The silver catering tray was much heavier than I'd expected. Strangely, that was the first thought that crossed

The fluorescent lights of the St. Jude Medical Center ceiling flashed past in a dizzying rhythm as the gurney hit the double doors of the labor and delivery unit.

"Female, 28, thirty-four weeks gestation, acute labor triggered by physical trauma and secondary thermal burns," the paramedic called out loudly to the trauma team assembling in the hallway. "Fetal heart rate is elevated at 170. Contractions two minutes apart!"

A sharp-eyed woman with silver hair stepped forward, pulling on a fresh pair of surgical gloves. Dr. Aris. She took one look at my blistered shoulder and my rigid, tightening stomach, and her expression turned to pure, focused steel.

"Get her into Suite 4 immediately," Dr. Aris commanded. "Prepare a local cooling dressing for those burns, and set up a continuous fetal monitor. We need to check the placenta for abruption immediately."

"Mateo..." I rasped, reaching out blindly until my husband's warm hand clamped around mine.

"I'm right here, Kaylee," Mateo said, leaning over the bed as the nurses expertly shifted me onto the delivery table. He looked exhausted, his shirt stained with dried milk and soot, but his grip was unshakeable. "I'm not going anywhere."

"The phone..." I gasped as another massive wave of pain seized my torso, making me arch my back against the mattress. "Did it finish?"

Mateo pulled the device from his coat pocket. The screen was still glowing brightly.

UPLOAD COMPLETE.

DATA RECEIVED BY FBI FINANCIAL CRIMES TASK FORCE.

CURRENT DECOY LOCATION: HANGAR 4, NORTH COUNTY EXECUTIVE AIRPORT.

"It's done, Kaylee," Mateo whispered, showing me the screen. "The federal authorities have the exact coordinates of the decoy device. Your mother and Camila are walking straight into a perimeter sweep."

Before I could answer, a loud, sharp monitor tone began to beep erratically beside the bed.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.

Dr. Aris bent over the ultrasound screen, her brow furrowing tightly. "The fetal heart rate is dropping. The impact from the fall caused a partial placental separation. We can't wait for a natural delivery. We need an emergency C-section right now."

Panic slammed into my chest like a freight train. "Is my baby okay?! Please, Doctor!"

"We are going to get him out safely, Kaylee, but we have to move fast," Dr. Aris said calmly, turning to the head nurse. "Prep Operating Room 2. Call pediatric anesthesia and get NICU on standby!"

Within thirty seconds, my bed was moving again. Mateo was forced to stop at the double doors of the surgical wing, wearing a paper scrub suit and hairnet.

"You're strong, Kaylee!" Mateo yelled as they pushed me into the sterile, icy chill of the operating theater. "You protected him on the kitchen floor! You protect him now! I'll be right here when you wake up!"

Inside the operating room, bright overhead lights blinded me. Anesthesiologists worked quickly, inserting an IV line into my good arm while a nurse sprayed cold disinfectant across my belly.

"You're going to feel a small pinch in your back, Kaylee," the anesthesiologist said softly. "Then the pain will go away."

As the spinal block took effect, a soothing warmth spread from my waist down to my toes. The agonizing contractions faded into a strange, distant pressure. A blue sterile curtain was raised across my chest, blocking my view of my stomach.

I stared at the ceiling tiles, my chest heaving, tears slipping down my temples into my hair.

I thought about my late mentor, Arthur Vance—the brilliant software pioneer who had seen potential in a twenty-two-year-old intern and left me a fortune in encrypted shares because he knew my biological family was a pit of vipers. He had warned me four years ago on his deathbed: "Kaylee, wealth doesn't change people. It just strips away their masks. Never give them the key."

I had remembered his words. I had built the decoy. But I had almost paid for it with my son's life.

"Pressure coming now, Kaylee," Dr. Aris called out from behind the curtain.

I felt a firm, tugging sensation against my abdomen. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

Then, the sterile quiet of the operating room was shattered by a sharp, high-pitched, furious cry.

WAAAAAH! WAAAAAH!

"We have a boy!" the nurse shouted, smiling brightly over the top of the curtain. "Time of birth: 5:42 PM. Three pounds, eleven ounces, but his lungs are crying loud!"

A flood of warmth rushed through my entire body. Tears poured freely down my cheeks as they wrapped a tiny, squirming bundle in a blue blanket and held him briefly against my cheek. His skin was soft, warm, and smelled like pure life.

"He's beautiful, Kaylee," Dr. Aris smiled, her eyes crinkling. "We're taking him to the NICU for observation because he's a little early, but he is a fighter. Just like his mother."

As they wheeled my tiny son out toward the nursery, a nurse stepped into the operating room, leaning down toward Dr. Aris.

"Doctor," the nurse whispered, though I caught every word. "The police department is outside in the hallway. They've detained two women in the lobby who were trying to breach the maternity floor using forged medical press credentials. One of them is claiming to be the baby's grandmother."