Chapter 7: Breaking the Protocol
The digital clock on the bedside monitor flashed 2:14 AM. The hospital had grown unnaturally quiet, the usual hum of midnight activity muffled by the thick insulation of the private wing. Julian sat on the edge of the mattress, his dark green jacket discarded on a nearby chair, leaving him in his dark t-shirt. His mind raced through every possible exit strategy, every legal loophole, and every friend he could still trust outside the Vance empire.
“We can’t wait until morning,” Julian whispered, keeping his voice low enough to avoid the ceiling vent. “If they move her to an offshore facility through the foundation’s private transport network, we’ll never find her.”
Claire nodded slowly, wiping her eyes with the corner of her hospital gown. She sat up fully, gritting her teeth against the sharp pull of her surgical stitches. “There’s a service stairwell at the end of this hallway. It leads directly to the loading dock behind the laundry facilities. My cousin Marcus works the night shift as a medical courier. If we can reach him, he has access to the transport logs.”
Julian looked at her with a mixture of shock and admiration. “Marcus? I thought you hadn’t spoken to him in months.”
“We haven’t,” Claire admitted, wincing as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and pressed her bare feet against the cold linoleum. “We had a falling out over my decision to marry into your family. But when it comes to family, Marcus holds grudges against the rich even more than I do. He’ll help us if we can reach him before shift change at four.”
Julian stood up immediately, sliding his arms back into his jacket and checking the pockets for his car keys and phone. Both were there, though the screen of his phone displayed a blinking warning icon: Network signal restricted by facility administrator.
“They’ve jammed the local cell towers inside this wing,” Julian muttered, holding up the phone to show the empty signal bars. “We can’t call him.”
“Then we go down there,” Claire said with fierce determination, standing up despite her trembling knees. She grabbed her IV pole for support, dragging the heavy metal stand along with her as she stepped toward the door.
Julian rushed to her side, wrapping an arm firmly around her waist to bear her weight. “Claire, you shouldn't even be standing, let alone walking the halls.”
“If I stay in this bed, I lose my daughter,” she replied, her voice steady and resolute. “Let’s move.”
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Julian unlatched the door slowly, easing it open an inch to peer out into the dimly lit corridor. The hallway was entirely empty, bathed in the amber glow of emergency exit lights. The fourth-floor elevator banks were just past the nurses’ station, which appeared currently unoccupied, save for a single sleeping night nurse slumped over a desk.
Stepping out into the hallway, they moved with agonizing slowness, every step a calculated effort to avoid the squeaking wheels of the IV pole. The air felt thick, heavy with the oppressive silence of an institution designed to control every breath taken within its walls.
