Chapter 8
By dawn, the news stations across the United States interrupted morning programming to broadcast the shocking downfall of the Vance family empire.
Aerial footage showed federal agents hauling boxes of encrypted hard drives and financial ledgers out of the Westchester County mansion.
Social media platforms exploded with fury and disbelief, trending hashtags demanding maximum sentences for Marcus and Elena Vance.
Inside her sterile VIP recovery suite at Manhattan Presbyterian Hospital, Clara sat propped up against plush white pillows, watching the live broadcast.
Her newborn baby boy was sleeping soundly in the clear plastic bassinet beside her, breathing with a strong, healthy, rhythmic cadence.
The dusty pink maternity dress was folded neatly in a chair across the room, serving as a reminder of the battlefield she had survived.
The door opened softly, and Sarah walked into the room carrying a fresh vase of white lilies and a secure legal document folder.
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"How are you feeling this morning, Ms. Vance? The doctors say you can be discharged by tomorrow afternoon," Sarah said warmly.
"I've never felt stronger, Sarah; especially knowing that my son will grow up in a world where monsters like Marcus can't touch him," Clara smiled.
