Chapter 6
The hospital room seemed to contract violently around them as Arthur’s urgent warning echoed through the speaker. Mark stared at the phone screen, his reflection distorted by the digital glow, while Amy froze in sheer terror, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp.
"Protective custody on what grounds?" Mark demanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. "Our son is recovering from a viral infection under a doctor's care. This is an abuse of legal power, and you know it, Arthur."
"Eleanor’s legal team fabricated an emergency affidavit claiming that Amy’s emotional distress and the broken porcelain incident at the house constituted an immediate danger to the infant's physical well-being," Arthur replied, his voice frantic as rustling papers could be heard in the background. "A sympathetic family court judge just signed an ex parte order thirty minutes ago. The bailiffs and private couriers are already dispatched. If they reach that hospital room before you leave, they will legally seize the child."
"Not on my life," Mark snapped. He ended the call with a swift swipe of his thumb, turning his full attention to Amy. The paralysis of fear had completely vanished from her face, replaced by the fierce, unyielding adrenaline of a mother whose child was under direct attack.
"Pack everything, now," Mark commanded, stripping off his suit jacket and tossing it onto the chair. "We aren't waiting for discharge papers. We are walking out of here through the service exit before those couriers arrive."
Amy didn't hesitate for a single second. She grabbed the diaper bag, shoving bottles, medical charts, and spare clothes inside with frantic speed, while Mark hurried over to the crib. He gently unhooked the IV line from Leo’s tiny arm, applying a sterile pressure bandage with practiced precision before scooping the sleeping baby into his arms, wrapping him tightly in a heavy wool blanket.
"Come on," Mark urged, grabbing Amy’s hand.
They slipped out of the hospital room just as the elevator bell chimed down the corridor. Footsteps echoed against the polished linoleum floor—heavy, purposeful strides belonging to men in tailored gray suits carrying leather briefcases. Ducking into the emergency stairwell, Mark and Amy descended four flights of concrete stairs in absolute silence, their breathing ragged and shallow in the confined space.
When they finally pushed through the heavy metal fire door, they emerged into the damp, chill air of the hospital’s subterranean ambulance bay. The rain was coming down harder now, drumming a relentless rhythm against the concrete overhang.
"My car is parked in visitor sector C," Mark whispered, scanning the dimly lit lot. "If Eleanor's people have the gates monitored, our plate numbers will flag instantly."
"Then we don't take your car," Amy said, her eyes darting toward the street where a row of waiting city taxicabs idled near the emergency entrance. "We take a cab to the train station. We can leave the city and go to my aunt’s cabin in upstate New York. It's off the grid; Eleanor's corporate trackers won't find us there."
It was a desperate plan, but it was the only option they had. Without wasting another breath, they dashed through the pouring rain, ignoring the biting wind that whipped through their clothes. They slid into the back of the nearest idling taxi, Mark clutching Leo tightly against his chest while Amy slammed the door shut.
"Union Station, downtown. And step on it—I'll pay double the fare," Mark instructed the driver, shoving a handful of hundred-dollar bills through the partition.
The driver took one look at Mark’s fierce expression and Amy’s soaked, panicked state, hit the gas, and surged out into the rain-slicked city traffic. As the hospital faded into the distance behind them, Mark pulled out his phone again, dialing a secure messaging app to send a single encrypted command to his personal financial assistant.
Liquidate all secondary portfolios. Transfer liquid assets to the offshore contingency account immediately.
He knew this was only the beginning. Eleanor wouldn't stop at a family court injunction; she would use every asset, every politician in her pocket, and every private investigator at her disposal to hunt them down. But as he looked down at Leo, who stirred slightly and let out a soft, healthy sigh against his jacket, Mark felt a cold, hard resolve settle deep in his bones.
May you like
His phone buzzed in his hand with a new notification. It wasn't his assistant. It was a direct text message from an unknown number, containing a single photograph taken from the hospital security camera just moments after they had fled the room.
The caption read: You can run, Mark, but you cannot hide your inheritance from the family.
