Chapter 2 - The General's Wrath
The private medical suite at the naval air station clinic was a sterile, highly secure bunker wrapped in reinforced concrete and patrolled by armed military police.
I lay on an adjustable examination table, an IV line pumping warm saline and stabilizing agents into my veins. The obstetrician, a tired-looking military major named Dr. Evans, shone a penlight into my eyes while checking the electronic fetal monitor taped across my abdomen.
"Heart rate is stabilizing, General," Dr. Evans said, looking up toward the corner of the room.
My father stood by the heavy security door. Admiral Hector Sterling wore his service khakis without a jacket, his broad shoulders squared, his silver-bristled hair catching the harsh fluorescent light. He hadn't sat down since I arrived. His face was a mask of terrifying, unreadable calm—the exact expression he wore when briefing the Joint Chiefs before an offensive strike.
"Is my grandson safe, Doctor?" my father asked, his voice low, measured, and dangerously quiet.
"The trauma and the drug-induced stress caused early contractions, but we've managed to halt labor for now," Dr. Evans replied cautiously. "She's going to need strict bed rest and continuous monitoring. Another twenty minutes exposed to that level of physical trauma and hydrostatic shock... we wouldn't have had a viable pregnancy."
My father closed his eyes for a single, heavy second. When he opened them, the cold fury burning in his slate-grey eyes could have melted steel.
He walked slowly to the side of the bed, his calloused hand—bearing the heavy gold ring of the Naval Academy—gentling touching my forehead.
"You should have told me months ago, Genevieve," my father murmured, his voice softening just a fraction as he looked down at me. "You wanted to find out if he loved you for you. But he proved what he is. A parasite."
"I wanted it to be real, Dad," I whispered, tears finally breaking free and tracking down my dusty cheeks. "I built his company from my trust fund. I stood by him when he had nothing. And he tried to murder me and his own child so he could clear the path for Victoria."
My father stood straight, his posture snapping back into rigid military alignment. He reached down and picked up my tactical watch from the bedside tray—the one with the encrypted satellite distress beacon linked directly to his command center.
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"He thought he was dealing with a defenseless pregnant woman he could manipulate," my father said, turning toward the door where Dante, his chief of personal security, stood waiting in the shadows. "Notify the federal prosecutor's office in Miami. Freeze every corporate asset, personal account, and shell company registered under Julian Vance. And bring him here."
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