Chapter 2 – THE DOCTOR’S CHART

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

They aren’t going to let you reach full term.

I stared at the laptop screen, my vision blurring with tears.

All my prenatal appointments. All the ultrasounds. Every smiling nurse and reassuring doctor I’d seen at Lakeview Medical Center.

They all worked for Richard Sterling.

“They told me to come in tomorrow,” I whispered, panic rising in my chest. “Dr. Evans said my blood pressure was slightly elevated. He scheduled an early induction for tomorrow morning.”

Vincent’s head snapped toward me.

“An induction?”

I nodded, gripping my stomach as another wave of pain radiated across my back. “He said it was standard procedure.”

Vincent looked at the paramedics.

“Is Lakeview the nearest hospital?”

The lead medic nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s where we were instructed to transport her.”

“Change the route,” Vincent ordered, his voice echoing with absolute authority. “You are taking her to St. Jude’s in the city. Private wing. Nobody from Lakeview gets within a mile of her.”

“Sir, we have protocols—” the medic started.

Vincent pulled a sleek black card from his wallet and slammed it onto the stretcher beside my hand.

“I am the largest donor to St. Jude’s,” Vincent said coldly. “If you take her to Lakeview, you are delivering her to the men who murdered her husband. Change the route. Now.”

The paramedics exchanged a wide-eyed look.

“St. Jude’s it is,” the medic said, immediately collapsing the wheels of the stretcher.

As they began rolling me toward the door, Vincent turned to his head of security.

“Daniel. Lock Vanessa in the wine cellar. No phone. No food. If she speaks, gag her.”

Vanessa burst into hysterical tears. “Vincent! You can’t do this! I didn’t know about the money!”

Vincent didn’t even look back as he grabbed his coat.

He walked directly to the stretcher and placed his hand on my trembling shoulder.

“I’m coming with you,” he said.

Ten minutes later, we were speeding down the highway in the back of the ambulance, the sirens wailing through the Chicago night.

I lay on the stretcher, clutching the silver locket in my hand.

Vincent sat in the jump seat across from me. He was staring at Elena’s phone, scrolling through the few messages she had managed to send.

“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered over the noise of the siren.

He looked up. “Call me Vincent, Clara. You don’t work for me anymore. You’re under my protection.”

I swallowed hard. “Where did Daniel hide Grace?”

Vincent’s jaw tightened.

“The recording didn’t say,” he answered softly. “He only said she was safe.”

“He wouldn’t have given her to a stranger,” I said, thinking back to the man I loved. “Daniel didn’t trust easily. He grew up in the foster system. He only had one family member.”

Vincent leaned forward. “Who?”

“His older sister, Sarah,” I said. “But he told me they hadn’t spoken in ten years. He said she moved out of state.”

Vincent frowned. “If they were estranged, why would he trust her with a kidnapped child?”

“Because Daniel lied to me about his job,” I realized, the pieces falling together. “He lied about how he died. What if he lied about Sarah being estranged to keep her off Richard’s radar?”

Vincent instantly pulled out his own phone.

He dialed a number.

“Marco. I need an address. Sarah Bennett. Sister of Daniel Bennett. Check property records, alias registrations, everything. Find her.”

We arrived at St. Jude’s Hospital in a whirlwind of doctors and nurses.

Because of Vincent’s name, I was bypassed straight through the ER and taken to a private, heavily guarded room on the fifth floor.

A kind, older obstetrician named Dr. Aris examined me immediately.

“Your baby’s heart rate is perfectly normal, Clara,” Dr. Aris smiled warmly, wiping the ultrasound gel from my stomach. “The pain you’re experiencing is Braxton Hicks. False labor, brought on by extreme stress and heavy lifting.”

I let out a massive sigh of relief, sinking back into the pillows.

“And her blood pressure?” Vincent asked from the corner of the room, arms crossed over his chest.

“Normal,” the doctor confirmed. “In fact, looking at the medical files we just transferred from Lakeview… I’m deeply concerned.”

Vincent uncrossed his arms. “Why?”

Dr. Aris held up a tablet.

“The Lakeview chart says Clara has severe preeclampsia and requires immediate surgical intervention. But her blood work here shows absolutely nothing of the sort. Someone intentionally falsified her records to justify an emergency C-section.”

A cold chill swept through the room.

Richard Sterling hadn’t just been planning to steal my baby.

He had been planning to cut her out of me.

Before Vincent could speak, his phone rang.

“Marco,” Vincent answered, turning away. “Did you find her?”

I watched Vincent’s broad shoulders tense as he listened to the voice on the other end.

“Where?” Vincent asked.

He paused.

“I’m on my way.”

Vincent hung up the phone and turned back to me.

“They found Sarah,” he said, his voice completely hollow. “She hasn’t been out of state. She’s been living in a small farmhouse twenty miles outside the city.”

“Is Grace there?” I asked, my heart pounding.

Vincent looked down at his hands.

“Marco’s men breached the house five minutes ago, Clara.”

He swallowed hard.

“The front door was kicked in. The house is empty. But they found a child’s yellow coat on the living room floor.”

Vincent looked up, and I saw the pure, unfiltered terror in a father’s eyes.

“There was blood on it.”

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