Chapter 4 - The Sound of the Monitor
The hospital corridor instantly transformed into a zone of absolute, high-stakes paralysis. The federal marshals’ weapons were leveled squarely at Dominic’s chest, their fingers white-knuckled against the triggers, while Marcus Vance pressed his back against the wall, his breathing ragged and shallow.
"Dominic—you’re out of your mind," Marcus choked out, his professional composure completely shattered. "You shoot me, and you'll never leave this hospital alive. You'll spend the rest of your life in a federal supermax, and Claire will be prosecuted as your co-conspirator."
"You talk too much for a man holding a forged warrant," Dominic said, stepping forward without lowering his aim by a millimeter. He kept his peripheral vision fixed on the marshals. "That guardianship order was signed using a digital stamp revoked by the state bar three years ago. My father’s lawyer taught me how to spot a fake signature before you were out of law school, Marcus."
One of the federal marshals tightened his grip on his Glock. "Sir, drop your weapon or we will open fire. This is a federal intervention."
"Check his briefcase," Dominic commanded the marshal, nodding toward Marcus’s leather bag. "Go ahead. Open it. See what’s inside besides your fake court orders."
Marcus flinched, his eyes darting toward the bag. The hesitation was all the proof the marshals needed. One of them stepped forward, yanked the briefcase from Marcus’s trembling hand, and popped the brass latches. Inside sat a secure satellite transceiver and a pre-signed quitclaim deed transferring all harbor terminal titles directly to the Vance family holding corporation.
The marshal stared at the documents, then slowly lowered his weapon, looking back at Marcus with sudden disgust. "You used us to execute a corporate hostile takeover."
"It was legal!" Marcus stammered, his voice rising in panic. "The Moretti assets were legally frozen under national security protocols—"
"The only thing frozen here is your career," Dominic interrupted. He didn't shoot Marcus. Instead, he raised the butt of his heavy pistol and brought it down hard across Marcus’s jaw.
Marcus crumpled to the linoleum with a dull thud, unconscious before he hit the floor.
The heavy silence that followed was broken only by the rhythmic, electronic beep of a heart monitor echoing from inside Claire’s room.
Dominic slowly lowered his weapon, turning his gaze toward the heavy wooden door of the isolation room. The marshals didn't try to stop him as he stepped past them and pushed the door open.
The room was dim, illuminated only by the pale amber glow of streetlights filtering through the rain-streaked window. Claire was awake, watching him with dark, exhausted eyes. She didn't flinch as he walked slowly toward her bedside, stopping just inches away.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The distance between them felt heavier than the concrete walls of the prison cell.
"You shouldn't have come here, Dominic," Claire whispered, her voice raspy and fragile. "If they catch you—"
"Let them try," Dominic interrupted, his voice breaking as he reached out with a trembling hand, gently brushing a stray lock of dark hair from her forehead. "I didn't lose my empire, Claire. I lost my mind. And I nearly lost you."
Claire looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for any trace of the cold, suspicious stranger who had cast her out into the rain. What she found instead was a man completely broken down to his core.
"The baby," Dominic choked out, his gaze dropping to the bundle of white cotton resting in the bassinet beside her bed. "Is he—is she—?"
Claire turned her head slightly toward the bassinet, a ghost of a tired smile touching her lips. "She’s healthy, Dominic. She has your stubborn streak."
Dominic exhaled a breath he felt like he had been holding for days, his knees nearly giving out as he sank into the chair beside the bed.
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Before either of them could speak again, the heart monitor beside Claire’s bed didn't just beep—it flatlined into a long, continuous, high-pitched shriek.
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