Chapter 3 - The Breach
The front door of Sylvia’s pristine house practically exploded off its heavy iron hinges.
Screams erupted from the dining room as the dinner guests dove under the mahogany table.
A dozen men dressed in black tactical gear poured into the hallway.
They carried assault rifles and moved with terrifying, organized precision.
“Clear the living room!” one of the men shouted over the chaos.
David let go of my wrists and stumbled backward until he hit the refrigerator.
Sylvia dropped her precious gravy boat, shattering it completely across the expensive floor.
Two massive federal agents burst through the kitchen doors and immediately locked their eyes on me.
“We have the primary package,” the lead agent yelled into his shoulder radio.
“Code red, she is actively hemorrhaging.”
“Bring the trauma medics in right now.”
David raised his hands in the air, trying to summon his arrogant courtroom persona.
“Wait a minute, I am a senior partner at Vance and Hughes,” David announced loudly.
“You cannot enter my property without a valid federal warrant.”
The lead agent did not even blink at the legal threat.
He stepped forward, grabbed David by the collar of his expensive holiday sweater, and slammed him face-first into the granite counter.
“You do not have rights tonight, sir,” the agent whispered coldly into David’s ear.
Steel handcuffs clicked aggressively around David’s wrists.
Sylvia began screaming about her ruined floors and her son’s reputation.
A second agent simply pointed a large weapon at her chest, and she instantly fell completely silent.
Three trauma paramedics rushed into the kitchen carrying a stretcher and a massive medical kit.
They knelt beside me, cutting away my bloody maternity dress to access my stomach.
“Stay with us, Anna,” the paramedic said gently, pressing an oxygen mask over my face.
“Your father is waiting for you at the medical center.”
They lifted me onto the stretcher, and the movement sent a fresh wave of blinding agony through my pelvis.
I squeezed my eyes shut, praying to any God that would listen to save my baby.
They rolled me rapidly through the dining room, past the terrified faces of David’s wealthy friends.
As we reached the front porch, the freezing winter air hit my sweating face.
I saw five black SUVs parked recklessly across Sylvia’s perfectly manicured lawn.
The paramedics loaded me into the back of a heavily armored ambulance.
One of the medics hooked me up to a fetal heart monitor.
I waited to hear the strong, rapid thumping of my baby’s heartbeat.
Instead, the machine let out a long, continuous, terrifying screech.
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“We lost the fetal pulse,” the medic yelled to the driver.
“Tell the Chief Justice that his grandchild is coding.”
