Chapter 3 - The Bloodline Secret
Alejandro slowly raised his hands and turned around to face the deadly weapon. Standing in the doorway was the family's chief of security, a towering man named Vargas. Vargas had worked exclusively for the Aranda family for over three decades. He pointed the wide barrel of the shotgun directly at Alejandro's chest with zero hesitation. Alejandro loudly demanded to know why the loyal guard was suddenly betraying him. Vargas sneered coldly and stated that his loyalty belonged entirely to Esther Aranda. The guard explained that Alejandro was nothing more than a convenient, oblivious puppet for the family business. Before Vargas could pull the heavy trigger, a loud crash echoed from the main hallway. One of the young kitchen maids had accidentally dropped a massive tray of expensive china to create a distraction. Vargas instinctively glanced toward the loud noise for one crucial, fatal second. Alejandro lunged forward and aggressively grabbed the hot metal barrel of the shotgun. He twisted the weapon violently out of the guard's hands and struck him across the jaw with the heavy wooden stock. Vargas collapsed to the floor in a completely unconscious heap of broken pride. Alejandro sprinted back up the grand staircase toward the locked master bedroom. He frantically used the guard's stolen master keycard to finally unlock the reinforced bedroom door. Valeria was breathing heavily, clutching her swollen stomach in obvious, agonizing pain. She looked at him with tear-filled eyes and delivered the most terrifying news yet. The extreme stress and the mysterious drugs in her IV line had forcefully started her premature labor. Alejandro frantically searched the unconscious guard's pockets and found a universal biometric bypass key. He pressed the small digital device against the padlock on Valeria's bruised ankle. The heavy metal chain finally clicked open and dropped heavily to the hardwood floor. Alejandro scooped his wife into his strong arms, completely ignoring the burning pain in his own muscles. He carried her down the back servant staircase, frantically praying they could reach his armored car in the garage. They burst through the heavy fire doors into the dimly lit underground parking level. But the sprawling, luxurious garage was not empty. A fully equipped mobile surgical unit had been set up directly between the luxury vehicles. Standing in front of the blinding surgical lights was the man from the blurry photograph. Doctor Silva was wearing a bloody surgical apron and holding a wicked, gleaming silver scalpel. He smiled warmly and thanked Alejandro for personally delivering the patient directly to the operating table.
