Chapter 5 - The Sterling Empire
The name hit the table like a brick of lead.
Victor Sterling.
Even in our modest suburban enclave forty miles south, everyone knew the Sterling name. Sterling Pharmaceuticals. The Sterling Children's Pavilion at the university hospital. Victor Sterling was a fixture of regional society pages—a silver-haired titan of industry who funded political campaigns, endowed university libraries, and owned a gated three-hundred-acre equestrian estate in Oakridge.
Adam was waiting by the elevators, pacing the floor. When he saw my face, he lunged forward, catching me by the elbows before my knees gave out.
"Rachel? What happened? What did she say?"
"Outside," I choked out. "Get me out of this building."
We walked through the sliding automatic doors into the blinding summer glare. The heat hit us like a wall, but inside my coat, I was shivering uncontrollably.
Sitting in the front seat of Adam's pickup truck, with the air conditioning blasting against our faces, I showed him the photocopied transport log.
Adam stared at the paper, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned. "Victor Sterling? The billionaire?"
"Evelyn said June was breathing," I said, my voice rising in pitch, hysterical and frayed. "She was thriving, Adam! Vance lied to us. He told us she died so he could hand her over to a private ambulance. They swapped our living daughter for a dead stranger's baby and buried it in a plot with our name on it!"
Adam dropped his forehead against the horn, which emitted a short, sharp blare before he jerked back. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, his breathing ragged.
"Why?" he wept, the sound guttural and broken. "Why would Victor Sterling steal a sick premature baby from a family of strangers?"
"Because seven years ago, Victor Sterling's wife had a public breakdown," I said, the memory surfacing from the dark recesses of local news gossip. "Remember? Claire Sterling. It was all over the regional papers. She was pregnant with their long-awaited heir after a decade of failed IVF treatments. In late May 2017, she was admitted to St. Jude’s under total secrecy for late-term complications."
Adam looked at me, horror dawning behind his wet eyes. "And she lost it."
"She lost the baby," I said, connecting the horrifying dots. "Dr. Kenneth Vance was her private obstetrician. He was the head of perinatal medicine at St. Jude’s. Victor Sterling must have paid him whatever he asked to find a replacement. A premature, fragile infant with no birth certificate yet filed. An infant whose parents were twenty-four years old, broke, overwhelmed with three other sick babies, and buried under a mountain of medical debt."
"They thought we would never question it," Adam whispered, his jaw trembling with murderous rage. "They thought three babies were enough for us."
"We're going to the police," Adam said, turning the ignition key. The engine roared to life. "We are going straight to the state police barracks."
"And tell them what?" I cried out, grabbing his wrist. "Look at this paper, Adam! It’s a blurry photocopy of an internal transport log signed seven years ago! Vance will deny it. St. Jude’s legal department will bury us in injunctions before sunset! Victor Sterling owns the district attorney! If we go to the cops right now, the Sterlings will pack June onto a private jet and disappear to Europe before a warrant is even typed!"
Adam stared through the windshield, his chest heaving. "Then what do you want to do, Rachel? We can't just storm an armed estate in Oakridge!"
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"No," I said, wiping the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand. My voice dropped, steadying into a calm, predatory resolve I didn't know I possessed. "We don't storm it. We go look. We find out if our daughter is behind those gates. And if she is... God help anyone who tries to stop me from taking her back."
***
