Chapter 8 - The Empty IncubatorI bolted out of Sofia’s room so fast my chair crashed backward onto the floor.
"Doctor! What's wrong?!" Lupita shouted, running after me.
"The NICU!" I screamed over my shoulder, my heart pounding against my ribs like a jackhammer. "Someone is in the NICU!"
I sprinted down the hallway, taking the corners on two wheels, ignoring the startled shouts of patients and nurses. The weight of the USB drive slammed against my thigh with every stride. Vance wasn't just a corporate criminal; he had sleeper agents inside the hospital—people we trusted, people walking our halls every single day.
I slammed through the double doors of the neonatal unit.
The room was bathed in the dim, blue glow of medical monitors.
And it was dead silent.
Too silent.
The nurses' station was empty. The attending nurse was slumped over the desk, unconscious, breathing heavily from a heavy dose of medical-grade sedative patch pressed against her neck.
I rushed to Incubator 1.
Empty.
Mateo’s thermal blanket was still warm, but the baby was gone.
I ran to Incubator 2.
Empty.
Lucía was gone, too.
"No, no, no!" I yelled, tearing open the supply closet, checking under the counters, scanning every corner of the room. Nothing. They had vanished into thin air.
"Doctor!" Lupita gasped as she finally caught up, bursting into the room. She took one look at the empty incubators and her hand flew to her mouth, a stifled scream escaping her lips. "The babies... where are the babies?!"
"Vance," I snarled, my fists clenching so hard my fingernails broke the skin of my palms. "He had people inside. Someone on the inside took them."
Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my hand.
An incoming video call from an unknown, encrypted number.
With shaking fingers, I swiped to answer and hit speakerphone.
"Dr. Daniel Rivera," a distorted, synthesized voice hissed through the speaker. "Impressed with our efficiency?"
"Where are the children?!" I roared, stepping toward the window overlooking the ambulance bay. "If you touch a hair on their heads, I swear to God—"
"Save your theatrics, Doctor," the voice interrupted smoothly. "You hold the USB drive. We hold the twins. It’s a very simple negotiation."
"What do you want?"
"Bring the original USB drive to the old bridge on the El Sauz road in exactly forty-five minutes. Come alone. No police, no hospital security. If we see a single flashing light, the babies go into the river."
Click.
The line went dead.
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I stood in the center of the silent NICU, the artificial monitors beeping mockingly around me. I had the evidence that could destroy Vance’s entire empire, but my newborns—my flesh and blood—were dangling over the edge of a cliff.
And back in Room 310, little Sofia was waiting for her father to come back and tell her everything was going to be alright.
