Chapter 2 — The Doctor’s Warning
Chapter 2 — The Doctor’s Warning
At 4:17 a.m., the monitor beside Clara's bed began to beep faster.
I was awake before the nurse reached the room.
One second, I was sitting in the chair beside my wife's bed with my arms folded across my chest.
The next, I was standing.
Clara's eyes opened.
"Sebastian?"
"I'm here."
The nurse checked the monitor.
"Her blood pressure is dropping."
A second nurse entered.
Then the doctor.
Everything happened at once.
The room filled with movement.
Questions.
Numbers.
Commands.
I stood against the wall, useless.
For the first time in my life, money meant nothing.
My company meant nothing.
My name meant nothing.
There was only one thing in that room that mattered.
Clara.
And the tiny heartbeat on the monitor.
"What's happening?" I asked.
The doctor didn't answer immediately.
He examined the screen.
Then Clara.
Then the chart.
Finally, he looked at me.
"Her body is struggling."
"Because of the malnutrition?"
"Partly."
"What else?"
He pulled me aside.
"Your wife has been under prolonged physical and emotional stress."
I clenched my jaw.
"How serious?"
"Serious enough that I don't want her walking around without supervision."
I looked at Clara.
She heard us.
Her eyes filled with fear.
The doctor continued.
"Her iron levels are dangerously low. She's severely dehydrated. Her blood pressure has been unstable. And the baby's growth is behind where we'd expect at thirty-two weeks."
I swallowed.
"Can you save them?"
The doctor looked directly at me.
"We're going to do everything we can."
That wasn't the answer I wanted.
I stepped closer.
"Doctor."
He paused.
"Tell me the truth."
He sighed.
"The truth is that your wife should have been admitted weeks ago."
My stomach dropped.
"Weeks?"
"Yes."
"How did no one notice?"
He looked at the chart.
"Someone kept canceling her appointments."
I stared at him.
"We found that."
"No."
He looked at me.
"You found some of them."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
He pulled another document from the chart.
"This morning, we received an alert from the hospital's records department."
He handed it to me.
There were multiple attempts to access Clara's medical file.
Not just from my house.
From somewhere else.
"Someone was trying to delete parts of her medical history."
I stared at the document.
"Why?"
The doctor shook his head.
"I don't know."
"Can you recover the records?"
"Some."
"Do it."
He nodded.
Then looked toward Clara.
"Right now, I need you to focus on her."
I nodded.
"I will."
He turned away.
Then stopped.
"Mr. Vance?"
"Yes?"
"If anyone tries to remove her from this hospital without your authorization, call me immediately."
I looked at him.
"Why would anyone do that?"
He gave me a long look.
"Because someone has already been making decisions about her medical care without her consent."
Then he walked away.
I stood there.
A cold feeling settled in my chest.
Someone wasn't simply abusing Clara.
Someone was controlling her.
The Question Clara Wouldn't Answer
When the nurses left, I sat beside the bed.
Clara was awake.
She looked exhausted.
"Did you hear?"
She nodded.
"About the baby?"
"Yes."
Her fingers moved beneath the blanket.
"Is he going to be okay?"
"I don't know."
Her eyes filled with tears.
I reached for her hand.
"But we're going to make sure he has every chance."
She looked at me.
"You shouldn't blame yourself."
I stared at her.
"Don't say that."
"It's true."
"No."
My voice cracked.
"It isn't."
She squeezed my hand.
"Sebastian."
"I brought my mother into this house."
"You wanted to help her."
"I gave her access to everything."
"You trusted her."
"I trusted the wrong person."
Clara looked away.
I waited.
Then asked the question that had been haunting me since the previous night.
"Did she ever hurt you directly?"
Silence.
I already knew the answer.
But I needed to hear it.
"Clara."
Her lips trembled.
"Sometimes."
My chest tightened.
"What did she do?"
"She grabbed my arm."
"When?"
"More than once."
"Did she hit you?"
