Chapter 4 - The Rat in the Clinic
By 8:00 AM the following morning, St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital was surrounded.
Not by police, but by dozens of unmarked black SUVs that blocked every exit and entrance to the private executive wing. Patients and staff watched in stunned silence as six men in tactical gear cleared the hallways, securing the perimeter with military efficiency.
Inside his lavish corner office, Dr. Harold Vance was sipping his morning espresso, reviewing financial ledgers on his computer. He was a distinguished-looking man in his late fifties, with silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses that gave him an air of supreme authority.
The heavy oak doors of his office were suddenly blown off their hinges with a violent CRACK!
Dr. Vance jumped out of his chair, spilling hot coffee all over his desk. "What is the meaning of this?! Call security!"
Damian Marchetti walked through the dust and splinters, his heavy wool overcoat draped over his shoulders. Beside him walked Reyes, carrying a thick leather briefcase.
I stepped into the room behind them, wearing a sharp black trench coat Damian had provided for me. My eyes were cold, fixed entirely on the man who had torn my world apart fourteen months ago.
Dr. Vance’s eyes widened in recognition the moment he saw my face. The coffee cup slipped from his fingers, shattering against the hardwood floor.
"N-Noelle?" Vance stammered, his voice instantly losing its authoritative edge. "Miss Bishop... what are you doing here with Mr. Marchetti?"
"She's here to watch you answer for your crimes, Harold," Damian said smoothly, sitting on the edge of Vance’s desk and picked up a silver paperweight.
"Mr. Marchetti, I don't know what she's told you," Vance pleaded, his hands shaking as he backed toward the window. "She's an unstable woman! She suffered severe emotional trauma after her loss—"
BANG!
Damian slammed the heavy paperweight onto the desk, shattering the glass top. Vance flinched, dropping to his knees in terror.
"Do not lie to me again," Damian whispered, leaning over the kneeling doctor. "I ran the DNA test last night, Harold. Those children carry Noelle's blood. Not Helena's. Not a surrogate's. Hers."
Vance turned pale as death, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "I... I can explain... Mr. Marchetti, please! Your wife was dying! You were desperate for heirs! I couldn't find a compatible surrogate in time, and then Miss Bishop came into the clinic alone, pregnant with high-grade genetic traits—"
"You stole my children!" I screamed, stepping forward and striking Vance across the face with all the strength left in my body. The impact echoed through the ruined office. "You let me mourn three empty cribs while you took millions from him!"
Vance wiped blood from his lip, sobbing. "It was just business! The Marchetti family needed heirs! You were just a poor waitress, Noelle! You couldn't have raised three babies on your own!"
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Damian grabbed Vance by his collar, dragging him up until his feet barely touched the floor.
"She is no longer just a waitress," Damian growled into Vance's ear. "She is the mother of my children. And you are going to give us every record, every file, and every name of every doctor who helped you execute this fraud. Or you will disappear into the river before the sun sets."
