Chapter 13 - The Trauma Bay
A dozen medical personnel in sterile blue scrubs swarmed the rear of the ambulance like a well-oiled military squad.
"Critical maternal trauma incoming, eight months gestation, fetal bradycardia!" the lead medic shouted as they rolled the gurney into the blinding hospital light.
Elena was whisked through the automatic sliding glass doors of the Level-One Trauma Center into the sanitized chill of the resuscitation bay.
Julian ran beside the gurney, his hand still locked onto Elena’s cold fingers, his eyes wild with terror.
"Sir, you have to wait outside the sterile line!" a tall trauma nurse insisted, placing two firm hands against Julian’s chest.
"That is my wife and my child in there! I am not leaving her!" Julian roared, his voice bouncing off the ceramic tile walls.
"Julian, let them work! If you fight them, they can't save her!" Maya’s voice cut through the chaos, her hand gripping Julian’s shoulder with iron force.
Julian froze, staring into the bright surgical bay as Elena’s gurney was surrounded by doctors, ultrasound technicians, and neonatal specialists.
The heavy lead-lined doors swung shut, cutting off the view through the small square observation window.
Julian sank against the cold corridor wall, his wet designer suit dripping onto the sterile linoleum floor.
He buried his face in his trembling hands, a broken, agonizing sob tearing through his broad chest.
"She was so cold in that water, Maya... she was under for so long," Julian wept, the horrific image of Elena trapped in the sinking wheelchair haunting his mind.
Maya knelt beside him, placing a dry hospital blanket around his shaking shoulders.
"Elena is the strongest woman I have ever met," Maya said, her voice steady and resolute.
"She fought to keep that air in her lungs for her baby, and she is fighting right now in that operating room," Maya reminded him.
Suddenly, Julian’s smartphone buzzed violently inside his soaked suit pocket, the screen lighting up with a private encrypted number.
Julian pulled the device out with shaking fingers, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the caller ID designation.
It was the personal line of Marcus Vance, the chief administrator of the family trust.
Julian’s grief instantly morphed into a white-hot, apocalyptic rage that burned away every ounce of exhaustion.
He swiped the screen to answer, pressing the phone hard against his ear.
"Julian? Thank God you answered, my boy," Marcus Vance’s smooth, aristocratic voice purred through the speaker.
"I just heard the most dreadful rumor from the penthouse security team about a terrible poolside accident," Marcus continued with feigned horror.
"Where are you right now? Is poor Elena all right? Did the baby survive the fall?" Marcus asked, his tone dripping with sickening, performative concern.
Julian’s grip on the phone was so hard the tempered glass screen began to crack beneath his thumb.
"You sent that black Escalade to finish the job on the overpass, didn't you, Marcus?" Julian said, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm, venomous register.
A dead, frozen silence fell over the other end of the line for three agonizing seconds.
"I have no idea what you are talking about, Julian," Marcus replied smoothly, though the slight tremble in his voice betrayed his sudden panic.
"Victoria is under arrest, Marcus, and the entire murder attempt was captured in crystal-clear 4K resolution by the terrace security cameras," Julian stated coldly.
"The footage is already being downloaded by the police department's digital forensics unit as we speak," Julian added, twisting the knife.
"Julian, listen to me very carefully," Marcus’s voice dropped all pretense of warmth, turning sharp and predatory.
"Victoria acted on her own emotional instability, but you and I are businessmen who understand the greater picture," Marcus whispered coldly.
"If that child is born alive, sixty percent of the corporation's controlling interest is locked in a blind trust until she turns twenty-one," Marcus explained.
"Our family firm will be paralyzed, our stock will plummet, and our board will tear our legacy to pieces," Marcus argued ruthlessly.
"So you decided to drown my pregnant wife in eight feet of water to save your quarterly dividends?" Julian snarled, his voice vibrating with pure hatred.
"I am standing right outside the St. Jude surgical wing, Marcus," Julian continued, rising to his full six-foot-two height.
"And when my daughter takes her first breath, the very first thing I will do with her inheritance is hire every federal prosecutor in this country to put you in a cage next to Victoria," Julian promised.
"You naive, sentimental fool," Marcus hissed through the receiver.
"Do you honestly think I didn't prepare for the possibility that Victoria might fail?" Marcus asked with a sinister, chilling chuckle.
"Check who the chief of surgery on duty is tonight at St. Jude, Julian," Marcus revealed before abruptly severing the call.
Julian’s eyes widened in sheer, paralyzing horror as the implications of Marcus’s words crashed down upon him.
"Maya!" Julian gasped, spinning toward the athletic young woman.
"Marcus bought someone inside this hospital," Julian said, his breath hitching in his throat.
Maya’s posture instantly shifted into combat readiness, her eyes scanning the quiet, deserted corridor.
At the end of the hallway, a man in a white lab coat with an identification badge hanging from his lanyard stepped out of a private consultation room.
He was talking into a discrete mobile phone, his eyes darting nervously toward the locked doors of Elena’s operating room.
In his gloved right hand, the physician carried a stainless-steel tray holding a pre-filled syringe with a dark, amber-colored liquid.
Maya’s eyes narrowed on the physician's badge, reading the name printed beneath the hospital insignia: *Dr. Robert Vance, Chief of Obstetrics.*
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"That's Marcus’s younger brother," Julian whispered, the blood draining completely from his face.
"He's going in there to stop my baby's heart before they can pull her out," Julian realized in absolute terror.
