The House of Cards
Chapter 06 - The House of Cards
On the other end of the line, three miles away inside the sprawling, gated Vance Manor, Eleanor Vance stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows of her lavish drawing room, holding a glass of vintage champagne.
Hearing her stepson’s icy voice through the speaker, the champagne glass slipped from Eleanor’s manicured fingers, crashing onto the Persian rug.
“Marcus... sweetie, what are you talking about?” Eleanor forced a high-pitched, aristocratic laugh, though her hand trembled violently. “Did you have a bad day at the hospital? How is dear Khloe holding up?”
“Isabella is in handcuffs, Eleanor,” Marcus revealed, his voice devoid of any human warmth. “Dr. Harrison just confessed to everything on camera. The altered genetic reports, the Swiss server transfers, and the chemical syringe Isabella brought into Room 402 today.”
Eleanor’s breath hitched in her throat. The color drained from her face, leaving her looking old, fragile, and terrified.
“Marcus... listen to me,” Eleanor pleaded, her composure crumbling into desperate panic. “Isabella is young! She was foolish! She was acting on her own! I had no idea she was going to the hospital today! I swear on your late father’s memory, I knew nothing about a syringe!”
“Save it for the grand jury,” Marcus said flatly. “You spent twenty years living off my father’s legacy while secretly draining our family trusts. It ends today. The estate security team has revoked your gate access. You have ten minutes to pack a single bag before federal marshals arrive with an arrest warrant for corporate fraud and conspiracy to commit murder.”
“Marcus! You can’t do this to me! I raised you!” Eleanor shrieked into the phone.
“You didn't raise me, Eleanor,” Marcus replied softly. “You just waited for my father to die.”
Marcus ended the call and tossed his phone onto the desk.
Inside Room 402, two police officers escorted a weeping Dr. Harrison out in handcuffs. The hospital’s head of trauma, Dr. Aris—a world-renowned, independent specialist brought in by Carlo—stepped up to Khloe’s bedside with a fresh, un-compromised ultrasound machine.
Dr. Aris applied warm blue gel to Khloe’s swollen stomach, gently moving the transducer across her skin.
The room filled with a loud, steady, beautiful sound:
THUMP-THUMP... THUMP-THUMP... THUMP-THUMP...
It was the strong, healthy, uninterrupted heartbeat of their seven-month-old baby girl.
Khloe burst into tears of pure relief, reaching up to grab Marcus’s hand. Marcus dropped to his knees beside her bed, burying his face in her hands, letting out a long, shuddering breath he felt like he’d been holding for months.
“She’s safe, Mr. Vance,” Dr. Aris smiled warmly, pointing to the glowing ultrasound monitor. “The chemical line was clamped just in time. The placenta is completely intact, and your daughter is thriving.”
“Thank God...” Marcus choked out, kissing Khloe’s forehead tenderly. “Thank God...”
Khloe looked at her husband, stroking his dark hair. “It’s over, Marcus. They can’t hurt us anymore.”
Marcus looked into his wife’s eyes, his expression softening, but a dark, lingering shadow remained deep within his mind.
He knew Isabella and Eleanor were going to prison. He knew the baby was safe.
But as Marcus glanced back at the ceiling camera, a sudden, terrifying thought crossed his mind: Who had installed that hidden camera in Room 402 three weeks ago in the first place?
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It wasn't the hospital. It wasn't Captain Miller.
And it certainly wasn't Isabella.
