Chapter 5 - The Ledger in the Safe
Dr. Vance’s eyes bulged with pure, unadulterated terror as he looked down through the glass beneath his feet at the dizzying drop to the asphalt streets three hundred feet below. His expensive spectacles slipped off his nose, clattering against the marble floor.
“I’ll speak! I’ll speak!” Vance shrieked, his hands clawing uselessly at Damian’s iron wrists. “Don't drop me! Please, Damian! I was just doing what your sister asked! She threatened me!”
“My sister is dead, Harold,” Damian said coldly, holding him pinned against the glass without showing a single sign of physical strain. “And you’re still breathing. For now. Where are the real birth logs?”
“In... in my private safe!” Vance choked out, tears of terror leaking down his sweaty cheeks. “In the sub-basement archive room! Behind the medical records office! Code 4-4-9-1!”
Damian looked over his shoulder at Marcus, who nodded immediately and headed toward the express elevators with two armed guards.
Damian didn't lower Vance. He kept him pinned against the window, his gray eyes fixing on the trembling doctor with cold, analytical hatred.
“Who else was involved?” I stepped forward, coming so close to Vance that he could see the burning, maternal rage in my eyes. “Who helped you steal my babies? A crime like that doesn't happen with just one doctor!”
Vance swallowed hard, his breath coming in shallow, frantic gasps. “The... the charge nurse on duty... Nurse Sarah Jenkins. She... she handled the falsified mortality reports and managed the transfer to the private ambulance. And... and the hospital administrator, Arthur Gable. He cleared the off-record transfer payments through the charitable foundation accounts!”
My stomach churned with deep, sickening revulsion. An entire network of trusted medical professionals—doctors, nurses, administrators—had looked at a helpless, poor mother lying unconscious on an operating table and decided her grief was worth two million dollars in bribes.
“Where is Nurse Jenkins now?” I demanded.
“She... she resigned six months ago,” Vance stammered. “She bought a house in the suburbs... in Oakridge. That’s all I know! I swear! I swear on my life!”
A heavy chime echoed from Damian’s jacket pocket. He pulled out his phone with his free hand, placing it on speaker.
Marcus’s voice came through crisp and clear over the line. “Boss. We’re in the sub-basement archive. I opened the safe. I’m looking at the original, unedited delivery logs from October 14th.”
Marcus paused, the sound of paper rustling over the microphone.
“Maya Lin’s name is on the primary physical file,” Marcus confirmed, his tone dark and heavy. “Three healthy infants. Two males, one female. Blood types, footprints, and DNA swabs were taken immediately after delivery. Julianna Marchetti’s signature is on the secondary transfer contract attached to a wire transfer receipt for $2.5 million from the Marchetti family trust.”
Hearing the absolute, mathematical proof of the crime shattered the last lingering shadow of doubt in my mind.
I looked at Dr. Vance. I didn't yell. I didn't strike him. I simply stared at him with a quiet, lethal promises that made him shudder.
“You stole fourteen months of my life,” I said softly. “You let me sit in an empty apartment every single night believing my body had killed my children.”
“I’m sorry...” Vance wept, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, Maya... I’ll give you money! I have millions! I can give you whatever you want!”
“I don't want your money,” I said coldly.
Damian looked at me, his gray eyes asking a silent question. He was offering me absolute power over this man’s fate. If I nodded, Damian would throw Vance through that window without a second thought.
I took a deep breath, looking down at my hands—the hands that had held little Evelyn, Leo, and Luca just an hour ago.
“Don't kill him,” I told Damian. “If he dies tonight, it’s an easy exit. I want him ruined. I want his license revoked, his assets seized, his name dragged through the mud, and I want him to spend every remaining day of his pathetic life in a federal prison cell.”
A dark, dangerous smile touched the corners of Damian’s lips. It was the first time I had seen anything resembling a smile on his face.
“You heard the lady, Harold,” Damian said, lowering Vance sharply onto his feet, knocking the breath out of the doctor’s lungs. “Marcus, call the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Hand them the contents of that safe, along with the encrypted offshore wire transfers. Tell them the Marchetti family is waiving all corporate privacy protections for Saint Jude’s Memorial.”
Damian turned back to Vance, who was crumpled on the floor, weeping uncontrollably.
“By morning, Harold,” Damian whispered, “your life is over.”
May you like
Damian turned away, drapes his heavy trench coat over my shoulders once more, and held out his arm for me.
“Come, Maya,” Damian said softly. “Let's go home to our children.”
