net worth was a stack of maxed-out store credit cards. Neither of them could scratch together five thousand dollars, let alone ten million.
“They will rot in those holding cells until Monday morning’s arraignment,” Marcus added. “Unless someone posts their bail.”
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“No one will,” I said coldly. “Because as of five minutes ago, every bank account, trust fund, credit card, and luxury lease tied to the name Corrine Sterling or Sloan Sterling is completely frozen.”
I looked at Marcus. “I want you to initiate Phase One of the corporate purge. I want every asset I ever bought them repossessed by sunrise.”
