Chapter 64 - The Phantom Hospital
The smell was the first thing that brought Olivia back: stale antiseptic, damp plaster, and the sharp, metallic tang of iron.
She blinked against the harsh glare of a single fluorescent bulb humming overhead. Her head throbbed with a sickening, rhythmic pulse, the aftereffects of the aerosol sedative they had pumped into the VIP lounge at Teterboro. Her limbs felt heavy, weighted down with wet sand.
She tried to move her hand, but a cold leather strap bit into her wrist.
Panic surged through her, clearing the chemical fog from her brain. She looked down. She was strapped to an adjustable gurney, dressed in a faded surgical gown. Electrodes were taped to her chest, and an ultrasound transducer rested against the bare skin of her lower belly, held in place by an elastic band.
"Olivia! Olivia, look at me! Stay calm!"
Olivia twisted her neck toward the sound. Ten feet away, strapped to a heavy iron radiator with zip-ties around her wrists and ankles, was Eleanor. Eleanor’s face was bruised, her blouse torn at the shoulder, but her hazel eyes burned with ferocious defiance.
"Eleanor..." Olivia croaked, her throat parched like sandpaper. "Where... where are we? The plane..."
"We never made it to the plane," Eleanor said quickly, her voice hushed but intense. "They hit us in the lounge. Mercenaries working for Pendelton. Olivia, listen to me very carefully: Victoria tried to kill us. She put a bomb on the jet."
Olivia’s eyes widened in horror. "A bomb? Ethan—"
"Ethan is alive. The radio in the guard's room outside said he stopped Victoria at the heliport. Victoria is in federal custody." Eleanor leaned forward as far as her bonds allowed. "Victoria thinks we’re dead. But Pendelton pulled us out before the bomb went off. He knows about the baby, Olivia."
Olivia instinctively tensed her abdominal muscles, a protective shudder racking her body. "How could he know? I only found out two days ago... I haven't even told Ethan yet..."
"My father had medical surveillance on every woman Ethan dated, and he kept tabs on the private clinic you visited on Tuesday," Eleanor said, bitter hatred coating every word. "Pendelton isn't after Ethan's money. He's after the bloodline trust. Under Charles's secret Swiss deed, an unborn male heir creates an automatic corporate emergency. Pendelton wants to terminate the pregnancy or force an early extraction to seize control of the trust as legal guardians."
The heavy steel door at the end of the tiled room swung open with a screech of rusted hinges.
A woman walked in, wearing sterile surgical scrubs beneath a white lab coat. She had sharp, aristocratic features, cold grey eyes, and rubber gloves snapped tightly over her long fingers. Behind her stood two hulking men in private security fatigues, armed with suppressed submachine guns.
"Good evening, Mrs. Sterling," the woman said, checking the digital readout on the ultrasound monitor beside Olivia’s bed. "I am Dr. Mercer. Your vital signs are stabilizing nicely. The fetus has a strong, steady heartbeat. One hundred and forty-two beats per minute. Quite remarkable for six weeks."
"Get that thing off me," Olivia hissed, straining against the leather cuffs until her skin rubbed raw. "You touch my child and Ethan will hunt you to the ends of the earth."
Dr. Mercer smiled faintly—a terrifying, professional smile devoid of human warmth. "Ethan Sterling is currently signing his own financial death warrant in Manhattan. By sunrise, he will be an irrelevant, broken man with no legal authority over this facility, this trust, or you."
Dr. Mercer turned to a stainless steel tray and picked up a large syringe filled with a pale amber fluid.
"What is that?" Eleanor shouted, thrashing against the radiator. "Mercer, you swore an oath! If you inject her with that prostaglandin mix at this gestational age, you’ll kill both of them!"
"My contract is with the Sovereign Trustees, Miss Sterling," Dr. Mercer replied coldly, flicking the barrel of the syringe to clear the air bubbles. "And the instructions are clear: preserve the fetal genetic material for legal certification, stabilize the mother for twenty-four hours to facilitate Ethan’s unconditional surrender, and then discard the liability."
"You monstrous bitch!" Eleanor screamed.
The two guards stepped forward, raising their weapons toward Eleanor. "Shut her up," one of them growled, unhooking a heavy stun baton from his utility belt.
"Wait," Eleanor said, suddenly going still, her breathing ragged. She looked at the guard with the baton, her eyes narrowing as she noticed a distinctive insignia tattooed on his forearm—three interlocking red triangles.
Eleanor's heart skipped a beat. *The Praetorian Guard.* Her father’s old private security detachment from the 1990s.
"You were on my father's personal security detail at Lake Como," Eleanor said directly to the guard, her voice dropping into an authoritative, razor-sharp pitch that mirrored Charles Sterling at his most commanding. "Sergeant Miller. Badge number 4412."
The guard paused mid-stride, his jaw tightening beneath his tactical mask.
"You took an oath to Charles Sterling, Miller," Eleanor pressed, every syllable calculated. "Not to Pendelton. To the Sterling bloodline. And you are standing in a room watching an unlicensed butcher prepare to murder the only direct male descendant of the man who saved your son from leukemia ten years ago."
The guard hesitated, his eyes darting toward Dr. Mercer.
"Don't listen to her!" Mercer snapped, stepping toward Olivia with the needle raised. "She’s manipulating you! Secure the perimeter!"
"Miller!" Eleanor commanded, her voice ringing like a bronze bell off the cracked tiles. "Remember your oath! Or Charles will drag your soul to hell himself!"
The guard lowered his baton. For a split second, the air in the room froze.
May you like
Then, from the floor directly above them, the ceiling violently exploded.
***
