Chapter 13 - The Siege of the Nursery
A cold, dead fury settled deep into my bones, burning hotter than any panic I had ever known. They wanted my empire. They wanted my bloodline. They thought they could use my children as leverage against a man who had clawed his way out of poverty with his bare hands.
“Marcus,” I said, my voice dropping into a register that made my head of security step back instinctively. “Call the private tactical response team. I want fifty armed operatives securing every single corridor, elevator shaft, and ventilation duct of St. Catherine’s within thirty minutes. Nobody gets within a mile of the fourth floor without my personal biometric clearance.”
“Done,” Marcus said, already pulling out his satellite communicator. “I’m also rerouting the National Guard perimeter requests through our corporate defense contracts. If these Syndicate bastards want a war, they’re going to find out what happens when you corner a apex predator in his own den.”
“No,” I corrected him, shaking my head as a dangerous, calculated plan formed in my mind. “We don't hide behind a perimeter. We draw them out.”
“Boss, the kids—”
“The kids are heavily guarded, and so is Claire,” I interrupted, grabbing my coat. “The Syndicate operates in the shadows because they rely on anonymity. If we wait for them to make a move, we’re always reacting. We’re going to trace the ping of that intranet upload right back to the terminal where it originated inside this hospital.”
Ten minutes later, I was standing in the central IT control room on the sub-level of St. Catherine’s, watching lines of green code cascade across three massive monitors.
Our lead cyber-security specialist, a former NSA analyst named Jax, was flying across his keyboard with frantic intensity.
“Got it,” Jax breathed, wiping sweat from his forehead. “The file upload wasn't sent from an external IP address. It originated right here in the building—specifically, from Terminal 404 in the old pediatric wing on the third floor. A wing that was officially decommissioned six months ago during the hospital expansion.”
“Decommissioned,” I murmured. “Which means nobody goes down there unless they have master blueprints.”
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“Shall I send the tactical team to clear it?” Marcus asked, his hand resting on the holster of his sidearm.
“No,” I said, stepping toward the heavy steel security door. “I’m going down there myself. You secure the perimeter of the maternity suite. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, blow the main power grid and lock down every exit in the building.”