Clara hesitated.
Then nodded.
I closed my eyes.
"How?"
"She slapped me once."
My hands curled into fists.
"When?"
"Two weeks ago."
"Why?"
"She said I embarrassed her."
"How?"
"I told her I needed to see the doctor."
Clara swallowed.
"She said you were too busy to keep paying for appointments."
I stared at her.
"That's impossible."
"She showed me your bank statements."
My blood ran cold.
"She what?"
"She said you were spending too much money on me."
I stood.
"She had access to my financial accounts?"
Clara nodded.
"She said you were building something important and I was draining it."
I walked toward the window.
For years, I had thought my mother was controlling.
Difficult.
Overprotective.
But this was something else.
She had systematically isolated my wife.
She had convinced Clara that her pregnancy was a financial burden.
She had used my own success against the woman who had helped me build it.
I turned back.
"Did she ever threaten you?"
Clara looked down.
"Yes."
"What did she say?"
Her voice became barely audible.
"She said if I told you what was happening, she would make sure you never saw the baby."
I froze.
"She can't do that."
"I know."
"How would she?"
"I don't know."
I walked back to the bed.
"You should have told me."
"I was scared."
"I know."
She looked at me.
"I thought you would believe her."
I sat down.
"I should have made sure you never had to wonder."
Clara began crying.
I leaned forward and kissed her forehead.
"No more secrets."
She nodded.
"No more."
But neither of us knew how many secrets were still waiting.
The Meeting
At 8:30 a.m., my chief security officer arrived.
His name was Marcus Reed.
He had worked for me for nine years.
He had once been a military investigator.
He didn't waste words.
He entered the hospital room carrying a black folder.
"Mr. Vance."
"What did you find?"
He looked at Clara.
"Should we speak outside?"
"No."
Clara looked at him.
"I want to hear it."
Marcus nodded.
He opened the folder.
"We pulled the security logs from the house."
"And?"
"Your mother entered Clara's bedroom twenty-three times during the last six weeks."
I stared.
"Twenty-three?"
"That's what the cameras recorded."
"What cameras?"
Marcus looked at me.
"The cameras you installed."
I frowned.
"I installed exterior cameras."
"Correct."
"Not inside."
Marcus didn't answer.
I understood.
"Someone added them."
"Yes."
"How many?"
"Eight."
My blood ran cold.
"Where?"
"Master bedroom. Clara's room. Kitchen. Hallway. Dining room. Office. Nursery. Garage."
I looked at Clara.
She was pale.
"They watched her."
Marcus nodded.
"Continuously."
I felt sick.
"Who had access?"
"Your mother."
"Anyone else?"
Marcus placed another document on the table.
"Three other users."
I looked at the names.
My mother's account.
Julian's account.
And an account listed only as:
V. MORROW
I didn't recognize the name.
"Who is V. Morrow?"
"We're investigating."
"When was the account created?"
"Eight months ago."
I looked at Clara.
Eight months.
Exactly when she became pregnant.
The Nursery
I returned home that afternoon.
Marcus and two technicians were already there.
The nursery was supposed to be the happiest room in the house.
Clara had spent months choosing everything.
Soft blue walls.
A wooden crib.
Tiny shelves.
A rocking chair.
A small moon-shaped lamp.
I stood in the doorway.
Then noticed something.
The baby monitor.
I picked it up.
"Was this connected?"
Marcus nodded.
"Yes."
"To what?"
He examined it.
"Someone had routed the signal through a private server."
I stared.
"Why?"
"To listen."
I looked around the room.
Someone had been listening to every conversation.
Every appointment.
Every argument.
Every moment Clara cried.
I turned to Marcus.
"Find the server."
"We're trying."
"Don't try."
He looked at me.
"Find it."
"Yes, sir."
I walked toward the crib.
Inside was a tiny stuffed elephant.
Clara had bought it three months ago.
She had told me:
"He'll love this."
I touched it.
Then I noticed a small black dot beneath one of its eyes.
