Chapter 11 - THE NIGHT OUR DAUGHTER WAS BORN
I reached the hospital as alarms began sounding on the maternity floor.
Arthur had entered wearing stolen medical credentials.
Security cameras showed him moving toward Grace's wing.
FBI agents locked down the building.
I wasn't allowed upstairs.
I nearly lost my mind.
“She's my wife!”
An agent blocked the elevator.
“And there's an armed suspect upstairs.”
I stopped.
Grace needed protection.
Not another man creating chaos because his feelings were bigger than everyone else's safety.
So I waited.
Then gunshots echoed.
One.
Two.
My heart stopped.
Agents rushed upstairs.
Nine minutes later, Marcus appeared.
“Arthur is in custody.”
“Grace?”
“Safe.”
“The baby?”
He smiled.
“Ask the doctor.”
Dr. Cole had flown in at Grace's request.
He stepped through the doors wearing scrubs.
“Richard.”
“Tell me.”
“Your daughter arrived at 4:06 a.m.”
My knees weakened.
“Is she okay?”
“She is small. Five pounds, one ounce. But she's breathing independently.”
I covered my face.
“And Grace?”
“Exhausted. Stable.”
I laughed.
Then cried.
I didn't care who saw.
Nathan waited.
“Can I see them?”
“That is Grace's decision.”
I nodded.
Twenty minutes later, a nurse came.
“Mr. Hayes?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Hayes says you may come in.”
May.
Not should.
Not must.
May.
That single word felt sacred.
Grace lay in the hospital bed.
She looked smaller than I remembered.
Tired.
Beautiful.
Alive.
Beside her was a clear bassinet.
Inside slept my daughter.
I stopped breathing.
Grace watched me.
“You can hold her.”
My hands shook.
“I don't know if I should.”
A faint smile touched her mouth.
“You've held billion-dollar negotiations without blinking.”
“This is different.”
“Yes.”
The nurse placed our daughter in my arms.
Everything inside me broke.
She had Grace's nose.
Tiny fingers.
Dark hair.
I whispered:
“Hello.”
Grace turned her face away.
She was crying.
“I am so sorry.”
“Don't.”
I stopped.
“Not tonight.”
I nodded.
We sat in silence.
For once, silence wasn't cowardice.
It was respect.
Then Grace said:
“I named her Eleanor.”
“My mother's name.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“Mine.”
I had forgotten.
Grace's mother's middle name had been Eleanor.
“It's beautiful.”
She nodded.
“Richard?”
“Yes?”
“When Arthur came in, he said something.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“He said he wasn't the last person protecting your father's secret.”
I froze.
“What did he mean?”
“I don't know.”
Then Marcus entered.
His expression was grave.
“Richard.”
“Not now.”
“You need to hear this.”
He handed me a printed transcript from Arthur's interrogation.
Arthur had confessed to poisoning Grace's vitamins.
Stealing her inheritance.
Manipulating Vanessa.
Arranging William Mercer's death.
But one crime he denied.
My father's death.
I frowned.
“My father had a heart attack.”
Marcus looked at me.
“No.”
According to Arthur, Charles Hayes had planned to confess everything before he died.
Someone stopped him.
May you like
And the person who administered the fatal drug wasn't Arthur.
It was someone who still sat on Hayes International's board.
