Chapter 5 - The Ambush at the Clinic
"Stay here," Mark said, his hand resting firmly on my shoulder as we reached the elevator lobby of Mercer & Cole. "Avery, you don't need to be anywhere near this. I have our corporate security team down at my building, and the firm’s general counsel is already meeting him in the lobby. Julian is spiraling. He’s looking for leverage."
"Mark, he’s desperate," I said, holding his lapel. "Men like Julian do stupid, reckless things when the curtain gets pulled back."
"That’s why I’m going with the police," Mark replied grimly. "David Mercer just called the precinct captain. Julian isn't going to touch me, and he isn't going to touch our livelihood. But you have your thirty-two-week high-risk scan at the women’s hospital in forty-five minutes. Take Arthur’s junior associate with you. Do not go alone."
"I have Aunt Patricia meeting me there," I reassured him, taking a deep, steadying breath. "She texted me an hour ago. She wants to be in the waiting room."
Mark kissed my forehead, a long, fierce embrace that anchored me amidst the storm, before he took the express elevator down to handle the fire Julian had set at his firm.
Forty minutes later, the automatic glass doors of the St. Jude Women’s Pavilion slid open, greeting me with the sterile, quiet hush of lavender walls, plush seating, and the gentle chime of receptionist pagers.
Aunt Patricia was already there, sitting near the corner bay windows with a cup of herbal tea. Patricia was my father’s younger sister—a sharp-tongued, no-nonsense retired pediatrician who had spent three decades enduring Eleanor’s condescending social posturing with silent, simmering disgust.
When Patricia saw me, she immediately stood up, opening her arms.
"Oh, sweetheart," Patricia murmured, holding me close, careful of my belly. "Look at you. How are you feeling? Did the baby kick this morning?"
"She’s kicking right now," I said with a faint smile, sitting down beside her on the sofa. "I think she feels the adrenaline."
"Your father would be so proud of you, Avery," Patricia said softly, her eyes glistening behind her tortoise-shell glasses. "Yesterday at that club... Thomas would have given you a standing ovation. Eleanor has spent thirty years treating this family like her personal theater company, casting herself as the tragic queen and everyone else as stagehands."
Before I could answer, the heavy double doors at the entrance swung open with unnecessary force.
Two women walked in.
The receptionist looked up, startled, as Eleanor Vance and Chloe entered the quiet pavilion.
Eleanor had traded her pastel silk from yesterday for an oversized cashmere sweater, dark designer sunglasses, and trousers that looked haphazardly thrown together. Without her professional makeup and hair styling, she looked haggard, years older than she had twenty-four hours ago.
Chloe, on the other hand, was vibrating with theatrical, aggressive fury. She wore no makeup, her hair pulled into a messy knot, her designer handbag slung over her forearm like a weapon.
The moment Chloe’s eyes scanned the waiting room and locked onto me, her face contorted.
"There she is," Chloe said loudly, loud enough that two pregnant women waiting for their non-stress tests turned their heads in alarm. "There’s the sister who wants to put our mother in prison."
"Chloe, lower your voice," Patricia snapped, rising instantly to her feet like an iron wall between them and me. "This is a medical facility, not a back alley. What on earth are you doing here?"
"We tracked her appointment," Eleanor said, removing her sunglasses with trembling fingers. Her eyes were rimmed with red, puffy and bloodshot. "Her calendar was synchronized with the family cloud account. I knew she had her high-risk scan today."
Eleanor walked forward, ignoring Patricia entirely, stopping three feet from where I sat. She sank onto the adjacent coffee table, her knees seemingly buckling, and clasped her hands together in a posture of theatrical, weeping supplication.
"Avery," Eleanor pleaded, tears immediately welling in her eyes, spilling over her unpowdered cheeks. "Darling, please. Look at me. Look at your mother. You have to call off this audit. You have to withdraw the court filing."
"Sit up, Eleanor," Patricia said with biting contempt. "Have some dignity. You look pathetic."
"Stay out of this, Patricia!" Chloe yelled, stepping around her aunt, her voice echoing down the corridor. "This is about my husband! Julian was detained by the police twenty minutes ago outside Mark’s building! Mark called the cops on him! They had him handcuffed on the sidewalk like a common criminal!"
"Julian showed up at my husband’s workplace to harass and slander him, Chloe," I said, my voice ice-cold, cutting through her hysteria. "He’s lucky Mark only called security and didn't press assault charges."
