Chapter 7 - The Wiretap and the Final Confession
Victoria Sterling checked her diamond wristwatch, looking around the empty delivery bay with visible irritation.
From the shadows of the annex corridor, the glass door clicked open. A woman in navy nursing scrubs stepped out, holding a bundle wrapped in a cream cashmere blanket.
My breath seized in my throat.
The bundle moved. A tiny, fragile fist peeked out from beneath the wool, twitching against the night air.
My baby.
I had to bite down on the meat of my hand until I tasted copper to keep from screaming. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to charge across the tarmac, tear that nurse apart with my bare hands, and snatch my child back into my arms.
But I knew the rules of this game. Victoria Sterling traveled with armed private security. If I rushed out now, they would subdue me, call Dr. Ward, and my child would vanish into a private jet at an airstrip in Albany before sunrise.
I pulled out my phone, raised the high-resolution camera, and hit record.
A silver Mercedes sedan pulled into the bay right behind Victoria. The doors flew open, and Brenda and Dr. Evelyn Ward stepped out into the light.
“You’re early, Victoria,” Evelyn said, her voice sharp and authoritative as she approached the vehicle. “The handoff was scheduled for tomorrow evening at the gala.”
Victoria turned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Garrick’s campaign team picked up chatter this afternoon. Some local journalist has been sniffing around the hospital’s executive audits. We’re moving the timeline up tonight. We fly to our estate in Nantucket at midnight. Is the child healthy?”
Brenda stepped forward, her face lit with sickening pride. “She’s absolute perfection, Victoria. Seven pounds, two ounces at birth. Full Apgar scores within ten minutes. Not a single defect. She has Lucas’s bone structure—nobility through and through.”
“And the mother?” Victoria asked, her voice cold, transactional, devoid of a shred of human empathy. “Has she signed the voluntary relinquishment under the confidential seal?”
Evelyn offered a tight, smug laugh. “The mother believes the child was cremated at Oakwood Memorial two weeks ago. She’s currently heavily sedated in her bed. By the time she wakes up on Monday, the official state death registry will be sealed under my signature, and your private adoption decree through our Cayman trust will be unassailable.”
“Good,” Victoria said, nodding toward her chauffeur.
The chauffeur stepped forward, carrying a metallic silver briefcase. He flipped the latches open, revealing rows of banded hundred-dollar bills.
“Three hundred and fifty thousand, as agreed,” Victoria stated. “The final balance will wire to your offshore account once the jet clears state airspace.”
Brenda took the briefcase with greedy, trembling hands. She opened it slightly, her eyes glowing in the halogen lights as she stroked the cash. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Victoria. Give our best to the Senator.”
The nurse handed the crying bundle to Victoria. Victoria took the baby awkwardly, holding her like an expensive designer handbag rather than a newborn human life.
They turned toward the Lincoln Navigator.
I didn't wait.
I hit Save on the video recording. Then, with my thumb hovering over the screen, I sent the entire video file, the hospital records, and the Cayman ledger photos directly to three numbers:
First, to Detective Ray Miller—the lead investigator at the State Police Special Crimes Bureau, whose personal number was saved in my phone because he was a childhood friend of my late father.
Second, to the newsroom desk of the New York Post.
Third, to Lucas.
With a single message attached:
“Look out the window, Lucas. The police are already at your door.”
May you like
Then, I stood up from the hedges, stepped directly into the blinding halogen lights of the delivery bay, and screamed at the top of my lungs:
“GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY DAUGHTER!”
