Chapter 3 - The Begging in the Corridor
The heavy double doors of the VIP ICU suite clicked shut, locking behind them.
Through the thick glass window, I could see the wide, polished marble corridor of the hospital’s top floor. My father walked toward the center of the hallway, his hands thrust deep into his coat pockets. Nathaniel followed three steps behind, still clutching the bouquet of white lilies like a shield.
"Arthur, I don't understand why you're being so hostile," Nathaniel said, his voice carrying faintly through the door. "I am just as horrified by this attack as you are. I've already called the police chief to demand that Selena Drake be hunted down and arrested!"
My father stopped in his tracks, turned around slowly, and looked at my husband.
Without saying a word, Arthur pulled out his tablet, tapped the screen, and turned the speaker toward Nathaniel.
The hallway echoed with Nathaniel’s own cold voice: "Just push her, Selena. Make it look like a tragic accident."
The bouquet of white lilies slipped from Nathaniel’s fingers, crashing onto the marble floor and scattering torn petals everywhere.
Every single drop of color drained from Nathaniel’s face. His eyes dilated with absolute terror. His mouth opened, but no sound came out for three agonizing seconds. The charismatic, polished Wall Street executive was completely gone; standing in his place was a trapped, sniveling coward.
"Arthur..." Nathaniel stammered, his knees visibly shaking inside his trousers. "That... that isn't... that's an AI voice generator! Selena fabricated that! She’s trying to frame me because I rejected her!"
"Save it," Arthur said, his voice flat and terrifyingly quiet. "The NYPD forensic unit verified the audio's authenticity twenty minutes ago. The digital signature matches your personal cell phone's bluetooth connection from inside your Mercedes at 1:15 PM today."
Nathaniel’s knees finally gave out. He collapsed onto his knees right there in the middle of the hospital hallway, grabbing the hem of my father’s trousers.
"Arthur, please!" Nathaniel begged, tears of genuine panic streaming down his face. "Please, I’m begging you! Don't do this! You don't understand the pressure I was under! I made bad investments—I owe dangerous people in Chicago fifteen million dollars! They told me they would kill me if I didn't pay by the end of the month!"
"So you decided to kill my daughter and your own child instead?" Arthur spat, looking down at his son-in-law with pure disgust.
"It was Selena’s idea! She manipulated me!" Nathaniel cried out, his voice cracking into a desperate shriek. "Bury the tape, Arthur! Please! I will sign a total waiver! I’ll sign a full divorce agreement giving Amelia everything! I’ll sign over my shares in the firm! Just don't give that tape to the grand jury! If this gets out, my life is over! The Vance name will be dragged through the mud!"
"You don't give a damn about the Vance name," Arthur said, pulling his pant leg out of Nathaniel's grasp. "You only care about your own neck."
Nathaniel crawled forward on his hands and knees, reaching up toward Arthur’s coat. "Arthur, please! Think of the publicity! Think of Amelia! A public trial will stress her out—it could make her lose the baby now! Do you want to risk your grandchild’s life just to ruin me?"
Through the glass window, I watched my husband use my unborn baby as a human shield one more time. My heart didn't ache anymore. It hardened into bulletproof steel.
I pressed the nurse call button beside my bed. Within ten seconds, two burly private security guards stationed at the end of the hall stepped into view.
I pointed toward the window.
My father looked at the security guards, then down at Nathaniel.
"You are going to walk out of this hospital right now," Arthur told Nathaniel calmly. "You are going to go back to your office. You are going to pretend that everything is normal. You will not contact Selena. You will not touch a single dollar in any joint account. If you attempt to flee the country, or if you step one foot near my daughter again, this recording goes live on every national news network within sixty seconds."
Nathaniel looked up, wiping his nose with his sleeve, confusion mixing with his fear. "You... you're not arresting me right now?"
"Oh, you're going to prison, Nathaniel," Arthur smiled—a dark, terrifying smile that sent chills down my spine. "But not today. My daughter wants to dismantle you piece by piece. Now get up off the floor before I have security throw you out the front doors."
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Nathaniel scrambled to his feet, trembling, staring at the glass window where I sat watching him. For a second, our eyes met. He tried to look mournful, but I gave him a cold, slow smile.
He turned and ran down the corridor like a whipped dog.