"Julian was trying to save our family!" Chloe screamed, a few nurses emerging from the back hallway with concerned expressions. "He was trying to make Mark see reason! You’re destroying our lives! If the bank revokes his license, we lose the townhome! We lose the nursery! The baby’s furniture hasn't even been delivered yet!"
"And what about Father’s trust, Chloe?" I asked, looking her dead in the eye. "What about the four hundred and eighty thousand dollars that Julian gambled away on unpermitted land developments?"
"It wasn't gambling!" Eleanor sobbed, reaching out to grab my hand.
I pulled my hand back sharply, refusing her touch.
Eleanor flinched as if I had struck her. "Avery... Thomas didn't understand the modern market. Julian was trying to build an empire for both of you! For Chloe and for you! I only authorized the transfers because Julian promised me that every dollar would be returned with thirty percent interest before the babies were born!"
"You authorized the transfers by forging Father's signature, Mom," I said, leaning forward so that only the four of us could hear the absolute finality in my voice. "You committed grand larceny. And then, yesterday, you stood in front of forty people and tried to strip the last remaining penny of Dad's money from my child to hand it to Chloe as a consolation prize for Julian's bankruptcy."
"I had to!" Eleanor cried, her voice cracking into a desperate shriek. "Chloe needed the appearance of liquidity! The private lenders were demanding collateral! If I gave her the forty-three thousand, Julian could have extended the balloon payment for another sixty days! I was trying to save us from scandal!"
"You were trying to save yourself," Patricia interjected fiercely. "You didn't care about Avery. You never cared about Avery. When Thomas was in the hospice ward, who sat with him every night while you were attending charity galas? Avery did! Who helped him with his physical therapy while Chloe was in Cabo on spring break? Avery did! And the first thing you do when he’s gone is try to rob her blind to feed this monster’s ego!"
"Aunt Patricia, shut up!" Chloe shrieked, taking a menacing step toward her.
"Excuse me!"
A loud, booming voice shattered the confrontation.
Two hospital security guards, accompanied by Dr. Martinez—my high-risk perinatologist—strode into the waiting area. Dr. Martinez’s face was dark with clinical authority.
"What is going on out here?" Dr. Martinez demanded, looking between Eleanor’s tear-stained face, Chloe’s screaming posture, and me sitting rigidly on the sofa. "Mrs. Vance, Mrs. Holloway, you are causing a severe disturbance in a restricted clinical zone. Mrs. Keller is a high-risk obstetric patient. Her blood pressure cannot be subjected to this kind of environment."
"She’s my sister!" Chloe shouted defensively. "We're having a family conversation!"
"You are trespassing," Dr. Martinez countered smoothly. "The receptionist has already logged your names with campus security. If you do not vacate this floor within sixty seconds, the municipal police will escort you off the premises."
Eleanor looked around, suddenly realizing that once again, she was the center of a public spectacle—not as the grand matriarch, but as a hysterical nuisance. The vanity that had governed her entire life kicked in. She scrambled to her feet, pulling her oversized sweater tight around her chest, sliding her dark sunglasses back over her swollen eyes.
"This isn't over, Avery," Eleanor whispered, her voice trembling with venomous bitterness. "You think you're so righteous. You think your father loved you more. When you find out what Thomas really did... you won't be smiling."
"Leave, Eleanor," Patricia warned.
Chloe glared at me, her eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hatred. She threw the white wooden envelope box from yesterday’s shower—dented and scuffed—onto the coffee table in front of me.
"Take your damn envelopes, Avery," Chloe spat. "I hope every cent brings you the misery you’ve brought onto me."
They turned on their heels, their footsteps echoing sharply down the linoleum corridor as security escorted them toward the elevators.
Dr. Martinez knelt beside me, placing two fingers on my wrist to check my pulse. "Avery, take a deep breath. Are you having any contractions? Any dizziness?"
I closed my eyes, exhaling a long, trembling breath that felt like it carried seven years of accumulated grief. I rested both hands on my stomach.
"No, Doctor," I whispered, opening my eyes to look at the dented wooden box on the table. "No contractions. She’s strong."
"Let’s get you into the exam room," Dr. Martinez said gently.
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As Patricia helped me up, my gaze lingered on Eleanor’s parting words, ringing in my head like a tolling bell: *When you find out what Thomas really did... you won't be smiling.*
What did she know that Arthur Sterling hadn't found?
