Chapter 2 - Code Blue for the Whitmore Heir
The hallway erupted into controlled motion.
A wheelchair appeared.
Emily refused it.
“I can walk.”
Dr. Lena Foster took her arm.
“You do not need to prove anything right now.”
That sentence nearly broke her.
Emily allowed herself to be guided through the maternity doors.
Raymond walked beside her.
Preston tried to follow.
Security stopped him.
“That is my wife.”
Raymond turned.
“You should have remembered that five minutes ago.”
Preston’s jaw tightened.
“I have medical rights as her husband.”
Emily stopped.
She turned carefully.
“No.”
Preston stared at her.
Emily reached into her purse and handed Raymond a folded document.
“I changed my medical proxy three weeks ago.”
Raymond opened it.
Preston’s name had been replaced by Raymond Saint Claire.
Vanessa whispered something under her breath.
Emily heard it anyway.
“She planned this.”
Emily looked at her.
“I prepared for you.”
Then another contraction hit.
This one folded her forward.
Dr. Foster shouted for a stretcher.
Within seconds Emily was being rushed into an examination room.
Monitors were attached.
A fetal heartbeat filled the room.
Fast.
Too fast.
Emily stared at the screen.
“Is he okay?”
Dr. Foster did not lie.
“He is under stress.”
Emily’s fingers trembled for the first time.
Raymond took her hand.
Outside, Preston began arguing with security.
Emily could hear only fragments.
“My child.”
“My wife.”
“My right.”
Then Vanessa’s sharper voice.
“You said she had no power here.”
Emily closed her eyes.
Dr. Foster examined her.
Her expression hardened.
“Your membranes have ruptured.”
Emily opened her eyes.
“And the blood?”
“We are checking for placental separation.”
Raymond squeezed her hand.
Dr. Foster continued.
“We are going to try to stabilize you.”
“What if you can’t?”
“Then we deliver.”
Emily looked toward the ceiling.
Thirty-two weeks.
The nursery at home was unfinished.
The crib was still inside its box.
There were tiny blue socks in a drawer she had never washed.
She had spent the last two months trying to understand why her marriage was collapsing.
Now all she wanted was another eight weeks.
A nurse entered carrying a tablet.
“Dr. Foster.”
She glanced at Raymond.
“There is a problem.”
Raymond stood.
“What?”
“The maternity record has been altered.”
Emily turned.
“What do you mean?”
The nurse brought up the chart.
“Someone entered a note twelve minutes ago claiming Mrs. Whitmore arrived with abdominal trauma from a fall at home.”
The room went silent.
Emily had not fallen at home.
She had been kicked inside the hospital.
Raymond’s face became cold.
“Who entered it?”
The nurse hesitated.
“The login belongs to Dr. Preston Whitmore.”
Emily stared toward the closed door.
Preston was not a physician.
But years earlier, the hospital had issued him an executive credential with limited administrative access.
Raymond pulled out his phone.
“Disable every Whitmore credential in the system.”
The nurse nodded.
Emily whispered.
“He’s already trying to rewrite what happened.”
Raymond looked at her.
“No.”
His voice became quieter.
“He is trying to build a defense.”
Then a second nurse entered.
She looked frightened.
“Mr. Saint Claire, security found something else.”
Raymond turned.
“What?”
“The camera outside maternity was remotely accessed three minutes after the assault.”
Emily’s heart raced.
“By who?”
May you like
The nurse looked at the screen.
“The request came from the Whitmore executive office.”
