Chapter 3 - The Matriarch’s Shield
Thirty minutes later, the door to the room didn't open—it blew inward.
Eleanor Vance entered the hospital room like an empress inspecting a pigsty. She was sixty-two years old, draped in tailored camel-hair cashmere, with diamonds flashing at her ears and throat. Her silver hair was coiffed into an immovable helmet, and her face, tightened by multiple cosmetic procedures, was set in an expression of absolute disgust.
Behind her trailed Victoria, looking remarkably recovered, her posture straight, a smug, venomous smirk already returning to her lips now that her protector had arrived. Two high-priced defense attorneys in charcoal suits flanked them like attack dogs.
"Nathaniel," Eleanor barked, ignoring me entirely as if I were a stain on the mattress. "What is the meaning of this circus? There are police officers in the lobby! The chief of police had to call me personally on my cell phone while I was at the symphony!"
Nathan didn't stand up. He remained seated in the plastic armchair beside my bed, his hands resting on his knees.
"Mother," Nathan said quietly. "Did Victoria tell you why the police are here?"
"Victoria told me that your little commoner had a hysterical episode, fell out of bed, and tried to blame her for it," Eleanor snapped, waving a manicured hand dismissively. "And instead of handling this privately like a Vance, you struck your sister across the face and tried to have her arrested like a common criminal! Have you completely lost your mind?"
"She tried to kill my child, Mother." Nathan’s voice was eerily calm, but beneath the surface lay a reservoir of pure venom.
"Nonsense!" Eleanor scoffed. "Victoria would never do such a thing! She came here out of the goodness of her heart to bring flowers! Yellow roses, which cost four hundred dollars from the florist on Fifth Avenue!"
"Yellow roses are funeral flowers, Eleanor," I spoke up, my voice hoarse.
Eleanor turned her gaze upon me for the first time. Her eyes were like chips of blue ice, entirely devoid of warmth or empathy. "You keep your mouth shut, young lady. You have caused nothing but discord since the day Nathan dragged you into our home. You think because your belly is swollen that you have conquered this family? You are a parasite."
"Mother, that's enough!" Nathan roared, leaping to his feet. He towered over Eleanor, but the matriarch didn't even flinch.
"No, Nathaniel, it is *not* enough," Eleanor said, stepping closer, poking a manicured finger into her son’s chest. "You are forgetting who you are. You are forgetting where your money comes from. Your grandmother’s estate will be finalized next month. Five hundred million dollars. And the primary condition of Evelyn’s will is that the funds remain within the direct control of the Vance lineage."
"Evelyn’s will states that the trust is unlocked upon the birth of the first grandchild of the new generation," Nathan countered, his teeth grinding together. "Which means our son. My son with Clara."
Victoria let out a shrill, mocking laugh from behind Eleanor. "And you really think that bastard is yours, Nathan? You really think a girl from South Boston who worked sixty hours a week waitressing didn't spread her legs for the highest bidder? She trapped you! Everyone in our circle is whispering about it! It's humiliating!"
"Victoria," Nathan warned, his fists shaking. "Shut your mouth."
"She won't shut her mouth, because she is telling the truth," Eleanor said smoothly. "Nathaniel, I have already instructed Arthur and Richard here," she gestured to the two attorneys, "to file a formal injunction against Clara. We are demanding a court-ordered prenatal paternity test. And until those results are verified by our private laboratory, Clara will receive not one cent of family support, and you will not see a dime of your trust distribution."
"I don't care about the trust," Nathan spat. "I work for my own firm. I make my own money."
"You make a junior partner's salary at an investment firm that survives on *my* connections!" Eleanor snapped. "You cross this line tonight, Nathaniel, and I will ruin you. I will pull our family's capital from your firm by nine o'clock tomorrow morning. You will be unemployed. You will be blacklisted across Wall Street. You will be raising that child in a studio apartment in Queens."
