Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Blackwood
The lights of the emergency room ceiling flickered overhead in rapid, dizzying succession.
"Blood pressure is 145 over 95, fetal heart rates are elevated but steady. Twin A at 160, Twin B at 158," the triage nurse announced, wrapping a fetal monitor strap around my stomach. "Ultrasound tech is on her way. Doctor! We need an IV line started with magnesium."
The cold gel hit my skin a moment later. When the rhythmic, galloping thumps of two tiny hearts filled the small examination room, tears finally spilled over my eyelashes. They were alive. They had survived the fall.
"Placental borders look intact," the OB-GYN murmured, staring intently at the grayscale monitor. "No evidence of abruptio placentae right now. Lena, you are extremely lucky. The blunt force hit your hip and shoulder, not the anterior abdomen. Another two inches to the left, and we’d be performing an emergency C-section at twenty-eight weeks."
I closed my eyes, breathing through the throbbing ache in my bruised ribs.
The curtain rustled, and Elias walked in. The nurses moved to stop him, but one look at his face and the badge clipped to his lapel silenced their objections. He closed the curtain securely behind him, pulling up a plastic swivel stool to sit beside my gurney.
"They're okay," I whispered, reaching blindly for his hand. "Elias... the babies are okay."
His fingers closed around mine, warm and calloused. For six years, I had believed he was gone. Six years of mourning an older brother who had raised me after our parents died in a car crash when I was twelve. When his boat allegedly exploded off the coast of Bar Harbor, I was nineteen, vulnerable, and completely alone.
That was when Graham had appeared in my life. Compassionate. Attentive. A promising young executive who helped me navigate probate court, took over the paperwork, and told me he would protect me forever.
"I’m sorry it took me this long, Lena," Elias said, his voice thick with an emotion he had kept buried for years. "They buried me deep. The fraud went all the way through the state maritime commission. Vivian worked as the senior paralegal for the probate judge. She doctored the death certificate, forged your power of attorney, and funneled my trust fund into Graham’s shell corporation, Apex Holdings."
"Graham told me he earned that money through angel investors," I said, a bitter chill washing down my spine. "He told me he was building our future."
"He built his future on blood money," Elias countered. "When the explosion happened, I wasn't on that boat. I’d been tipped off by a contact at the port authority. But by the time I pulled myself out of the fallout, Vivian had already pushed the probate through. If I had walked into court back then with no proof, they would have had me institutionalized or killed for real. I had to disappear. I had to rebuild my license under a federal alias and trace every dollar."
"And Vivian?"
"Vivian isn't just his mistress, Lena. She's his handler. She picked Graham because he was charming, weak, and greedy enough to play the puppet. But she didn't count on one thing." Elias leaned closer, his eyes burning with lethal clarity. "She didn't count on me keeping the original ledgers in a private vault in Zurich. Every penny Graham used to buy your penthouse, his country club memberships, and his fancy suits belongs to you."
The door to the triage bay swung open with a bang.
Graham strode in, flanked by a man in an expensive navy pinstripe suit carrying an embossed leather briefcase. Graham’s wrist was wrapped in an elastic bandage, his hair hastily recombed, the practiced mask of an aggrieved husband back firmly in place.
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"Lena," Graham said, his voice dripping with faux tenderness. "Thank God you're safe. We need to talk before these hospital bills get completely out of hand."
***
