Chapter 6 - The Iron Door
The VIP floor of Northwestern Memorial Hospital was locked down tighter than a federal courthouse.
Two armed private security guards—men hired by Clara Whitman’s legal team—stood outside Room 412, their arms crossed, their expressions like granite blocks. Down the hall, a Chicago police detective stood near the nurses' station, holding a clipboard ready for questioning.
When Damien stepped out of the private elevator, wearing a dark wool coat with his collar turned up, the two guards immediately stepped forward, blocking his path.
“Hold on right there, Mr. Cross,” the lead guard said, resting his hand casually near his holster. “You’re trespassing. There’s an active stay-away order issued by Judge Callahan twenty minutes ago.”
“I’m her husband,” Damien said, his voice dropping into the commanding baritone that usually made board members shrink back. “Step aside.”
“You lost the right to call yourself her husband when you let her phone ring thirteen times,” a cold, sharp voice echoed down the corridor.
Damien turned.
Clara Whitman walked out of the elevator behind him, escorted by two corporate attorneys carrying leather briefcases. Clara looked like an executioner in a tailored black trench coat, her eyes blazing with an unadulterated fury that made Damien momentarily step back.
“Clara,” Damien said, lowering his guard slightly. “Please. I need to see her. Just for five minutes. I need to explain—”
“Explain what?” Clara cut in, stopping two feet away from him. Her voice was trembling with restrained rage. “Explain that you were too busy entertaining your lobbyist mistress to pick up the phone while your wife was bleeding out in a crushed car? Explain why you thought a pregnancy was an inconvenience while you built your precious empire?”
“I didn't know she was in the car,” Damien pleaded, the desperation finally breaking through his polished armor. “Julian told me about the accident. I swear to God, Clara, if I had known—”
“That makes it worse!” Clara screamed, her voice echoing down the sterile hospital hallway, causing the nurses to look up from their desks. “If you had known, you would have rushed to her side? No, Damien! You ignored thirteen calls because you thought she was just annoying you! You valued a convenience over a human life! My sister’s life! And my niece or nephew!”
The words hit Damien like a physical blow. Niece or nephew.
He had a child. He had a child, and he had killed its chance at life through sheer, arrogant neglect.
“Is she awake?” Damien whispered, his voice cracking.
“She’s awake,” Clara said coldly. “And she doesn't want to see your face ever again for the rest of her natural life. Here.”
Clara reached into her leather bag, pulled out a thick envelope stamped with red legal seals, and tossed it against Damien’s chest. It fluttered down to the linoleum floor.
“What is this?” Damien asked, staring down at the papers.
May you like
“That is the emergency petition for immediate divorce, asset forfeiture, and full transfer of Cross Atlantic Freight shares as restitution for gross negligence and emotional battery,” Clara said calmly, turning her back to walk toward Grace’s room. “Your empire belongs to my sister now, Damien. Every ship, every warehouse, every dollar. You came into her life with a tailored suit and a fistful of promises, and you leave it with nothing.”
The heavy wooden door of Room 412 opened, then clicked shut behind Clara, locking Damien out in the cold, antiseptic hallway.
