Chapter 5 - The Early Delivery
The twins came six agonizing weeks early during a brutal January snowstorm.
At exactly 2:41 a.m., Emily woke with severe, overwhelming contractions.
The pain was blinding, wrapping around her abdomen like a vice.
Brandon was not home.
He hadn't been home for three days, claiming he was stuck in Chicago closing a deal.
Emily reached for her phone and called him eleven times in a row.
Every single call went straight to voicemail.
Panicking and in agonizing pain, she finally called an ambulance herself.
The paramedics struggled to get her out of the penthouse and into the freezing snow.
By the time they reached the hospital, Emily was already in active labor.
Doctors and nurses rushed around her as the monitors began screaming.
Little Noah’s heartbeat began dropping dangerously low.
Emily gripped the metal bedrails, constantly asking where her husband was.
Nobody had an answer for her.
She was wheeled into the sterile operating room alone, terrified she was going to lose her babies.
The emergency C-section saved both twins, but Emily hemorrhaged badly during the procedure.
She woke up in the intensive care unit hours later, weak and heavily medicated.
Brandon finally strolled into the hospital room at noon the next day.
He smelled faintly of expensive gin and mints.
He carried a massive bouquet of apology flowers, acting as if he had just missed a dinner date.
He told her his phone had died during a massive snowstorm power outage in Chicago.
He blamed the airlines, the weather, and his assistant for the catastrophic timing.
He held her hand and cried, promising he would never fail her again.
Emily, exhausted and vulnerable, desperately wanted to believe him.
She forgave him, focusing entirely on the tiny, fragile lives fighting in the NICU.
But the fourth file on the black USB drive shattered that final illusion.
It was the terrifying piece of evidence Emily had saved for maximum impact.
The file was a pristine security video downloaded directly from Brandon's own penthouse system.
The timestamp was exactly 2:41 a.m. on the night the twins were born.
The video clearly showed Brandon sitting on the luxurious living room sofa, drinking scotch.
He wasn't in Chicago.
He was right there in the apartment.
The camera clearly captured him staring down at his glowing phone as Emily called him from the bedroom eleven times.
He watched the phone ring, took a slow sip of his drink, and deliberately turned the device off.
He had intentionally ignored her screams for help while his children were dying.
Brandon stared at the footage of his own monstrous behavior, feeling truly sick to his stomach.
Before he could process the horror of what Emily knew, the heavy penthouse doors shattered inward.
Federal agents swarmed the entryway, their weapons drawn and tactical lights blinding him.
But as the lead agent shouted for Brandon to put his hands up, Brandon noticed the man's badge.
It wasn't an FBI badge.
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It was the emblem of a ruthless private security firm hired by Alder Crest Technologies.
And standing right behind the armed men was Sloan Whitmore, holding a silenced pistol.
