Chapter 6 - the confrontation at midnight
By 11:00 PM, the rain had begun to fall over the city of Greenwich. Heavy drops drummed against the high arched windows of the Carter family's private legal office in downtown Manhattan.
Jonathan sat behind the massive glass desk, his suit jacket off, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Spread across the glass surface were stacks of newly retrieved financial ledgers, private medical files, and security logs from the night of the Saint Jude's fire five years ago.
Dr. Reynolds sat nearby, reviewing the psychiatric evaluation forms, while Sarah—now cleaned up, wearing a soft gray sweater and dark pants provided by Jonathan’s staff—sat in a comfortable armchair, holding a warm cup of coffee.
Little Emily was fast asleep on the leather sofa in the corner, wrapped in a plush wool blanket, her stuffed rabbit tucked under her arm.
Marcus walked into the office, carrying a heavy black leather briefcase. He set it on the desk and opened it, revealing a thick stack of bank transfers marked with the seal of the Vance Family Estate.
"You were right, Mr. Carter," Marcus reported grimly. "We tracked the offshore accounts belonging to Lady Eleanor Vance. On the night of October 14th, five years ago—the night Emily was born—a wire transfer of seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars was made from a Swiss account to a private medical holding company in Panama."
"Who owned the holding company?" Jonathan demanded, his dark eyes fixed on the paper.
"Dr. Richard Harrison," Marcus revealed. "The chief obstetrician at Saint Jude’s."
Jonathan slammed his broad palm down onto the glass desk with a sharp crack. "The bastard sold my family a child."
"Not just any child," Sarah added softly, her voice trembling. "My sister's child. My flesh and blood."
Suddenly, the heavy mahogany doors of the office burst open.
Stepping into the room was Lady Eleanor Vance—Victoria’s mother. At sixty-five, Eleanor was a formidable, icy woman with pristine gray hair, tailored diamond jewelry, and an aura of absolute snobbery. Behind her stood two private security guards in dark suits.
Victoria slunk in behind her mother, her head hanging low, looking utterly defeated.
"Jonathan," Eleanor declared, her voice sharp and metallic as she walked into the room, her high heels clicking loudly on the hardwood floor. "What is the meaning of this late-night circus? Your security guards practically forced my daughter out of her own home!"
Jonathan stood up slowly, his tall frame towering over the desk. "Sit down, Eleanor."
"I will certainly not sit down!" Eleanor sneered, looking down her sharp nose at Sarah. "And why is this dirty street woman sitting in your executive office? Marcus, remove her at once!"
"Marcus works for me, Eleanor," Jonathan said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "And if anyone is leaving this room in handcuffs tonight, it will be you."
Eleanor’s cold blue eyes narrowed slightly, but her aristocratic mask didn't slip. "Don't be ridiculous, Jonathan. You're upset because of some old hospital rumors—"
"I have the Panama wire transfer receipts, Eleanor," Jonathan interrupted flatly, tossing the black file across the desk. "I have the footprint records. And I have the testimony of the head nurse you had beaten and framed five years ago."
Eleanor glanced at the black folder on the desk, her sharp face stiffening for a fraction of a second before she regained her composure.
"So you know," Eleanor said plainly, sitting down in the leather chair without an ounce of remorse. "So what? Victoria couldn't carry a child to term. The Vance family needed an heir to secure the merger. We gave a poor, desperate girl fifty thousand dollars, and we gave that child a life of luxury beyond her wildest dreams. You should be thanking me, Jonathan. I saved your legacy."
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"You bought a human being!" Jonathan shouted, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "You destroyed a mother's life! Where is Clara Jenkins?"
Eleanor leaned back, a cold, mocking smile appearing on her lips. "If you want to find Clara... you might want to look a little closer to home, Jonathan."