The threat hung in the sterile room, heavy and suffocating. Eleanor watched Nathan, waiting for him to crumble. For thirty-two years, Nathan had lived under her thumb. He had chosen the right schools, the right friends, the right career—all to appease the iron matriarch. The only thing he had ever chosen for himself was me.
Nathan looked at his mother. Then he looked at Victoria, who was watching him with a triumphant, malicious grin.
Then Nathan did something that made Eleanor's eyes widen in genuine shock.
He smiled.
"You really think you still hold all the cards, don't you, Mother?" Nathan said softly.
Eleanor narrowed her eyes. "I *am* the deck, Nathaniel."
"Not tonight," Nathan replied. He walked over to the corner of the room, reached into his jacket, and pulled out his phone. "Detective Miller?" Nathan spoke into the receiver. "They're all in the room. Bring the tablet up."
The hospital room door opened once more. Detective Miller walked in, flanked by two armed police officers. In Miller’s hands was a ruggedized black tablet.
"What is this?" Eleanor asked, her haughty demeanor faltering slightly. "Officer, I told your commissioner—"
"Mrs. Vance, with all due respect, your commissioner doesn't run an active felony crime scene," Detective Miller said firmly. He looked directly at Victoria, whose smirk instantly vanished, replaced once more by that sickening, grey dread.
"We just pulled the high-definition security footage from the room's ceiling camera," Miller said, turning the tablet screen outward so that everyone could see. "And the audio feed is remarkably clear."
Miller pressed *play*.
The screen flickered to life. The camera angle looked straight down from the ceiling, capturing the entire room in crystal-clear color.
On the screen, I was lying peacefully in bed, eyes closed, drifting to sleep.
The door opened silently. Victoria walked in, carrying the yellow roses.
The audio was pristine. Victoria's voice echoed through the speakers of the tablet, crisp, cold, and dripping with hatred:
*"Wake up, you pathetic little leech."*
Eleanor blinked. The two defense attorneys glanced at each other, their professional neutrality instantly cracking.
On the screen, I sat up, startled. *"Victoria? What are you doing here?"*
Victoria set the flowers down. She walked over to the bedside table. Then, with terrifying deliberation, she unzipped her handbag. She pulled out a small glass vial filled with a clear liquid and an eye-dropper.
*"You think you're going to steal Nathan from me?"* Victoria's recorded voice hissed. *"You think you're going to get Grandmother Evelyn’s trust fund? Grandmother hated you. She died before she ever had to look at your cheap, common face."*
Victoria unhooked the lid of my water cup. She squeezed the dropper, emptying the contents of the vial into the water.
*"Drink it, Clara,"* Victoria sneered on the recording, holding the cup out to me. *"It's just an herbal blend. In three hours, your body will reject the fetus. The doctors will call it a tragic late-term miscarriage. You'll cry, Nathan will comfort you, and then, without a baby to anchor you, Nathan will finally realize you're nothing. Drink it, and I'll wire one million dollars into your mother’s account tomorrow morning. Refuse... and I'll make sure neither of you leaves this hospital alive."*
The room was deathly quiet. Eleanor’s face looked as though she had been struck by lightning.
On the screen, my recorded self reached out to slap the cup away. The water splashed over Victoria's designer coat.
Then, the violence exploded.
Victoria shrieked, grabbed me by the hair, and dragged me violently off the hospital bed. I hit the linoleum floor with a sickening thud. I curled into a ball, screaming for help, while Victoria stood over me, raising her foot.
*"You miserable bitch!"* Victoria screamed on the video, slamming her red stiletto heel directly into my chest, grinding it down while I sobbed. *"I should stomp that bastard right out of you!"*
And then, Nathan burst through the door.
Detective Miller hit pause. The screen froze on the image of Victoria’s red heel pressed into my bruised flesh.
Miller looked up at Victoria, who was now trembling so violently she could barely stand.
May you like
"Victoria Vance," Detective Miller said, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt. "You are under arrest for attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon, and aggravated assault on an unborn child. Turn around and put your hands behind your back."
***
