Chapter 4 - The Vultures' Banquet
By nine o'clock the following morning, the trap had closed around me—or so Harrison believed.
The ride to the Sterling Institute of Reproductive Medicine had been eerie. The driver had indeed been switched; Thomas had supposedly taken ill overnight, replaced by a silent, broad-shouldered man with a scar running beneath his jaw who never met my eyes in the rearview mirror. When I stepped out into the private, subterranean ambulance bay of the clinic on East 71st Street, Harrison was already waiting, flanked by Dr. Nathan Sterling himself.
Dr. Sterling was a tall, silver-haired man in an immaculate bespoke lab coat, his gold-rimmed spectacles gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
"Chloe, my dear," Sterling said smoothly, taking my elbow with a patronizing warmth that made my stomach lurch. "Harrison told me about your episode last night. High blood pressure, tachycardia... carrying triplets is an immense burden on a woman of your petite frame. We’re going to get you into a private VIP suite on the fourth floor. Just absolute bed rest, quiet observation, and continuous fetal monitoring."
"Will I be able to go home before the delivery?" I asked, allowing my voice to break, looking between them like a frightened animal.
"We’ll see, sweetheart," Harrison said, kissing my temple. His eyes were bright, almost manic with triumph. "The doctors know best. I have to go finalize some paperwork with Madison and Harper this morning, but I’ll be back tonight to check on you."
*Paperwork with Madison and Harper.*
The sale was being finalized today.
Within an hour, I was installed in Suite 402—a luxurious, soundproofed room with a plush hospital bed, a velvet sofa, and heavy silk curtains that blocked out the morning sun. A young nurse with dead, indifferent eyes hooked me up to an IV drip.
"Just mild saline and a light stabilizer for your uterine contractions," the nurse muttered, taping the needle to the back of my hand.
The moment the nurse left the room, I slid my fingers along the plastic tubing. I had spent half an hour researching hospital equipment on my phone the previous night. I gripped the small white roller clamp on the IV line and rolled it down until the plastic tubing was pinched completely shut.
The clear liquid stopped dripping in the chamber.
Not a single drop of their "stabilizer"—their chemical straightjacket—would enter my veins.
For four hours, I lay on that bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady, electronic rhythm of the fetal monitor strapped around my belly.
*Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.*
Three distinct heartbeats, overlapping like the galloping of wild horses.
*Hold on,* I whispered to them, pressing my flat palm against the cotton sheets. *Just a little longer. Mom is fighting for you.*
At two o'clock in the afternoon, the heavy soundproof door clicked open.
It wasn't a doctor.
Harper Sterling swept into the room, wearing an oversized cream cashmere coat, dark sunglasses pushed up onto her platinum hair, and towering Louboutin heels. Behind her walked Madison Croft, wearing a tailored navy pantsuit, her jaw set, holding a leather legal portfolio under her arm.
And behind them both came Harrison, looking entirely in his element.
"Well," Harper said, wrinkling her small, surgically refined nose as she looked at my bed. "She really does look exhausted. Daddy wasn't exaggerating. Look at those dark circles."
She walked over to the foot of my bed, completely ignoring my face, her cold blue eyes locking onto the mound of my stomach.
"Is that him on the left?" Harper asked Harrison, pointing a manicured, diamond-encrusted finger at my lower abdomen. "Daddy said the male embryo took on the left side."
"That’s him, Harper," Harrison smiled, resting a hand familiarly on her shoulder. "Healthy, strong, and completely unblemished. Just like we agreed."
I pushed myself up against the pillows, letting my jaw drop in feigned, absolute horror.
"Harrison?" I stammered, my voice trembling. "What... what is she talking about? Who are these people? Why are they in my room?"
Madison Croft stepped forward, clicking her pen with a sharp, businesslike snap. She didn't have Harper’s youthful vanity; Madison was forty-two, cold-eyed, and operating on pure corporate brutality.
"Let's not draw this out, Harrison," Madison said crisply, opening her portfolio on my bedside table. "The equity transfer of Bennett-Croft Prime is signed on my end. I’ve brought the supplemental custody relinquishment forms. Dr. Sterling says we can schedule the C-section for early next week under emergency pretense. I want the girl. That’s Baby B."
"Wait!" I screamed, pulling the thin sheet up to my chin, pressing myself back against the headboard. "Baby B? Custody relinquishment? Harrison, what is this?! Tell them to get out! These are our babies! We did IVF together!"
Harrison let out a long, weary sigh, running a hand through his hair. The loving husband was gone. The mask had completely melted away, leaving only a cold, hollow shell of arrogance.
"Stop screaming, Chloe. You’re giving yourself a migraine, and you’re embarrassing me in front of my partners."
"Partners?!" I sobbed, tears spilling down my cheeks. "These are human beings inside me! They’re my children!"
"They were never your children," Harper sneered, leaning over the rail of the bed, her face inches from mine. "You honestly thought a man like Harrison Bennett fell in love with a penniless little architect? You were selected, darling. Screened. Clean genetics, no family history of cancer, wide hips, and completely desperate for a husband. You were nothing more than a nine-month rental."
