Chapter 7 - The Surgical Center
The Schaumburg Outpatient Surgical Center sat in an industrial park four miles west of the Interstate. It was a concrete-and-glass building surrounded by manicured lawns and high light poles that cast a stark, white glow over the empty parking lot.
At eight-thirty p.m., the front doors were locked, but the lights on the second floor were bright.
Sebastian walked up the concrete steps with Arthur Vance and two uniformed officers from the Schaumburg Police Department.
Arthur used a heavy steel door-breaching tool on the side service entrance. The lock failed with a sharp, metallic pop that rang out through the quiet alley.
They moved up the rear stairwell without speaking.
The second floor smelled of floor wax, rubbing alcohol, and cold air. At the end of the long corridor, inside Operating Room 3, two men were standing over an open stainless-steel instrument tray.
Dr. Harold Vance was wearing surgical scrubs, pulling long plastic tubing through an automated cell-separation machine—a fresh, sterile unit that had just been removed from its shipping crate. Sitting on the counter beside him were six clear glass collection jars with vacuum seals.
Standing near the door was a younger man in a dark suit—Vance’s attorney, a man named Miller from a high-priced firm in the Loop.
When the door swung open, Vance dropped the plastic tubing. It hit the tiled floor with a soft, wet slap.
“Sebastian,” Vance said. His voice was no longer smooth. He looked older, his cheeks sunken, his eyes darting toward the two police officers standing behind Arthur. “This is a private medical facility. You have no legal right to enter this space.”
The attorney stepped forward, raising one hand. “Mr. Carter, I advise you to step outside immediately. We are currently preparing an emergency petition to the Seventh Circuit Court of Appeals regarding—”
Arthur Vance took one step forward, grabbed the attorney by the lapels of his five-thousand-dollar suit, and slammed him against the wall beside the hand-sanitizer dispenser.
“Shut up,” Arthur said quietly.
Sebastian walked slowly into the center of the operating room.
He looked at the stainless-steel operating table. It was fitted with heavy leather restraint straps at the shoulders and knees—not standard for an obstetrical suite, but necessary for holding down a patient who was not fully anesthetized.
Beside the table sat a high-capacity infant resuscitation cart, complete with a small, clear plastic oxygen hood and a bone-marrow extraction tray fitted with three large-gauge stainless-steel needles.
“You were going to do it here,” Sebastian said.
Vance took a step backward until his calves hit the edge of the counter.
“It was for Ryan, Sebastian!” Vance shouted, his hands shaking as he held them out in front of him. “Your mother paid for the equipment! She told me you had agreed to the procedure! She said you knew Claire’s child was the only match!”
“You gave an eight-month-pregnant woman scopolamine for three weeks,” Sebastian said. “You injected her with bone marrow stimulants until her veins nearly burst.”
“She was a surrogate!” Vance spat out, his voice turning shrill and hysterical. “She was nothing! A girl from a trailer park who hit the lottery when you married her! Ryan is a Carter! His life is worth ten of hers!”
Sebastian did not hit him.
He looked at the senior police officer standing in the doorway.
“Officer,” Sebastian said.
The officer stepped forward, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt. “Dr. Harold Vance, you are under arrest for attempted murder, aggravated kidnapping, illegal administration of controlled substances, and medical fraud.”
As the officer pulled Vance’s arms behind his back, the silver Rolex clicked against the metal link of the cuffs.
Vance looked at Sebastian, his face red and sweating. “She won't live anyway, Sebastian! Her liver is ruined! The child will be an idiot! You’ve destroyed your own brother for a maid!”
Sebastian picked up one of the heavy stainless-steel marrow extraction needles from the tray.
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He looked at the long, hollow point designed to pierce adult bone, then dropped it into the biological waste bin beside Vance’s feet.
“My brother died twelve years ago,” Sebastian said, “when he let my mother turn him into something that lives off other people’s blood.”
