Chapter 5 - The Glass Wall
The private wing of Saint Jude’s Memorial Hospital was quiet, save for the steady hum of heart monitors and the soft squeak of rubber soles on polished linoleum.
Rowan stood behind the glass wall of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. He had not showered, he had not changed his clothes, and he had refused three separate phone calls from his board of directors.
Inside the incubator, tiny tubes connected to his newborn son’s arms. The baby weighed barely four pounds, four ounces.
A quiet step sounded behind him.
Elise walked down the hallway, wearing her coat, carrying a leather briefcase containing the corporate files Rowan had abandoned at the apartment.
“Rowan,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “The legal team needs you to sign the press release regarding the power failure. The city inspectors are threatening an audit of the building’s main engine room.”
Rowan didn't move. He didn't turn his head.
“The birthmark,” Rowan whispered, his voice dangerously low.
Elise paused, her eyebrows drawing together. “What?”
“The Vane birthmark,” Rowan said, turning his head slowly to look at her. His eyes were bloodshot, sunken, filled with a cold, terrifying stillness. “Four generations. My grandfather had it. My father had it. I have it. My son has it.”
Elise’s fingers twitched on the handle of her briefcase. A microscopic shift passed over her face—a flicker of calculation, quickly replaced by smooth, practiced concern.
“Rowan, birthmarks are coincidental. The genetic report from the clinic in Illinois—”
“The clinic in Illinois was recommended by your cousin, wasn't it?” Rowan stepped toward her, his tall frame blocking the hallway light. “The doctor who signed the paternity report received a quarter-million dollar research grant from your family’s investment firm three weeks ago.”
Elise took a step back, her back meeting the hard wall of the corridor. “Rowan, I was trying to protect you. Nora was unstable—she was looking into the offshore account transfers you made for the acquisition. If she had stayed, if she had gone through the divorce discovery process, she would have uncovered—”
“You framed my wife,” Rowan said.
It wasn't a question. It was a absolute conviction spoken by a man who had suddenly realized he had allowed a snake into his bed and driven an angel into the storm.
“She didn't care about your company!” Elise snapped, her composure cracking, revealing the sharp, bitter ambition underneath. “She was an art restorer! She didn't understand the pressure you were under! I stayed with you! I built Hale-Vane with you!”
“Get out,” Rowan said.
“Rowan, listen to reason—”
“Get out of this hospital,” Rowan repeated, his voice dropping into a tone so icy it made the air in the hallway feel thin. “If I see your face near my wife’s room, near my son’s incubator, or anywhere near my company by sunrise, I will hand every email, every financial transfer, and every forged medical record you ever touched directly to the District Attorney.”
Elise stared at him, her mouth opening slightly. She saw the absolute lack of compromise in his eyes, recognized that the man she thought she had manipulated into her grip was completely beyond her reach.
She turned on her heel and walked rapidly down the corridor, her high heels clicking loudly against the tile until the double doors swung shut behind her.
May you like
Rowan stood alone in the quiet hall. He turned back to the glass wall, looking at the tiny baby fighting for breath inside the plastic box.
Then he walked down the hall to Room 408, where Nora lay sleeping beneath a heavy white blanket.
