Chapter 3 - The Hospital Room
The stark white lights of the emergency room at St. Jude’s Hospital were cold and blinding.
I sat in a hard vinyl chair beside Arianne’s bed, holding her left hand. Her skin was cool, her fingers fragile against my thick, calloused palm. An IV line ran into her forearm, pumping fluids into her dehydrated system, while a heart monitor beeped in a slow, rhythmic cadence in the quiet room.
Dr. Aris, a senior trauma specialist who had known me for twenty years, walked into the room holding a metal chart. His face was grave.
“How is she, Marcus?” I asked softly, my voice tight.
Dr. Aris pulled a chair up to the opposite side of the bed, setting the chart down.
“The toxicology report confirms high levels of a potent prescription sedative,” Marcus said quietly. “It was forced down her throat, Baldric. There are minor lacerations inside her mouth. Her wrists have severe deep-tissue contusions consistent with physical restraint, and she has two cracked ribs on her left side.”
My grip on Arianne’s hand tightened slightly, but I kept my face utterly still.
“Did you document everything?” I asked.
“Every scrape, every bruise, every micro-gram of the drug in her blood,” Marcus affirmed firmly. “The forensic team has already photographed the injuries. The police report has been filed, and I personally handed the evidence kit to the detective on duty.”
“Thank you, Marcus.”
He looked at me, his eyes full of deep, long-standing respect. “Baldric... the police went to the Vance house an hour ago. Derek claimed she attacked him and that he was merely restraining her. Because there were no witnesses inside the house, his father’s attorney posted a pre-arranged bail bond before they even processed him. He’s already home.”
I looked down at Arianne’s sleeping face. A soft bruise was blooming across her jawline.
“He won't be home for long,” I whispered.
At six in the morning, the door to the hospital room opened quietly.
Samuel Vance-Cross stepped into the room, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, holding a dark leather briefcase. He looked at Arianne, his eyes softening with sorrow, before walking over to stand beside my chair.
“The medical records have been copied to our legal vault,” Samuel said softly. “The custody petition for your grandson, Gideon, is being filed with the family court on an emergency order at 8:00 AM.”
“Where is Gideon right now?” I asked.
“He is with Bertha at the estate,” Samuel said. “We have three private investigators watching the house. They will not allow that child to be removed from the county.”
I nodded slowly. “And the financial execution?”
Samuel opened his briefcase and pulled out a single sheet of paper covered in corporate network diagrams.
“Roger Vance—Derek’s father—believes he owns Vance Enterprises,” Samuel explained, pointing to the top of the chart. “He believes his family controls the primary distribution contracts for Georgia’s industrial manufacturing sector. What he doesn't know is that three years ago, when his firm needed fifty million dollars in capital expansion, the private equity firm that bought his debt was Crestview Holdings.”
Samuel looked up at me with a cold, precise smile.
“You own sixty-four percent of his primary operating company’s voting debt, Baldric,” Samuel continued. “And the distribution networks his factories rely on to move their goods? All eighty-two freight routes are operated by Apex Logistics. Effective as of 5:00 AM today, every single contract between Apex and Vance Enterprises has been suspended for breach of ethics and security protocols.”
“Has Roger noticed yet?” I asked.
Samuel looked at his watch.
“It is currently 6:15 AM,” Samuel said quietly. “Roger Vance usually wakes up at seven. By 7:30, his telephone will be ringing off the hook. By eight, his supply chains will grind to a complete halt. And by tomorrow morning... he will be begging for a meeting.”
I leaned forward, gently kissing my daughter’s forehead. Her skin was finally warming up under the hospital blankets.
“Set the emergency board meeting for nine o'clock tomorrow morning, Samuel,” I said.
May you like
“Where?”
“In Roger’s own executive boardroom,” I said, my voice as hard as cold iron. “Let him sit in his leather chair one last time.”
