Chapter 3 - The Lies in the Waiting Room
The waiting room on the fourth floor of Bellmont Memorial Hospital was quiet, illuminated only by the dull hum of fluorescent lights and the rain beating against the dark glass windows.
My father, Richard, was pacing back and forth near the coffee machine, his hands shoved deep into his trousers pockets. My mother, Eleanor, sat on the vinyl sofa, nervously picking at the leather strap of her purse. Brooke stood near the door, her arms crossed over her chest, tapping the heel of her ankle boot against the linoleum floor in a sharp, impatient rhythm.
When the double doors swung open, Ethan walked out.
His surgical gown was gone, replaced by his dark suit jacket, though his shirt collar was unbuttoned and his cuffs were stained with my blood. He stopped five feet away from them.
"Ethan!" Eleanor rushed forward, her voice high-pitched with performative concern. "Thank God! How is she? We've been sick with worry! You know how Claire gets—she worked herself into a panic over a simple family disagreement, and—"
"Shut your mouth, Eleanor," Ethan said quietly.
Eleanor froze, her mouth staying half-open in shock.
Richard stepped forward, his face flushing dark red with instantaneous authority. "Now see here, Ethan! You don't speak to my wife like that! We are Claire's family, and under the stress of this unfortunate accident—"
"Accident?" Ethan repeated. He took one step closer to Richard. Ethan was six-foot-two, built like a former collegiate rower, and right now, his presence filled the entire hallway. "Your daughter kicked my pregnant wife in the abdomen with a steel-toed boot because she refused to hand over her inheritance."
"It wasn't a steel toe!" Brooke snapped defensively, stepping around her father. "It was an accident! She was lying on the floor, throwing a tantrum, and I tapped her with my foot to tell her to get up! She's making this whole thing up because she hates me!"
"She had a placental abruption, Brooke," Ethan said, his voice dropping so low it was almost a whisper. "Our daughter was born at thirty-two weeks by emergency surgery. She is currently in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit hooked up to a ventilator because her heart stopped twice on the table."
Brooke blinked, taking a small step back, her face turning pale for the first time. "I... I didn't mean to..."
"And you," Ethan turned his gaze toward Eleanor, pointing a single finger at the phone still clutched in her hand. "Hand me my wife's phone."
Eleanor backed away, clutching the phone tightly against her chest. "This is Claire's private property! We were just checking her bank notifications because she mentioned she was having financial trouble—"
Before Eleanor could finish her sentence, Ethan reached out, grabbed her wrist with an iron grip, and pried my phone from her fingers. Eleanor let out a sharp gasp of pain, but Ethan didn't even look at her.
He swiped the screen open using my backup passcode, staring at the bank notification that had popped up right before I was rushed into surgery.
ALERT: Pending wire transfer request of $450,000 from VANCE TRUST ACCOUNT to BROOKE VANCE REAL ESTATE LLC. Status: Awaiting Secondary Authorization.
Ethan raised his eyes from the screen, looking at Richard and Eleanor with absolute disgust.
"You didn't just ask her for help," Ethan stated, the truth dawning on him with horrifying clarity. "You brought her to your house, hid her phone, tried to force her to sign a trust transfer document, and when she refused... your daughter assaulted her."
"That money was meant for the family business!" Richard shouted, dropping his polite facade completely. "My father set up that trust for all my children! Claire had no right to hoard it while Brooke's company is going under!"
"That trust was left exclusively to Claire by her grandfather," Ethan replied coldly. "And now, every single one of you is going to pay for what you did tonight."
"You can't prove a damn thing!" Richard sneered, stepping into Ethan's face. "It's her word against ours! Three against one! The police will see it as a tragic family dispute!"
May you like
Ethan pulled his own phone from his pocket, pressed a button, and held it up to his ear.
"Detective Miller?" Ethan said into the phone, his eyes never leaving Richard's face. "This is Ethan Vance. I'm at Bellmont Memorial Hospital. The assault occurred at 442 Elm Street. The suspect is Brooke Vance. Please bring two units immediately. My daughter almost died, and I am pressing charges for attempted murder and grand larceny."