A camera.
I froze.
"Marcus."
He came over.
I pointed.
His expression changed.
"That's not a toy camera."
"What is it?"
"A surveillance device."
I picked up the elephant.
My hands were shaking.
"Who put this here?"
"We'll find out."
I looked at the crib.
Someone had been watching the room where my son was supposed to sleep.
Someone had been planning long before I knew there was a problem.
The Hidden Room
The search continued.
Two hours later, one of the technicians called me.
"Sir."
I followed him to the basement.
He pointed at a wall.
"There."
I stared.
A faint electrical hum came from behind the panel.
"What is it?"
"We don't know yet."
"Open it."
The panel came away.
Behind it was a narrow room.
No windows.
No furniture.
Only monitors.
Dozens of them.
Live feeds from every room in the house.
I stood there in silence.
Then I saw the final monitor.
It showed Clara in the hospital.
My blood froze.
"They're watching her now."
Marcus immediately shut down the system.
"Disconnect everything."
The technicians began pulling cables.
Then Marcus found something.
A small external drive.
He connected it to his laptop.
Thousands of files appeared.
Videos.
Audio.
Documents.
Marcus looked at me.
"Sir."
"What?"
"This isn't just surveillance."
"What is it?"
He opened a folder.
The name was:
PROJECT VANCE
I stared.
"What the hell is that?"
He opened it.
The first document contained my name.
Then Clara's.
Then my unborn child's.
Then a list of dates.
Underneath was one sentence:
Phase Three begins after delivery.
I felt the blood leave my face.
"Phase Three?"
Marcus scrolled.
There were financial documents.
Property transfers.
Insurance policies.
Corporate ownership structures.
And one document highlighted in red.
SUCCESSION TRANSFER AGREEMENT
I recognized the company name.
It was one of my largest subsidiaries.
The document would transfer controlling shares.
To Julian.
I stared at the screen.
"My brother."
Marcus nodded.
"Yes."
I looked at the date.
Three days from now.
The exact day I was supposed to sign.
I whispered:
"They planned this."
Marcus didn't respond.
"How long?"
"At least eight months."
I looked at the screen again.
Then saw another file.
A photograph.
My mother.
Julian.
And a man I didn't recognize.
They were standing together.
Behind them was my company's headquarters.
The photograph was dated eight months ago.
The same week Clara discovered she was pregnant.
My jaw tightened.
"Find this man."
Marcus zoomed in.
His face became visible.
I recognized him.
Not personally.
Professionally.
He was Victor Morrow.
One of the senior financial consultants who had advised my company during its expansion.
I had met him twice.
He had always been polite.
Always helpful.
Always available.
And apparently, he had been working against me for months.
The Call From Julian
My phone rang.
Julian.
I stared at the screen.
Then answered.
"Hello."
His voice sounded calm.
"Sebastian."
"What do you want?"
"I heard Clara was hospitalized."
"How did you hear?"
A pause.
"Mom told me."
"Of course she did."
"Is she okay?"
I looked at the surveillance screen.
"Why don't you ask Mom?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You tell me."
Silence.
Then:
"You're angry."
"Very."
"You shouldn't make decisions while you're emotional."
I smiled without humor.
"That's interesting advice."
"Sebastian."
"What?"
"Don't destroy the family over a misunderstanding."
I looked at the folder.
Project Vance.
The transfer agreement.
Julian's name.
"Who is Victor Morrow?"
Silence.
Just silence.
That was all I needed.
"Julian?"
"I don't know who you're talking about."
"Liar."
"Watch your mouth."
I laughed.
"You've been waiting for me to sign away my company."
"That's insane."
"Then why did you stop talking when I mentioned Morrow?"
"Because I don't know him."
"You're going to regret lying to me."
"You're my brother."
"No."
I looked at the screen.
"Not today."
I ended the call.
The Doctor Returns
That evening, the doctor entered Clara's room.
His expression was serious.
"Mr. Vance."
