Chapter 9
Elliot opened his eyes on the third day.
Khloe was wheeled into the NICU, pale and trembling, one hand over her stitches.
I pushed the chair.
She kept whispering, “I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“What if he’s too little because of me?”
I stopped the chair.
“Do not finish that sentence.”
“But—”
“No. Richard and Vanessa caused this. Not you. Never you.”
She nodded, crying silently.
When the nurse placed Elliot carefully against her chest, Khloe broke.
“My baby,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
His tiny head turned toward her voice.
The monitors beeped.
The nurse smiled.
“He knows you.”
Khloe sobbed harder.
I looked away.
Some moments are too sacred for even a brother to watch directly.
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
A photograph of the hospital hallway.
Current.
Then another message.
Protective orders do not protect incubators.
My blood turned cold.
I stepped outside and called Mara Voss, a federal contact from an old case.
She answered on the second ring.
“Harrison Cole. That tone means something ugly.”
“A newborn was threatened.”
Her voice changed.
“Send it.”
I did.
Five minutes later, hospital security locked the NICU floor.
Ten minutes later, federal agents arrived because the threat crossed state lines through a server Richard’s company used.
Richard had made a mistake.
Threatening Khloe had awakened me.
Threatening Elliot had awakened people who did not care how many judges he knew.
Mara looked at the message.
Then at me.
“Is Richard stupid?”
“No. Comfortable.”
“That ends badly for men like him.”
“Help me make sure.”
She nodded.
“We start with his phones.”
That night, Richard’s company server was subpoenaed.
By morning, we had the first email.
Vanessa to Richard.
If she falls hard enough, the baby comes early. Then we say she was unstable and unsafe.
May you like
I printed it.
Then I sat alone in the hospital chapel and shook.
