Chapter 10 - Ward 4B
Swedish Medical Center’s fourth-floor pediatric observation wing was quiet at 1:30 in the morning, lit by low fluorescent strips and the soft beeping of vitals monitors.
When Mara and I stepped off the elevator, we didn't see police officers outside Room 412.
Instead, we saw Celeste standing at the nurses' station in a spotless beige cashmere trench coat, dabbing her eyes with a tissue while speaking to a tired-looking woman wearing a state Child Protective Services badge. Beside them stood Adrian and a hospital administrator in a charcoal suit.
"It breaks my heart," Celeste was saying, her voice quivering with flawless maternal grief. "Ever since my fiancé’s first wife passed away, his mood swings have become so erratic. Tonight, when we discovered the nanny stealing from us, something in Ricardo just snapped. He attacked his own brother with a fireplace iron in front of Vianey."
"And you have the notarized temporary guardianship proxy signed by Mr. Vance?" the CPS caseworker asked, flipping through a clipboard.
"Right here," Adrian said, pulling a crisp document from his briefcase. "Ricardo signed it two weeks ago in case he had to travel overseas. As you can see, it grants myself and Ms. Laurent full custodial authority over Vianey Vance if Ricardo is medically incapacitated."
Down the hall, through the glass partition of Room 414, I saw two hospital security guards standing outside Ricardo’s door. Through the window, Ricardo was strapped to the gurney by one wrist, arguing furiously with a resident physician who was holding a syringe of Lorazepam.
And in Room 412, a nurse was helping a pale, silent Vianey put her shoes back on so she could leave with Celeste.
"Stop right there!" I called out, walking straight down the polished linoleum corridor with Mara right at my shoulder.
Adrian spun around. When he saw me—dry, calm, and holding the silver iPad against my chest—his eyes widened in genuine shock.
"Security!" Adrian barked immediately, pointing down the hall. "This is the woman who broke into our home tonight! How did she get past the lobby?!"
Two burly hospital security officers stepped away from Ricardo’s door, moving to intercept us.
"Nobody touch my client," Mara commanded, holding up her bar card and stepping directly in front of the CPS caseworker. "Ma'am, what is your name?"
"Diane Miller, Department of Children, Youth, and Families," the woman said, blinking in confusion. "Who are you?"
"I am Mara Chen, attorney at law. Before you hand a seven-year-old child over to these two individuals based on a forged guardianship proxy, I suggest you watch forty-five seconds of timestamped video recorded inside the Vance residence this evening—unless you want your name at the top of a twenty-million-dollar federal negligence lawsuit tomorrow morning."
"Ms. Miller, don't listen to this circus!" Celeste snapped, her veneer of sorrow cracking into sharp desperation as she reached into Room 412 to grab Vianey’s arm. "We are taking Vianey home right now!"
I didn't wait for the security guards. I tapped Play on the iPad and turned the volume all the way up to maximum.
Adrian’s recorded voice echoed off the sterile tile walls of the hospital ward, loud enough for every nurse, security guard, and doctor on the floor to hear:
"Once she's gone tonight, we slip the Halcion into his drink after dinner... the medical transport van will pick up the little girl at noon. By the time Ric clears his head on Friday, Vianey will be locked down in Zurich..."
The hallway went dead silent.
Inside Room 412, Vianey yanked her hand out of Celeste’s grip and ran straight behind the CPS worker’s legs.
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The resident physician inside Ricardo’s room slowly lowered the syringe, walked to the doorway, and stared at Adrian.
And inside the room, Ricardo heard his brother’s voice on the speaker—and tore the velcro restraint strap straight off the rail of his hospital bed.
