Chapter 12 - THE PRICE OF A NAME
Malcolm carried Noah toward a private elevator.
The infant’s oxygen tube stretched behind him.
A portable tank rolled beside the incubator.
Raymond knew the elevator led to an underground ambulance exit.
If Malcolm reached it, a vehicle might be waiting.
Emily refused to remain in bed.
Two nurses helped her into a wheelchair.
The surgical wound burned.
She ignored it.
“Take me to the control room.”
The doctor protested.
“You could hemorrhage.”
“My child is beneath this building.”
Raymond met her outside the elevator.
His face showed shock.
“You cannot be here.”
“Neither can Noah.”
Emily was taken into the command center.
The main screen showed Malcolm holding the baby.
Noah’s tiny face was red.
His breathing looked difficult.
Emily pressed the microphone.
“Malcolm.”
“You believe my son belongs to your family.”
“He carries Whitmore blood.”
“No.”
“He carries mine.”
Malcolm smiled.
“You married Preston.”
“Because you sent him to me.”
The smile disappeared.
Emily continued.
“You trained him to believe love was ownership.”
“You taught him my body was a contract.”
“You taught Vanessa that your name would protect her.”
“You taught every employee beneath you that silence was survival.”
Malcolm reached the elevator.
The door did not open.
Raymond had disabled it.
Malcolm looked toward the camera.
“You cannot trap me.”
Raymond answered.
“This building belongs to the Saint Claire Foundation.”
“Every floor responds to my authorization.”
Malcolm laughed.
“Your family name is painted on the walls.”
“Mine built the medicine.”
“No.”
Emily leaned toward the microphone.
“You built secrets.”
“Noah began crying.
The sound was weak.
Malcolm looked down.
For one second, his attention shifted.
A neonatal nurse entered through a side door.
She carried no weapon.
Her hands were raised.
“Dr. Whitmore.”
“The baby is losing oxygen.”
“Let me adjust the tube.”
Malcolm hesitated.
The nurse stepped closer.
She was Laura Mitchell.
The mother whose daughter may have been stolen.
She had been brought to identify photographs.
No one authorized her to enter.
But she knew the hidden unit from dreams she could never explain.
“Give him to me,” Laura said.
Malcolm stared at her.
“You were patient L-14.”
“My daughter was patient L-14.”
His expression confirmed it.
Laura moved closer.
“Where is she?”
Malcolm’s grip loosened.
Officers entered behind him.
The neonatal nurse seized Noah.
Police forced Malcolm to the floor.
The oxygen tube disconnected for less than two seconds.
The nurse reattached it.
Noah began breathing again.
Emily watched the screen collapse into tears.
Her son was alive.
Malcolm was handcuffed beneath the hospital he believed he controlled.
But before officers removed him, Laura asked again.
“Where is my daughter?”
Malcolm looked at her.
May you like
“Switzerland.”
“She is alive.”