I stood.
"What's happening?"
"We've stabilized her for now."
"And the baby?"
"The heartbeat is stronger."
I exhaled.
"That's good."
"Yes."
He paused.
"But I need to prepare you for something."
I knew immediately.
"What?"
"If her condition worsens, we may need to deliver the baby early."
"How early?"
"Possibly within forty-eight hours."
Clara looked at me.
Fear filled her eyes.
"Will he survive?"
The doctor was quiet.
"At thirty-two weeks, survival is very good with proper neonatal care."
"Very good isn't one hundred percent."
"No."
I took Clara's hand.
The doctor continued.
"And there's another concern."
"What?"
"If her nutrition has been restricted for as long as we suspect, her body may not tolerate labor well."
I stared at him.
"Then do a C-section."
"That may be necessary."
"Then do it."
He shook his head.
"We don't make that decision simply because you're frightened."
I stepped back.
"Sorry."
"I understand."
He looked at Clara.
"Right now, she needs rest, fluids, nutrition, and zero stress."
I almost laughed.
"Zero stress."
The doctor nodded.
"Exactly."
I looked at the hospital door.
Then at Clara.
"Then I'll make sure no one gets near her."
My Mother's Visit
At 9:15 p.m., the hospital security officer called me.
"Mr. Vance."
"What?"
"Your mother is downstairs."
I closed my eyes.
"She can't come up."
"She says she's here to see Clara."
"She doesn't have permission."
"Understood."
A few minutes later, my phone rang.
Mother.
I answered.
"Sebastian, please."
"No."
"I only want to see her."
"No."
"She's my daughter-in-law."
"You lost that privilege."
Her voice changed.
"You cannot keep me from my grandchild."
I looked at Clara.
She was asleep.
"You won't see either of them."
"Sebastian."
"You hurt her."
"I never hurt her."
"I have recordings."
Silence.
I smiled coldly.
"You should be careful what you say next."
"What recordings?"
"The ones from the house."
Another silence.
Then:
"Where did you find them?"
There it was.
Not what recordings?
Not I don't know what you're talking about.
Instead:
Where did you find them?
I whispered:
"Thank you."
She hung up.
I stood there.
Marcus looked at me.
"She just confirmed she knew."
I nodded.
"Yes."
Then my phone buzzed again.
A text.
Unknown number.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE PAST ALONE.
Another message arrived.
YOUR WIFE ISN'T THE ONLY THING YOU'RE GOING TO LOSE.
I stared at the screen.
Then came the third.
ASK YOUR FATHER WHAT REALLY HAPPENED BEFORE HE DIED.
My blood went cold.
My father had been dead for twelve years.
I had spent my entire life believing his death was an accident.
A boating accident.
That's what my mother had always told me.
I looked toward Clara.
Then at the message.
My father.
My mother.
My brother.
My company.
My unborn son.
Suddenly, they were all connected.
And the one person who had never lied to me about any of it was gone.
Or so I had believed.
I saved the messages.
Then called Marcus.
"Find everything about my father's death."
He hesitated.
"Everything?"
"Police reports. Insurance. Medical records. Witness statements. Financial records."
"Sir, that case is twelve years old."
"I don't care."
"Understood."
I ended the call.
Then I looked at Clara.
She slept peacefully.
I walked to the window.
Chicago glittered below.
For twelve years, I had believed my family had suffered one tragedy.
Now I wondered whether it had been the beginning.
My mother had always told me my father died because he was careless.
But tonight, for the first time, I asked myself a question I had never dared to ask.
What if he hadn't?
And what if the people who had destroyed Clara were the same people who had taken my father from me?
I looked down at the city.
Then at the sleeping woman I loved.
Whatever the answer was, I would find it.
Even if the truth destroyed the family I had spent my entire life protecting.
May you like
Because tomorrow, the recordings would be opened.
And when they were, someone was going to realize that the man they thought they were manipulating had finally started looking in the right direction.
