Chapter 3 - The Cold Truth at Greenwich Memorial
The emergency sirens blared through the rainy evening air as the ambulance tore toward Greenwich Memorial Hospital.
Grant followed right behind in his black SUV, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, his mind replaying the horror he had just witnessed in his foyer.
By 7:30 p.m., Grace was rushed straight into the trauma suite, flanked by two top maternal-fetal specialists and a trauma team.
Grant sat in the sterile waiting room, his dark suit jacket draped over a chair, his phone glued to his ear as his corporate chief of security, Frank Vance, answered on the first ring.
"Frank," Grant said, his tone razor-sharp. "Isolate the primary server in the estate study. Pull the raw footage from Terminal C—the foyer camera—from 4:00 p.m. to 4:15 p.m."
"I'm already on it, Mr. Whitmore," Frank replied. "The file is locked and encrypted. Nobody can touch it."
"Send it directly to my personal device," Grant instructed. "And call Detective Miller at the precinct. Tell him I need an emergency investigative team at the hospital immediately."
Five minutes later, the digital file loaded onto Grant’s phone screen.
He pressed play.
He watched the high-definition footage in horrifying clarity: Grace holding her hands up, begging Vanessa for mercy; Vanessa screaming in her face, then raising her heel and violently striking Grace directly in the stomach.
He saw Grace collapse onto her side, crying out in pain, while Vanessa stood above her, smiling coldly before kicking her pocket.
Grant closed his eyes, taking a long, shuddering breath as rage burned through his chest like acid.
The doors to the trauma bay opened softly.
Dr. Aris, the lead surgeon, stepped out, pulling off his mask, his face carrying an overwhelming exhaustion.
Grant stood up immediately. "Doctor... how is she? How is the baby?"
Dr. Aris offered a small, weary smile. "It was a miracle, Mr. Whitmore. The internal bleeding was severe, and she suffered a partial placental tear. But we stabilized her in time."
"And the child?"
"His heart rate is steady," Dr. Aris reported, holding up a printout of the monitor telemetry. "Isaiah is a fighter. He's stable."
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Grant let out a deep breath, resting his hand against the wall, feeling a profound sense of relief wash over him before his posture hardened once more into stone.
"Thank you, Doctor," Grant said. "Now make sure her room is secured under private guard."
