Chapter 43 - The Bargain Through the Glass
The name hit my chest like a physical blow.
*Clara.*
That was the name I had chosen during the second trimester of my first pregnancy. I had whispered it to Scott late at night in our small apartment, pressing his hand against my stomach when the baby kicked. I had cried for months after the surgery, mourning a baby girl who had never had the chance to bear the name.
He had kept the name. He had stolen my child, hid her in a specialized facility, and used the name I gave her as a label on a medical file.
"Where is she, Scott?" I asked, my voice deadly level. I gripped the edge of the console table so hard my knuckles turned white.
"I'm at the Metropolitan Detention Center," Scott breathed, the metallic echo of the prison background hum clearly audible. "They're moving me to protective custody in two hours. I don't have much time. The marshals took my phones, but they haven't seized the physical safety box at my attorney's office in White Plains."
"Why should I believe a single word coming out of your mouth?" I hissed. "You mocked me. You humiliated me while I was carrying your three sons. You left me bleeding on the floor with newborn babies, calling me useless, while you were laundering money with Victor Sterling!"
"Because I'm trying to stay alive, Lauren!" Scott shouted, his voice cracking with real panic. "You think Victor Sterling was just my business partner? He owns the judges, he owns the private clinics, and he owned your grandfather's medical board! Six years ago, when you went into labor early, it wasn't an accident. Victor had someone tamper with your prenatal supplements to induce labor. He wanted that baby born early so he could take custody and hold the Vance trust hostage!"
Marcus stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he leaned toward the phone. "If Victor wanted the baby, Scott, why did you register her under the Vance trust?"
"Because I doubled-crossed him!" Scott spat. "I knew Victor would discard me the second he got the Vance assets. I kept Clara hidden under a dual-custody corporate trust that required *both* my signature and Lauren’s living identity to liquidate. That was my life insurance! If I died, the trust went to Clara. If Victor killed me, he got nothing."
"She is not a life insurance policy!" I screamed into the phone, the rage finally detonating inside me. "She is my daughter! She was three pounds when she was born, Scott! How could you leave her in a clinic for six years?"
"She had respiratory failure, Lauren! Her lungs weren't fully developed!" Scott's voice softened, but there was no remorse in it—only the frantic self-preservation of a trapped rat. "The clinic has the best pulmonary specialists in the country. She couldn't leave an oxygen-controlled environment for the first three years of her life. I didn't abandon her... I visited her every month!"
"While you came home to me and pretended our nursery was an empty tomb," I said, disgust coating every syllable.
"Listen to me," Scott pleaded, the line clicking as the automated prison voice announced one minute remaining. "Victor's personal lawyer, Donald Vance-Keller—your second cousin—filed an emergency petition an hour ago to transfer Clara to a private facility in Zurich. Once she leaves the country, she becomes a ward of the Swiss holding trust. You will never see her again, and Victor’s offshore board will take every cent of the Vance estate. The only way to stop the transfer is the original birth certificate in my White Plains office."
"What's the combination to the office safe?" Marcus cut in sharply.
"I won't give it to Marcus," Scott whispered, his breathing ragged. "Lauren has to come to MDC. She has to sign a statement of spousal support for my bail hearing tomorrow morning. You sign the petition saying I'm not a flight risk, and I give you the code to the safe."
Even from behind bars, stripped of his suits and his corporate title, Scott was still trying to negotiate with my soul. He was still holding my children as currency.
"You have thirty seconds," the automated prison recording warned.
"Lauren, please!" Scott begged. "Without that document, Clara boards a private medical transport at Westchester County Airport at five this afternoon! You have four hours!"
The line went dead.
I stood in the silence of my hallway, the dial tone buzzing in my ear. Marcus looked at me, his face drawn tight with tension.
"We don't sign his bail petition," Marcus said immediately. "Scott is facing federal fraud, money laundering, and conspiracy. If he gets bail, Victor will have him silenced before he hits the parking lot, and you will be legally tied to his defense."
"I don't care about Scott's defense," I said, turning toward the stairs. "I care about the little girl who has spent six years breathing through machines while her father treated her like a stock certificate."
"Then what are we doing?" Marcus asked.
May you like
"Call Mrs. Gable next door to watch Liam, Noah, and Maya," I replied, grabbing my handbag. "We're not going to MDC. We're going to White Plains. If Donald Vance-Keller thinks he can take my daughter to Switzerland, he’s about to find out what happens when a mother stops playing by their rules."
***
