Chapter 7 - The Iron WallThe Vance Women’s Health Institute was a fortress of glass and steel located in the quiet, upscale neighborhood of Upper East Side. It was designed to cater to the city’s elite, offering maximum privacy and state-of-the-art security.
At 11:30 PM, the heavy glass doors of the lobby slid open, and Adrian stormed in, his suit jacket disheveled, his collar open. Vanessa followed him, looking increasingly uncomfortable as she realized the scale of the disaster they were walking into.
“Where is my wife?” Adrian demanded, slamming his hand down on the sleek reception desk.
The receptionist, a calm, middle-aged woman in a crisp uniform, didn't even flinch. “Name, please?”
“Mara Vance! I’m her husband, Adrian Vance. I need to see her immediately. She’s in preterm labor, and I am her medical proxy.”
The receptionist typed something into her computer, her expression remaining entirely neutral. “I’m sorry, Mr. Vance. But according to our records, Mrs. Vance has explicitly revoked your visitation rights and your medical proxy. Her primary medical proxy is designated as Dr. Evelyn Vance, and her secondary is Vanguard Trust’s legal department.”
“That’s illegal!” Adrian shouted, leaning over the desk. “I am her husband! We are married! I demand to see her!”
“Mr. Vance, if you do not lower your voice, I will be forced to call security,” the receptionist said calmly, her hand hovering over a silent panic button beneath the desk.
“Call them!” Adrian sneered. “See what happens!”
From the corridor behind the desk, the heavy double doors opened, and Marcus stepped out. He was no longer wearing the uniform of Adrian’s building security. He wore a sharp, custom-tailored black suit with a discrete earpiece. Behind him stood three large, burly men in tactical gear.
“Good evening, Mr. Vance,” Marcus said, his voice level and entirely devoid of fear.
Adrian stared at him, his face twisting with betrayal. “Marcus? You traitor. I paid your salary for three years!”
“Actually, Mr. Vance, Vanguard Trust paid my salary,” Marcus corrected him. “Your name was just on the corporate checkbook. And as of tonight, my allegiance is where it has always been—with the woman who actually funds the payroll.”
“Get out of my way, Marcus,” Adrian stepped forward, trying to push past him. “I’m going upstairs.”
Marcus didn't move an inch. The three tactical guards stepped forward, their presence forming an impenetrable wall of muscle and Kevlar.
“I suggest you turn around and leave, Adrian,” a new voice said.
Dr. Evelyn Vance walked out from the secure elevator bay, her lab coat flowing behind her. Her face was set in a hard, uncompromising line.
“Evelyn!” Adrian turned on his cousin. “Thank God. Tell these gorillas to step aside. Mara is my wife. I have a right to be with her.”
“You have no rights here, Adrian,” Evelyn said, her voice dripping with contempt. “I have already completed Mara’s physical exam. I have documented the severe bruising on her lower back, the lacerations on her ankles from where you dragged her, and the concussion she suffered when you let her head hit the floorboards.”
Adrian’s eyes flickered with a brief moment of panic, but he quickly recovered his swagger. “She fell, Evelyn. She’s clumsy. The pregnancy has made her dizzy.”
“She didn't fall, and you know it,” Evelyn said, stepping closer until she was inches from his face. “I have already transmitted the medical forensics to the District Attorney’s office. A protective order has been filed. If you come within five hundred feet of this facility, or Mara, you will be arrested on the spot.”
Vanessa gasped, clutching her designer handbag. “Adrian... let’s go. This is getting out of hand.”
“Shut up, Vanessa!” Adrian snapped. He glared at Evelyn, his teeth bared. “Mara thinks she’s smart? She thinks she can ruin me? Tell her that if she doesn't drop this default, I will drag her through the divorce courts for the next ten years. I will take those babies from her, and she will never see them again. I’ll paint her as an unstable, negligent mother who put her pregnancy at risk.”
“You can try, Adrian,” Evelyn said softly, a cold, pitying look in her eyes. “But it’s hard to pay for a ten-year legal battle when you don't even have enough money to buy a cup of coffee.”
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“What are you talking about?” Adrian scoffed.
“Check your personal bank accounts, Adrian,” Evelyn suggested. “The ones you thought were safe.”
