Chapter 3 - The Midnight Ward
The private maternity wing of Boston General Hospital smelled of antiseptic, sterile linen, and quiet efficiency. Outside my VIP suite, two private security guards stood at attention, while inside, Dr. Harrison monitored the fetal heart rate monitor with a reassuring smile.
Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.
The steady, galloping rhythm of our daughter’s heartbeat filled the room, washing away the lingering terror of the ballroom floor.
The door clicked open, and Dad walked in carrying a tray of hot tea and toast. He set it on the bedside table, pulling up a chair and taking my uninjured hand in his.
“The obstetrician says your blood pressure is stabilizing,” Dad said softly, his eyes filled with a fierce, protective warmth. “And the contractions have slowed down significantly. She’s not ready to make her grand entrance quite yet, but she gave us quite a scare, Clara.”
“I’m okay, Dad,” I said, sipping the warm tea. My palm was bandaged neatly, and the ache in my abdomen had dulled to a manageable throb. “How are things handling downtown?”
Dad smiled—a sharp, satisfied curve of his lips.
“Marcus Vance has already filed emergency receivership papers for Ashford Enterprises. By sunrise tomorrow, every bank account, credit card, and corporate subsidiary controlled by Arthur and Evelyn Ashford will be frozen under federal investigation for financial fraud and money laundering.”
“And Grant?”
“Sitting in a holding cell at the precinct,” Dad replied. “His defense attorney tried to file for bail an hour ago, but the judge took one look at the HD video footage from your smart-ring recording and denied it with prejudice. No bail. Flight risk, combined with violent felony assault against a pregnant woman.”
The door opened again, and Marcus Vance stepped into the room, holding a sleek black tablet.
“Excuse the intrusion, Ms. Victoria, Mr. Victoria,” Marcus said respectfully. “We have an interesting development. Arthur and Evelyn Ashford have just retained legal counsel—ironically, the most expensive firm in Boston—and they’ve sent an urgent settlement proposal.”
I raised an eyebrow. “A settlement proposal? From the people who spent the last seven years calling me a barren charity case?”
Marcus handed the tablet to me. On the screen was a formal legal letterhead from Sterling & Sterling LLP.
“To Whom It May Concern: We propose an immediate cessation of all hostile corporate receivership actions against Ashford Enterprises, in exchange for which our clients agree to grant Clara Victoria a quiet, uncontested divorce with standard alimony...”
I let out a short, cold laugh, handing the tablet back to Marcus.
May you like
“Standard alimony?” I echoed. “They think they’re still negotiating from a position of power. Tell Sterling & Sterling that the offer is rejected before they even finish printing it. Furthermore, inform them that Vale Meridian Holdings is exercising its primary default clause on the Ashford family estate immediately. I want them out of my house by noon tomorrow.”
Marcus’s smile widened into a full grin. “Consider it done, Madam CEO.”
