Part 5: The Suburban Siege
Three days later, I was discharged from the hospital. I didn't go back to the small apartment I had been renting near the diner where I worked. When I arrived at my front door, holding my son in his car seat, I found a black town car parked at the curb and a man in a tailored suit waiting on the porch.
He wasn't a thug. He was Thomas Sterling, the chief legal counsel for the Wright Medical Group.
"Ms. Vance," Sterling said, bowing his head slightly with a practiced, corporate politeness that made my skin crawl. "Dr. Wright requested that I deliver these to you personally. They are the deeds to a townhome in the West Hills district, fully staffed and secured. He has also established a preliminary educational trust for the child."
"Take them back, Mr. Sterling," I said, ignoring the sharp pull in my lower abdomen as I stepped past him to unlock my door. "I told Dr. Wright very clearly what would happen if he involved his lawyers."
"Dr. Wright is not trying to coerce you, Ms. Vance," Sterling replied, his voice remaining smooth and unbothered. "He is simply exercising his right to protect his family's bloodline. The West Hills property is private, secure, and entirely under your name. Consider it a gift from a grandfather who understands the value of privacy. No strings attached. No visitation clauses."
"There is always a string with Robert Wright," I said, turning to face him on the threshold. "Tell him I’m staying right here. If he wants to see his grandson, he will have to wait until his son is ready to bring him. If I see another town car on this street, I take the baby and I catch a flight to Chicago. Do I make myself clear?"
Sterling looked at me for a long moment, his eyes scanning my tired face, my faded jeans, and the fierce, unyielding grip I had on my son’s carrier. He recognized the one thing corporate lawyers couldn't negotiate with: a mother who had absolutely nothing left to lose.
May you like
With a slow, respectful nod, he slid the legal folder back into his briefcase. "I will relay the message, Ms. Vance. But I suggest you keep your doors locked. Portland is a small city, and shadows have a way of stretching."
He walked back to his car, leaving me alone in the dim hallway of my apartment. I carried my son inside, locking the deadbolt and leaning my back against the heavy wood. The apartment felt smaller now, older, and entirely exposed. I looked out the kitchen window at the grey Oregon sky, wondering if Logan was already on his way, or if the mere mention of his father’s lawyers had driven him deeper into the dark.