The cruelty in her voice was so pure, so casual, that it took my breath away.
"And Baby C?" I whispered, looking up at Harrison, my eyes wide and pleading. "Who gets Baby C, Harrison? The third one? You said we were going to have a family!"
"Baby C belongs to the Vance estate," Harrison said coldly, checking his watch. "And speaking of which, Julian Vance’s representatives should be here within the hour to verify the biometric signatures. Thirty million dollars, Chloe. Thirty million to secure our future. Well... my future."
"You're going to put me in an institution," I whispered, the words trembling on my lips. "The maternal incapacity waiver..."
Madison Croft paused, her pen hovering over the document, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing her face.
Harrison’s eyes narrowed instantly into slits.
"Where did you hear that term?" Harrison demanded, taking two swift, aggressive steps toward the bed, grabbing the rail with white knuckles. "Chloe. What did you touch in my office?"
"She knows?" Harper gasped, stepping back, her vanity instantly giving way to shrill panic. "Harrison! You said she was an idiot! You said she had no clue! If she fights this legally, my father's medical license—"
"Shut up, Harper!" Harrison snapped, glaring at me with raw, undisguised hatred. He reached out, grabbing my wrist with bruising force. "What did you do, Chloe? Who did you talk to?"
"She talked to me," a deep, booming voice echoed from the doorway.
The sound of the door crashing open against the wall was like a thunderclap.
Four men in charcoal tactical suits stepped into the room, their hands resting on concealed sidearms. And behind them walked Julian Vance.
He was six-foot-three, broad-shouldered, with silver-streaked dark hair, piercing slate-gray eyes, and a presence that sucked all the oxygen out of the room. He wore a tailored black overcoat that swept around his calves, and his face was carved from granite.
Beside him walked Eleanor Cross, the most feared criminal and family law attorney on the East Coast, followed by two uniformed officers from the Manhattan District Attorney's Special Prosecutions Bureau.
Harrison froze, his grip on my wrist going slack.
"Julian?" Harrison forced a grotesque, stammering smile, though all color had drained from his face. "Mr. Vance... you’re early. We... we hadn't called you up to the suite yet. We were just preparing the biometric verification—"
"Take your hands off the mother of my niece," Julian Vance said.
His voice wasn't loud, but the sheer, lethal weight behind it made the entire room tremble.
Two of the tactical guards moved instantly, stepping between Harrison and my bed, pushing Harrison back with enough force to send him stumbling into Madison Croft’s portfolio, scattering papers across the sterile floor.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Dr. Sterling came rushing into the room, his face pale, sweat soaking his collar. "This is a private medical facility! You cannot bring armed men into an intensive care suite!"
"Dr. Nathan Sterling," Eleanor Cross announced, stepping forward with a pristine white document bearing the seal of the New York State Supreme Court. "I am serving you with an immediate federal injunction, an order of emergency asset seizure, and a warrant for the preservation of all cryo-storage records and genetic materials under penal code 175—human reproductive trafficking and corporate extortion."
Harper let out a high-pitched scream.
"Daddy! What is she talking about?!"
"Shut your mouth, Harper!" Dr. Sterling gasped, his hands trembling so violently he dropped his glasses.
Julian Vance didn't look at Sterling. He didn't look at Madison Croft, who had already backed herself against the corner wall, pulling out her phone with shaking fingers to call her criminal defense team.
Julian walked directly to the side of my bed.
He looked down at me. The icy, terrifying ruthlessness in his gray eyes softened into something profound, something heavy with grief and reverence. His gaze shifted to my swollen stomach, where Baby C had just kicked hard against the sheet.
"Mrs. Bennett," Julian said softly, bowing his head slightly. "You held the line."
"I held the line," I whispered, tears finally breaking through my composure, pouring down my cheeks in a torrential flood of relief.
"You're done, Harrison," Julian said, turning slowly to face my husband.
Harrison’s face was green. He looked at Julian, then at the District Attorney's investigators, then at me.
"Chloe..." Harrison stammered, his voice cracking, raising his hands in a desperate plea. "Chloe, please. Think about what you’re doing. We’re married! Everything I did was for our financial freedom! They’re using you! If you testify against me, you’ll lose everything—"
"She won't lose a single thing," Eleanor Cross interrupted coldly, opening her briefcase. "Because as of twenty minutes ago, Mrs. Bennett has been granted emergency temporary custody of all three infants in utero under the Federal Gestational Exploitation Protection Act."
"All three?!" Harper shrieked, pointing wildly at me. "That’s MY baby! My egg! My DNA! She can't have my child!"
"Your child?" Eleanor Cross smiled—a cold, terrifying baring of teeth. "Miss Sterling, you signed a contract commissioning an illegal, covert surrogate extraction using falsified medical consent forms. In the eyes of the law, you aren't an intended parent. You are a co-conspirator in a human trafficking felony. You'll be lucky if you aren't delivering your next manicure in a federal penitentiary."
May you like
"Officers," the DA investigator stepped forward, pulling sets of steel handcuffs from his belt. "Harrison Bennett. Nathan Sterling. Harper Sterling. You are all under arrest."
***
