Chapter 3 - The Hospital Room and the SharkThe sterile white walls of Syracuse Memorial Hospital hummed with quiet efficiency.
Fourteen hours after being dragged across my own kitchen floor, I was holding a squalling, perfect baby boy against my chest. He had Lucas’s dark hair, a stubborn little chin, and a pair of lungs that could rival a foghorn.
The door to my recovery room clicked open softly. It wasn't a nurse.
Donald Vance stepped inside, followed closely by a younger associate carrying an armload of thick, leather-bound folders. Donald looked like a shark who had just finished devouring an entire school of minnows.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Gallagher," Donald said, stepping up to the side of the bed and peering down at the bundle in my arms. "He looks remarkably like his father."
"He has his temper, too," I murmured, brushing a tiny curl of hair off my son’s forehead. "Tell me you brought good news, Donald."
"Better than good," Donald said, pulling a chair close to the bed and opening the top folder. "Your father spent the night in a holding cell at the downtown precinct. His bail hearing was scheduled for 8:00 AM this morning. The judge denied bail outright, citing the interstate nature of his financial dealings and the clear flight risk."
"And the company?"
"It’s entirely yours," Donald smiled, sliding a document across the rolling table. "The transition of controlling shares from Charles Baldwin’s holding entity to the Lucas & Victoria Gallagher Foundation was executed seamlessly at 6:15 AM. As of right now, your father is an employee of a corporation that you own 100 percent of. In fact, his first official notification from HR this morning was a formal termination notice for gross misconduct and corporate espionage."
A cold, dark thrill coursed through my chest. "Can he fight it?"
"With what money?" Donald chuckled dryly. "When the federal freeze hit his personal accounts, his credit cards declined at the commissary inside the jail this morning. Every asset he owned—his cars, his vacation home, his personal investments—was cross-collateralized against the fraudulent loans he took out to finance Courtney's lifestyle over the last year. The banks are already moving to repossess his primary residence."
"And Courtney?"
"She packed her designer bags and left his house by midnight," Donald said smoothly. "She tried to withdraw funds from a joint account Charles set up for her last month, only to discover that Lucas’s legal firewall had flagged those accounts as encumbered funds. She’s currently sitting in the lobby of our downtown office demanding to speak to a lawyer, but no reputable attorney in the state of New York will touch her case."
The door opened again. This time, it was Samantha, holding a steaming cup of black coffee and a local newspaper. She tossed the paper onto the edge of my bed.
The front page of the Syracuse Post-Standard featured a large, crystal-clear photo of Charles Baldwin being led out of my house in handcuffs, his head ducked low beneath a windbreaker, flanked by two armed deputies.
The headline read: LOGISTICS TYCOON ARRESTED IN FRAUD SCHEME; DAUGHTER'S INHERITANCE PROTECTED BY IRONCLAD TRUST.
"It's making waves across the entire state," Samantha said, pulling up a chair on my left. "Business partners your father bullied for years are already calling our office, offering congratulations and asking to renegotiate contracts directly with you."
"They want to talk to the new boss," I said, looking down at my son.
"They want to talk to the person who actually holds the keys," Donald corrected. "Which brings us to your next move, Victoria. You need a board of directors. Your father had loyalists planted throughout the executive suite. We need to root them out, one by one."
I looked at the newspaper photo of my father—a man who had spent my entire life treating me like an afterthought, a pawn to be traded for social standing and financial leverage. He had tried to throw me out onto the street while I was carrying his only grandchild.
May you like
Now, he was penniless, disgraced, and completely at my mercy.
"Let's clean house," I said quietly.
