Chapter 3 - Under Sterile LightsSt. Jude Memorial Hospital smelled of antiseptic and clean linen—a quiet refuge compared to the suffocating tension of the Vance manor. Clara lay in the observation bay, the rhythmic thump-thump, thump-thump of the fetal Doppler filling the room like an anchor.
"Strong heartbeat," the nurse smiled, turning the monitor toward Clara. "Fetal distress is minimal. Your vitals are stabilizing, but you need strict bed rest for the next forty-eight hours."
Marcus stood by the window, the city lights reflecting across his tired face. "I should have moved faster. I should have pulled you out before she felt cornered."
"If we pulled out yesterday, the offshore shell accounts would have liquidated at midnight," Clara said quietly. "Victoria would have vanished to Geneva, and your father’s name would remain tied to the embezzlement. The truth required patience."
"Not at the cost of your life. Or the child’s."
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"The child is safe," Clara said, resting her palm against her stomach. "Your brother would have wanted his son to be born into a family free of poison, Marcus. David died trying to expose what Victoria was doing. This wasn't just about an inheritance. It was about finishing his work."
Marcus bowed his head. The weight of his younger brother's memory lingered between them—a silent vow kept through long exile and relentless litigation.
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