Chapter 4 - The Night in Intensive Care
The Federal Emergency Medical Center in Washington, D.C., was locked down under maximum security. Armed guards stood at every entrance, while federal agents checked the credentials of every doctor and nurse entering the third-floor maternity surgical wing.
Inside Operating Room 4, the atmosphere was fraught with tension.
"Fetal heart rate is dropping! 90 beats per minute!" Dr. Mercer announced, watching the monitor while scrubbed surgeons worked rapidly to stabilize my internal bleeding. "We have partial placental separation due to blunt force trauma! Prepare for emergency C-section!"
I was floating on the edge of consciousness, the bright surgical lights overhead blurring into white halos. The general anesthesia began to flow into my IV line, cool and heavy. The last thing I remembered was the steady, mechanical beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor slowing down.
Outside the operating room, Arthur Montgomery stood behind the double glass doors, staring unblinkingly into the surgical suite.
Beside him stood United States Attorney Marcus Vance—no relation to David, but a fierce, brilliant prosecutor whom my father had mentored fifteen years ago.
"The police report from the local precinct was already being altered when my men arrived," Marcus said quietly, holding a secure tablet. "The local sheriff, a guy named Miller, tried to list the call as a 'domestic verbal dispute with minor slip and fall.' He was trying to cover for David Vance."
Justice Montgomery didn't take his eyes off the surgeons. "Where is Sheriff Miller now?"
"In federal custody," Marcus replied without hesitation. "We hit him with obstruction of justice and official misconduct charges twenty minutes ago. His phone records show three missed calls from David Vance between 6:50 PM and 7:00 PM."
"Good," my father said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "What about the law firm?"
"Sterling, Vance & Howard," Marcus pulled up a document. "David’s senior partner, Richard Sterling, is currently on a plane back from Aspen. We issued a federal subpoena for the firm’s complete financial records, client logs, and internal communications at 2:00 AM."
"Don't wait for him to land," Justice Montgomery ordered, his tone devoid of warmth. "Execute the search warrants on their offices in Midtown immediately. I know how that firm operates. David wasn't just a dirty lawyer; he was laundering offshore retainer fees for corporate developers. Use the Rico statutes."
"Consider it done, Chief Justice," Marcus nodded. "And the mother-in-law?"
"Sylvia Vance," my father finally turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto Marcus. "She assaulted a pregnant woman. She denied medical aid to a dying child. Charge her with aggravated assault, attempted depraved-indifference murder, and federal conspiracy."
"Attempted murder is a heavy charge for a domestic push, sir," Marcus cautioned gently. "Her lawyers will argue it was an accident."
My father stepped closer to Marcus, his towering height looming over the prosecutor.
"It wasn't an accident," Justice Montgomery said, each word landing like a iron vault door slamming shut. "She pushed my daughter into a sharp granite edge while telling her to 'know her place.' That is intent to cause bodily harm to an unborn child. You bring the maximum charge, Marcus. Or I will find a prosecutor who will."
At 3:14 AM, the doors to Operating Room 4 opened.
Dr. Mercer walked out, pulling down her surgical mask. She looked exhausted, her gown splashed with blood, but her eyes held a spark of relief.
My father took two swift steps toward her. "Doctor?"
"She survived, Chief Justice," Dr. Mercer said, wiping her brow. "We stabilized the placenta and managed to stop the hemorrhaging without delivering the baby prematurely. The child is stable. Anna is in recovery."
My father closed his eyes for a long, quiet five seconds. His chest heaved as he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding since 7:00 PM.
"Can I see her?" he asked quietly.
"She’s unconscious from the anesthesia," Dr. Mercer replied. "She won't wake up until morning. But yes... you can hold her hand."
May you like
My father walked into the darkened recovery room. He sat in the hard plastic chair beside my bed, picked up my pale, cold hand, and held it against his face.
"You’re safe now, Annie," he whispered into the dark room. "The nightmare is over. Now comes the justice."
