Chapter 4 - Unraveling the Web
The room descended into a state of high alert. Dr. Campbell immediately ordered a complete toxicology screen on my blood to ensure none of the poison had entered my system before the struggle.
"Detective Miller is downstairs with four squad cars," the head of hospital security announced, stepping inside. "The perimeter is locked down. Nobody gets in or out of this wing."
Marcus didn't acknowledge the officer. He was staring at the frozen frame of the video on his screen, where Isabella’s lips were visibly forming the name *Raymond Vance*.
"My uncle," Marcus murmured, his knuckles cracking as his fists clenched. "Six months ago, when my brakes failed on the highway... the police ruled it mechanical failure. It wasn't mechanical, was it?"
Isabella clamped her mouth shut, refusing to speak. But the sheer terror in her eyes gave away everything.
"Raymond promised you my position, didn't he?" Marcus stepped closer, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper. "He promised that if I was broken—if my wife and unborn heir were eliminated—he would take control of the board and bring your family's bankrupt shipping company into the fold."
"You can't prove anything," Isabella hissed, though her chin trembled violently. "A video of me saying a name proves nothing in court. Raymond has top-tier lawyers. You'll never touch him."
"I don't need a court to destroy Raymond Vance," Marcus replied coldly. "I own sixty-two percent of the voting shares. And as of ten seconds ago, my automated system transmitted this entire video file, alongside the forensic log of your syringe, directly to the FBI’s financial crimes and attempted murder divisions."
Isabella’s knees buckled. If not for the guards holding her upright, she would have collapsed onto the floor.
Just then, my monitor let out a sharp, rhythmic beep. A sudden, searing spasm shot through my lower back, wrapping around my pelvis like a band of iron. I gasped, arching off the mattress as pain ripped through my core.
"Khloe!" Marcus spun around, abandoning Isabella instantly. He was at my bedside in a heartbeat, catching my hand. "Doctor! What's happening?"
Dr. Campbell checked the telemetry monitor. Her expression turned grim. "She’s entering preterm labor. The physical trauma of the fall combined with the severe spike in adrenaline has triggered contractions. We need to stop them immediately, or this baby is coming tonight."
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"He's only thirty weeks," I cried, tears blinding me as another contraction tore through my body. "Marcus, it's too early! He won't survive!"
"He will survive. You both will," Marcus vowed, his eyes blazing with fierce determination. He turned to the guards with absolute authority. "Drag that monster out of my sight and throw her into a holding cell. Dr. Campbell, do whatever it takes. Spare no expense. Save my wife and son."
