Chapter 13 - The Waiting RoomThe fluorescent lights of the Mount Sinai maternity ward hummed with a low, comforting buzz.
Claire sat on a vinyl recliner in the corner of Room 304, a warm blanket tucked around her legs. The rhythmic, galloping sound of the fetal heart monitor filled the room—thump-thump-thump-thump—steady, strong, and fast.
Sarah Cole walked in carrying a tray with two plastic cups of apple juice and a turkey sandwich on white bread.
"Vitals look perfect," Sarah said, setting the tray on the rolling table. "Blood pressure is down to 118 over 75."
Claire took a sip of the cold juice. It was sweet and cheap, but it tasted better than anything she’d had in months. "Did Marcus call?"
"About twenty minutes ago," Sarah said, pulling a rolling stool up to the bed. "Arthur was denied bail at the preliminary hearing. Ryan is being held on corporate fraud and conspiracy charges in White Plains."
Claire stared down at her hands. The skin around her knuckles was raw from the cold, and her nails were clipped short. There was no diamond ring on her left hand anymore. Just a faint, pale band of skin that was already beginning to fade.
"What are you going to do with the company?" Sarah asked quietly.
"Sell the shipping assets," Claire said without hesitation. "Keep the patent portfolio. Fund the clinic’s hospice wing under your uncle’s name."
May you like
Sarah’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back quickly, wiping her cheek with the shoulder of her scrubs. "He would have liked that. He always said your father was the only honest man in the maritime district."
"My father was stubborn," Claire said, a small, genuine smile touching the corners of her mouth. "Not honest. Just stubborn."
